“And didn’t you mention something about a country home? You must do quite well with your trade.” His face was expressionless, but Alix noticed the muscles tense around his jaw. “You know, I think it would be fascinating to see your warehouse and your place of business,” she continued.
He glanced up at her. “I think you’d find it all rather dull,” he said quickly. “Not at all the thing a lady of your position would find interesting.”
Alix toyed with her napkin. “But that is all behind me now. I’ve fled my home. I’ve married a merchant. I must forge a new life for myself here.” She waited to see how he would respond, whether he would offer her even the smallest particle of truth.
“Well,” he said at last, “if you’re going to start a new life, I think you could use some new clothes. And I know just the modiste near Leicester Square to get you started.” He smiled. “Soft colors, I think, and for God’s sake, no red, white, and blue.”
No pastels; no red, white, and blue; and definitely noyou, she decided as she bit into her scone.
As they left the inn, Alix looked towards where the two women and the boy had been sitting, but they were alreadygone. She found herself fervently hoping that young Georgie and his mother both got terrible stomachaches from the scones.
They rodefor the next several hours in a driving rain that made conversation in the coach difficult, if not impossible. Alix stared through rain-spattered windows as scrubby seacoast gave way to rain-drenched pastureland and then to the dense hamlets that marked the outskirts of London.
Rafe watched Alix, her eyes as overcast as the skies and her hands fisted tightly in her sodden skirt. It must be overwhelming for her, he thought, to be wrenched from her homeland and transplanted among strangers. He would make it all right, he told himself, starting with a fresh new wardrobe.
A smile crossed his lips as he pictured her dressed in silks and satins, in soft shades of blue and sea green to compliment her eyes, rose to match her skin. He imagined her hair, clean and lustrous, falling free past her shoulders and the fantasy quickly moved from dressing Alix to undressing her. He closed his eyes, recalling the taste and feel of her skin. Then he opened them abruptly as he felt the familiar desire for her begin to settle in his groin. Now, he reflected, was neither the time nor the place to be thinking about making love to Alix, and yet, she was like a melody that had become trapped in his head; he couldn’t seem to break free of her.
He drummed his fingers lightly on his knee, as he recalled her questions about his residence in London. She’d be annoyed, he speculated, when he revealed his little deception, but he had no doubt that he could win her over. She hadn’t mentioned an annulment since they’d made love in Calais. He took her silence on the matter as acceptance of the reality that she must remain with him. Evennow she might be carrying his heir. The thought broke over him in a surprising wave of pride and pleasure. Perhaps, he thought with an inward chuckle, he should limit his dress order at Madame Guenard’s.
The traffic became heavier as they reached Tyburn Road and made their way toward Oxford Street. Rafe drew the shade on his window. The season would not officially begin until the end of October, but it was impossible to know who among the ton had already arrived in town. There were endless arrangements to be made before the season could begin, homes to be opened, horses and carriages to be ordered from Tattersalls, clothes to be fitted for the endless whirl of parties, suppers, and dances. Rafe told himself that he was not yet ready to be seen around town with Alix. There were too many explanations and introductions to be made first.
It was a marvel that they’d been able to slip in and out of Dover unnoticed. One benefit to the troubles in France, he thought grimly, was the decrease in young aristocrats touring the continent. It was regrettable, but he’d have to take Alix into Madame Guenard’s through the side entrance reserved for the demi-reps and their patrons. He’d explain to the modiste what was required, then leave Alix in her capable hands. He’d slip over to Lombard Street, meet quickly with his man of business about the cargoes he was having brought into London, and return to pick her up. With any luck, the seamstress would work her magic, and Alix would be ready for her introduction to Moreham House.
Alix found herself amazed at London’s wide cobbled streets, the elegant shops with bow windows, the neatly painted signs hung discreetly over the doors. Rafe handed her down from the coach in front of a lovely shop, with an array of elegantly plumed hats and leather gloves displayed in the window. She cast a desperate look down at her navytraveling dress, now crumpled and stained from the rain and days of wear. He took her hand and patted it reassuringly.
“Madame Guenard is the soul of discretion,” he reassured her. “No one need see you like this. And if they do, when she’s done with you, no one will believe you’re the same lady.”
“Madame Guenard, is she French?”
Rafe chuckled. “Actually, she’s Maggie Gunnert, born and bred in Spitalfields. She changed her name to impress her clientele. You’ll see, once she finds out you’re French, she’ll find some reason to step out and help someone else before you can test her grasp of the language. She doesn’t know much beyondoui,non, andmon Dieu.”
Taking her arm, he guided her into a discreet side entrance to the shop. A young shop girl, in a simple, but well-cut plum gown immediately glided up to Rafe. “May I be of some assistance, my lord,” she murmured.
“The lady requires a complete wardrobe in the height of fashion. Simple, elegant, nothing too low-cut or revealing. Shades of pastel, I think, not too much lace. Yes, and she will also need undergarments, preferably in silk, stockings, gloves, shoes, and hats to match. Expense is not an issue. The bills should be sent my address on Curzon Street.”
The lady in plum inclined her head gracefully. “If...” She paused, waiting for Rafe to supply Alix’s name. When he did not she continued smoothly. “If Madame will come this way.”
Rafe turned to Alix and spoke softly in French. “Everything is arranged. I have some business to take care of, but it should take no more than an hour or two.” He raised her hand and kissed it. “And then I shall take you home.”
Alix smiled at him, a smile that disappeared as soon as his tall frame could no longer be seen through the windows of the elegant dressmaker’s shop.
“Well,” said the woman in plum, “shall we begin?”
Alix, lost in thought, did not immediately respond. A second, smaller woman dressed in plum, a cushion full of pins in her hand and a tape measure draped over her arm, tittered. “I don’t think his lordship’s mistress speaks English.”
The taller woman sniffed as she began to unroll bolts of fine silk. “The likes of her don’t need to speak. Still, she must do something special; it’s a rare thing for him to come in here with anyone besides his sister. And he’s never been so ready with his purse.”
Alix lifted her chin and turned to face the two shop girls. Speaking in clear precise English, she said, “I am not his lordship’s mistress. Nor do I have any need of a wardrobe from this establishment. If you will kindly arrange a conveyance for me, I will be leaving.”
The two girls blushed and stammered apologies, but Alix ignored them. Finally, comprehending that Alix would not be swayed, the taller woman went out and arranged for a hackney cab.
“What address should I give him?” she asked Alix.
Alix froze. Her mother’s note had said she would be staying in Mayfair, but there had been no address given. That left her with only one option, “Tell him I would like to be taken to the home of the Duchess of Melbourne.”
Sixteen
She’d left him. Rafe shook his head as if unable to contain the thought. He’d been gone for less than two hours and when he returned, the shop girl had primly informed him that the lady in question had left in a hackney shortly after he had departed. Unwilling to cause a scene in the dress shop, he had stood dumbfounded outside Madame Guenard’s. How could she have gone, without a word, without a note? He’d scanned the street as if he might catch sight of her, as if, he thought with rising annoyance, she might have changed her mind and come running back to him.
