Page 6 of Would I Lie to the Duke
The shopkeeper brought the bar of soap to his noseand inhaled. His expression turned from wary to pleased. “Honey.”
“Our soap is made using honey harvested from our own bees. Not only does it provide a delightful scent that both men and women can enjoy, honey also keeps the skin supple and soft, as well as helps to provide exceptional lathering ability.” She pulled from her pack a flagon and a small bowl, which she set on top of a cabinet. “Will you permit me a minor liberty?”
She unwrapped the soap, then poured a splash of water into the bowl, then gestured for Mr. Daley to make use of them both.
His expression had turned dubious, but then, as he washed using the soap, he looked agreeably surprised. “Itdoeslather nicely.”
“And your hands will feel soft, not dry, after use. Observe.” She tugged off her glove and held out her palm. “I wash with McGale & McGale soap, several times a day, and yet there’s no roughness to my skin.”
He peered closely at her hand. “Indeed, that’s true. The cost?”
“We sell to you a ha’penny per bar.”
“Reasonable.”
“And as good as but less expensive than French soap.”
He nodded, so she knew it was time to continue in her pitch. Though she dreaded the next part, she had to speak it. “I will be frank, Mr. Daley. There was a fire several months ago, and we’re in need of repairs, but with a small outlay of capital, I’ve no doubt thatnot only will we be back to our original operational standards, we will outpace them. We can supply all the soap your customers will demand—and therewillbe a demand.”
“Meaning, you’d require me to advance the money if you’re to fill our orders.”
She didn’t like his wry tone, but kept her expression bright and open. “It won’t require much—”
“I’m sorry, miss,” he said. “That is simply not possible. Daley’s Emporium is not in the habit of paying for products that have not yet been manufactured. This soapisexceptional, and I’ve no doubt that we would be able to sell a goodly amount, but ’tis not our policy to pay up front in the hope that our supplier might potentially meet our demand.”
Before Jess could offer a counterargument, Mr. Daley went on. “Nearly all of the goods we sell here are recommended by some of the most esteemed individuals in England. The Earl of Blakemere exclusively uses shaving soap he purchases in my shop. The Countess of Pembroke sends her maid here monthly to obtain Mayfair Flower Essence perfume, which is only sold here.”
“An aristocratic patron isn’t a necessity for a successful product,” Jess said calmly. On the inside, she felt herself grasping desperately for a handhold.
“True, but with an unknown manufacturer, such as yours, it would make a substantial difference.” Mr. Daley sent her a sympathetic look as he handed her the bar of soap. “Again, my apologies. McGale & McGale soap is indeed exceptional, but until you canmeet demand, and without a notable figure endorsing your product, we’ve nothing more to discuss.”
“I see.” She handed him a little towel to dry his hands, then wrapped the soap in the towel. Efficiently, she packed up the flagon and bowl, but heaviness sank in her chest. “Might I return if I can fulfill both of those requirements?”
“Of course. I look forward to it.” He glanced toward the door.
It was time for her to leave. She gave him a curtsy. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Daley.”
“Best of luck, Miss McGale.”
She nodded, fixing a smile to her face, before stepping back out onto Bond Street.
This wasn’t the outcome she’d hoped for, but it was unlikely that she’d secure a spot in one of London’s most celebrated shops on her very first try. It was early in the day. With Lady Catherton still in the country, Jess could keep her attention focused on this task. She’d go into every single shop if that was what it took. Shewouldfind a way to salvage McGale & McGale.
Chapter 3
Hours later, the bell on yet another shop door chimed as it shut behind Jess, tolling the death of her hope. For a moment, she could only stand on the curb and stare blankly at the fashionable traffic parading up and down Bond Street.
No one here knew or cared that she’d spent the whole day walking this elegant stretch of road, trying to convince merchants that they ought to stock McGale & McGale Honey Soap for their esteemed customers—only to face rejection again and again.
What Mr. Daley had said was repeated to her by countless shop owners. No one would supply funds to help rebuild, and without elite customers or enough financial backing to make her soap a countrywide phenomenon, her family’s business would wither and die.
Jess tried to take a steadying breath, but it sounded like a shed rattling in a storm. She blinked rapidly, trying to force her tears back. Shewould notcry on Bond Street, not in view of the country’s most wealthy and sophisticated citizens. But all themen’s tall-crowned beaver hats and women’s braid-trimmed spencers only reinforced how she would not, could not, ever succeed.
What would she say to Fred and Cynthia?
Someone on the street said in an insistent voice, “But, Your Grace—”
“A moment, Your Grace—”
