Page 27 of Unmasking the Silver Heiress
The city of Dover was not as grand as London nor as elegant as Bath, but Nell thought that it was quite possibly just as historically rich as her home city of Winchester.
As they slowed to a canter to approach the city stables, Kit pointed to a large, medieval structure that sat several leagues off from the city itself, and explained that it had been some kind of castle or fort or lighthouse since the first men had come to Britain.
"How fascinating," Nell had breathed, craning her neck over her shoulder for as long as she could until they had ridden too far to continue looking. "I don't suppose it is open to the public? I visited a very old Roman fort in York just some months past, but it was nothing near as grand as that."
Kit chuckled, shaking his head. "Sadly, not until the war and all its subsequent skirmishes are over. The castle has seen an unbelievable amount of renovation and improvement since France started smoldering, and now is a garrison and armory. If you ride out to the cliffs beyond the castle on a clear day, you can see the French shores. Some say it is our most crucial stronghold, conflict or no."
He dismounted and held his hands up to assist her down from her mount, a sweet-tempered if somewhat elderly mare that he'd introduced back at Meridian as Apple. "Her full name is Apple Tart," he'd explained with a little frown, "but I always got the impression she didn't appreciate being called a tart, and so I shorten it now, in her dotage."
He escorted her onto the high street and toward the clothier Nate had chosen, keeping a leisurely pace and pointing out landmarks along the way.
"I confess I do not know how long such endeavors take for ladies," Kit told her, nodding toward the glossy wooden sign above the clothier. "Shall I return in an hour? Two?"
"One hour should be sufficient," she assured him. "I will not be undertaking too much today, but would very much like to see the progress being made. Once both Meridian House and myself are up to standard, I very much wish to have you and your family for dinner."
"You are too sweet for the likes of Nathaniel," he assured her, waving her off as she rang the bell to the shop.
She realized she had not asked Kit if he had a wife or children. He simply seemed the sort to have a cozy homestead with many little ones pattering about. He was a softer version of Nathaniel, she thought, unburdened by the concerns of ambition. He likely had a vocation all his own and reveled in working with his own two hands. The thought made her smile, wondering how he must have clashed with her husband when they were boys, at odds over what games to play.
The first thing that struck her as she pushed the door open was the smell of dried flowers. It wasn't overpowering enough to be unpleasant, but it was surprisingly strong, perhaps heightened by the warmth coming off the central fire. Rather than a little bell over the door like her aunt kept at the print shop in London, this place had opted for three chimes, which grazed one another with delicate notes that floated out over a luxuriously appointed room, decorated in cream and pink.
"We are in the back!" called a woman in lightly accented English. "Come along, if you please."
Nell clutched her reticule to her middle, stepping around the cluster of cushioned chaises that were grouped around the sales desk. She had not removed her coat, nor her scarf and gloves, for she did not know where to put items in a place that already appeared to be so very, very full.
She felt a rather drab contrast to the surroundings, in her clothes of muted gray, black, and blue, with her old coat and scuffed shoes to match. She would have reached up to smooth her hair, but she told herself she was more sensible than that.
Her footsteps were muted by the plush carpeting, which also seemed to soak up the sound of voices that were coming from behind the dressing screen in the rear part of the shop. "Hello?" Nell said, stopping just short of peering around the screen and perhaps catching someone in their particulars. "I am here to speak to Madame Bisset. My husband placed an order for me."
"Oh! Mrs. Atlas, you come at last," cried the same voice, evidently delighted by this surprise. "You may come around. We are simply sharing a glass of wine. Would you like one?"
"Oh, I ... yes, why not," Nell replied uncertainly, toeing up to the edge of the screen and peeping around, as though she still wasn't certain she had permission to do so.
A young woman was reclining in a pink chaise longue, overstuffed and lined with brocade like the ones in the front room. She had honey blonde hair piled up on her head and was sipping from a glass of white wine in nothing but her shift and bare feet. She tilted her moss-green eyes up to meet Nell's and gave nothing but a little giggle by way of introduction.
"Sois sage!"tsked a second woman, who stepped over the first. This one was significantly older and fully dressed. Her hair was a startling shade of artificial red, bound up in a spray of ringlets and silk flowers that Nell found somehow flattering, despite their suitability for a woman in her latter years.
This older woman turned her attention to Nell, holding out a glass of wine and offering a wide smile. "Please join us, Mrs. Atlas. I am so pleased to finally meet you in person! Your husband ismostgenerous, and so I must congratulate you on your match. I am Silvie Bisset, and I welcome you!"
"Oh, thank you!" Nell said, extending her hand. "It is lovely to meet you. As you know already, I am Eleanor Atlas."
"This poorly mannered layabout is Giselle Dempierre," Madame Bisset said with an affectionate roll of her eyes. "We call her Gigi."
"They call me a great many things," the blonde woman said, dimpling at Eleanor. She had no accent to speak of, but spoke each word with a certain leisurely disregard that outed her as foreign. "But you may use Gigi if you please. I was just coveting some of the pieces your husband purchased for you. Madame Bisset was being a horrible witch and refusing to sell me some of your things without your knowledge."
"I am too old for such silliness," Madame Bisset sniffed. "Besides, look at poor Mrs. Atlas, forced to wear such ill-fitting garb until I may remedy it. It is unconscionable! I must fetch my tape and pins. Please, just a moment. Pardon me, Mrs. Atlas."
Nell watched the clothier scurry off, her bright red ringlets bouncing with her haste, and felt profoundly unsure what to do with herself. She was holding the glass of wine in one gloved hand, reticule in the other, and was still standing ramrod straight in the middle of the strangest room she'd ever set foot in. It would have been overwhelming on its own, but she had also apparently encountered directly a member of the family she had only been hoping to discreetly observe.
Giselle Dempierre giggled again, seemingly very entertained by the dowdy Britishness that Nell radiated. She made a show of leaning forward and setting her glass down on a glass table, then stretching her arms over her head, arching her back like a cat’s to display her elegant figure. "You may as well undress," she said sweetly, curling back into the chaise like that self-same cat. "Dear Silvie can't very well measure you in all of …” she hesitated, her eyes scraping over Nell’s modest ensemble as though it were a morbid display. “Well, all ofthat."
Nell gave a nervous nod, looking about for other surfaces before realizing she’d have to set her own glass of wine next to Gigi's.
She turned her back to the other woman, hoping the rising blush in her cheeks was not visible, and peeled off her outerwear carefully. She folded each piece and stacked them into a small pile next to the privacy screen. It occurred to her as she sat to remove her boots, seemingly to the great amusement of the other woman, that while she had not exposed herself to the target in the spycraft sense of the term, she certainly was putting herself into a vulnerable place far sooner than she had intended.
I am literally exposed, she thought, giving rise to a flutter of anxiety in her chest. Worse, she had no idea what to say to the other woman.
Once she was down to her shift, she reached for the glass of wine and tipped it into her mouth, grateful for the soothing warmth that spread into her limbs. She knew she ought not ask for another glass so soon, but she rather thought she was going to need a few bottles to soothe her startled nerves.
