Page 35 of Earl, Enemy, Husband?

Lady Blackdown observed her with a critical eye. ‘I suppose that gown will do for shopping, my dear. I suppose we were lucky that Mrs Fitz had one or two gowns on hand she could alter to fit you. You certainly look more the part today, and I was right about the hairstyle. It suits you very well.’

The hairdresser had changed her hair very little, simply cutting it a little shorter at the front and styling it into ringlets that framed her face. With it piled high on top of her head, she felt taller, more elegant. She had not thought a hairstyle could make such a difference. It seemed she had a lot to learn.

‘Thank you, Mother.’

She wished she had paid more attention to the ladies’ journals that Primrose and Iris borrowed from Lady March when she was done with them. They pored over every detail even though the magazines were often months out of date. But then she had never expected to need to know about that sort of thing. She had planned to live at home with her father.

‘Did Mrs Fitz say when the rest of your gowns would be ready?’ Lady March asked.

‘She plans to send them over as each one is completed, in the order we agreed. The first is for my debut Almack’s next Wednesday.’ Butterflies fluttered wildly in her stomach. She took a deep, calming breath. She would not look like a terrified miss in front of his mother. Being completely ignorant about fashion and style was quite bad enough. ‘I am looking forward to it.’

The same way she would look forward to having a tooth pulled.

‘Are you ready for our outing this morning?’ Lady Blackdown asked.

‘Quite ready. I told my maid to have my hat and coat waiting by the front door for after you arrived. Would you like tea before we go?’ Her mother-in-law often wanted tea.

‘We don’t have time. The shops are waiting, my dear. Come along.’

Florence tried not to take offence at the woman’s tone. She was very like Mrs Pole, and Mrs Pole could be handled if one went about it the right way. As yet, she had not quite discovered that right way, however.

Not only were her hat and coat waiting, so was a tall, lanky footman in royal-blue-and-red livery to carry any items they purchased.

Florence could not imagine buying any parcels she could not carry herself. Oh, well. If that was what convention demanded, that was what she would do.

Portman Square was quite busy, and they walked briskly in the direction of Bond Street. One did not find oneself in Bond Street in the afternoon, since it apparently attracted all sorts of unsavoury individuals later in the day.

Their first stop was the glover’s. The shopkeeper looked at her hands and handed her a pair of gloves. ‘Try them for size, my lady.’

They fitted perfectly. The shopkeeper drew out trays and trays of gloves in her size and set them before her. However did one choose? ‘These look as if they will wear well,’ she said, gesturing to a neat pair of leather gloves in dark brown.

Lady Blackdown picked them up between finger and thumb. ‘Oh my dear, much too thick. Nothing but kid skin will do.’

She turned to the man behind the counter. ‘To start, we need York tan gloves for driving out, six pairs of white gloves for the ballroom, two pairs of long gloves for the opera and a pair of kid skin to match a turquoise riding habit.’

‘Why do I need so many pairs of each?’ Florence objected, staring at the pile of gloves the man had started to wrap. ‘How much…?’

Her mother-in-law waved an impatient hand. ‘Send the bill to Lord Blackdown.’ She picked up the parcel now tied with string from the beaming shopkeeper. ‘Next we go to the bazaar for ribbons.’

Florence felt a trickle of unease. She really ought to speak to Graydon about all these costly purchases before the bills arrived. She should have spoken to him before she’d ordered them. It was one of their rules…

At a scratch on his door, Graydon looked up from a bill from a Mrs Fitzwarden, ‘Mantua Maker Extraodinaire’, to find his wife hesitating on the threshold. The gown she wore must be one of those for which he had been billed. It was very different from those she had worn in Stoor. It was made of a filmy blue material with a neckline that showed an expanse of enticing bosom, and more than hinted at the curves and hollows beneath, before falling straight to her beautifully shaped ankles.

Dear God, was he leering? If he wasn’t looming, then he was leering. What the devil was wrong with him? He had promised himself he would take things slowly. Unfortunately, she was tempting enough to make him forget his honour. He cleared his throat, which had suddenly dried. ‘Please. Come in. Is there something you need?’

She looked uncertain, her eyebrows drawn together, her lovely mouth pulled down. ‘I don’t wish to trouble you, if you are busy.’

Without thinking, he glanced at the clock. He had an appointment later with a director from the Hudson’s Bay Company, to talk about timber.

‘I can come back later,’ she said, turning to go.

‘No.’ He spoke more sharply than he’d intended. She froze. Why did she seem so ill-at-ease when she had been so confident when he’d first met her? She must be finding the strangeness of London unnerving…or was it because of the way he had been staring?

‘I mean, I have time now.’ He got up and came round the desk as she turned back. He held a chair for her. ‘Please, sit down.’

As she perched on its edge, she glanced up at him, her hazel eyes looking more brown than green this morning. She swallowed. ‘I wanted to talk to you about my expenses. For clothing and such.’

He returned to sit behind his desk and steepled his fingers against his chin. ‘Do you need more money?’ He looked down at the enormous bill in his hand. ‘I have a bill here from a Mrs Fitzwarden. For six gowns.’