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Pippy lifted her chin, pasting on a smile she did not feel. Her mother would be proud of her decorum…her grace. She just wished she were here to see it.

She closed her eyes and squared her shoulders. They're simply jealous of the silks, she thought.

Opening her eyes, she turned her attention to the man behind the counter.

“Fourteen pounds, two shillings, please.”

Pippy pasted the smile back on her lips. “Please put it on my father’s account—the Earl of Westervale.” She reached to collect the packages, but the man snatched the bundle back.

“I’m sorry, my lady, but your father has no credit here. He has yet to settle his current account. I have extended him too far as it is—I have creditors of my own to pay.” He sniffed disdainfully. “You must lay the coin down now.” His whispered hiss echoed through the shop.

Pippy’s head snapped back, even as her cheeks flamed. “I, uh,” she stammered. Opening her reticule, she drew out a few coins. “This is all I have at present.”

The shopkeeper sorted through the coins and opened the paper wrapper. Removing the lace from among the ribbons, he folded the paper and retied the string, then pushed the package toward her. “That is what you have the money for, my lady.” He kept his hand firmly on the fabric.

Did he expect her to grab the bolts and flee? Her skin burned in embarrassment.

Tears tickled at the corners of her eyes, making the shopkeeper appear slightly fuzzy around the edges. Her lips trembled slightly, and she bit down hard to stop it. There had to be a mistake. Her father’s man of business must have forgotten to pay the account. Surely her father would clear up the misunderstanding soon enough.

She put her hand to her cheek and glanced at Lady Mary and Miss Kensington from the corner of her eye as she snatched up the package. “Good day to you,” she mumbled as she hurried toward the door.

She ducked her head and pulled the door open, hurrying out onto the pavement and into the solid form of a man. A gentleman if the lilac-colored waistcoat was correct. Gracious! She should have stayed abed this morning. But perhaps the fates were with her, and the earth would open and swallow her whole.

She stood still for a moment—waiting—barely restraining herself from stomping her foot. The earth held firm beneath her feet. Oh Fiddlesticks! If only she had such luck! It seemed not even the gentleman would step aside.

“Lady Phoebe? Pippy?” a baritone voice said as strong hands still held onto her.

She looked up and blinked.

Lawks, why must it be him? It was silly of her to have assumed her day could not turn for the worse.

“Galah—Lord Weymouth.” He’d hardly changed since last she saw him. “I beg your pardon. I was not watching where I was going.”

He smiled as he took a step back and slowly lowered his hands from her arms. Ah, that must have been where the warmth came from.

“I thought it was you. How long has it been since last we were together?” he asked.

Pippy swallowed. “I should think twelve years, at least.”

He nodded slowly. “Yes, I think you must be right.” He pointed to the ground. “You dropped⁠—”

He bent to pick up her package at the same time she did, and as they rose, their heads connected. A bone-jarring crack brought tears to her eyes.

“Ouch.” She rubbed at her brow as he picked up his beaver and rubbed at the back of his head.

“I beg your pardon. Are you hurt?” he asked.

She shook her head, unable to look him in the eyes.

He handed over the package. “I believe you dropped this.”

She accepted the package, her eyes fastened on his cravat. Please offer your farewells, she pleaded silently. “Thank you, my lord.” She could at least be proud that her voice was steady.

He cleared his throat. “Is your brother in town also?”

She shook her head, still intent on his cravat. “No, he’s on the continent.”

“Oh? I’ve recently considered journeying there myself. Is he abroad often? I believe the last I heard of him—must have been several years now—he was on the continent then too.”