Page 30 of Would I Lie to the Duke
“Good morning, my lords. Lady Whitfield.” The duke’s voice came from just behind her. “You’re looking very studious, Mentmore.”
The baron held up his notebook. “Lady Whitfield was kind enough to oblige us with her thoughts on the growth and exportation of grain.”
There was no help for it. Shehadto face him, if only to see that astonishingly handsome face of his. The warm appreciation in his eyes was her reward for doing so. He had a way of looking at her as though the rest of the world had dropped away into shadow.
“I should hope youdoconsult her,” he said. “I’d think you very foolish not to. She’ll rule us all one day.”
“Rule England?” she asked. “Or the world?”
“Whichever pleases you best. We’ll be grateful subjects, regardless of the size of your realm.” He bowed, but his gaze stayed on hers, and suddenly the room felt especially hot.
She hauled her attention to the other men. “Did your wife enjoy the gift, Baron?”
“The gift...?” He blinked.
“The soap,” she said, smiling. “The one that smells of honey. You were going to gift your wife with it, I believe.”
“Yes! Indeed. Do you know,” Baron Mentmore said in disbelief, “my footman visited nearly every establishment,noneof the shops carry it. It must be available for purchase only in Wiltshire.”
“Shame,” Jess said. “A quality product like that would surely be popular if it was obtainable in London.”
“England is rife with small businesses,” Lord Prowse said sullenly. “Notallof their goods can be sold here.”
“Very true,” she said mildly. “We couldn’t flood the market with products from hither and yon, and if an operation is very small, they wouldn’t be able to meet demand. Although—” She shook her head. “Never mind. A passing fancy.”
“Go on, Lady Whitfield,” the duke said. “Yourpassing fanciesoutweigh most people’s most deliberate and careful thoughts.”
“I was merely thinking that the right small-scalebusiness, with sufficient capital from outside sources, could potentially do very well here in London.”
“Such as a soap manufacturer?” Baron Mentmore asked.
“Soap?” Lord Prowse made a scoffing noise. “Hardly worth anyone’s attention.”
“Consider Beau Brummell,” Jess said. At the puzzled looks she received, she went on in an assured voice. “A man of influence, Brummell. Well, he was, until he fled to the Continent.”
“He was vocal about the importance of bathing,” the duke said.
“To do it daily,” Baron Mentmore added. “Use hot water over the entire body.”
“Who has time for that?” Lord Prowse exclaimed.
“Many people, I assure you,” the duke responded drily.
“Brummell’s power can’t be overestimated,” Jess said. “Look at how many of the gentlemen of our company are dressed.”
More than half the men sported light-colored pantaloons, a white waistcoat, white neckcloth, and dark coat. Even the duke’s ensemble followed this principle—though he wore his with an artful insouciance that could only come from not caring what other people thought.
“What of it?” Mr. Walditch asked, coming over to join the group, with Lady Farris at his side.
“Brummell’s opinions have filtered down to all levels of society,” Jess said. “From neckcloths to bathing.I wouldn’t be surprised if people took more baths because of him.”
“More bathing means more soap.” Baron Mentmore’s eyes widened. “Gracious.”
“You may be onto something, my lord,” Jess said to the baron. She nodded, and Baron Mentmore nodded right along with her. Within moments, half the assembled people were also nodding—though the duke wasn’t of their number.
Lord Prowse looked sullen. “It’s nonsense.”
“It isn’t,” Baron Mentmore said in an injured tone. Defiantly, he continued, “I’m going to have my man of business look into the people who make that honey soap. Could be an opportunity there.”
