Page 23 of A Flaming Lady's Secret Valentine
“A little thank you for having accompanied me down to London on such short notice. And for being forced to play the part of pack mule.” She shook her head. “Really, I insist. There are shops galore on Bond Street to tempt you, and we are not so far away. You will have enough change to return home when you feel like it.”
Jane chewed on her lip, staring at the pouch. “As you insist,” she said at last, taking the pouch gingerly. “Are you sure you will be safe driving home alone?”
Cecilia beamed at their driver. “Very sure. We are ten minutes away and I haveMr Clemens to watch over me. Now, go.” She took Jane by the shoulders and turned her towards the shops. “Have fun and buy something nice for yourself. I forbid you from returning to the house until that pouch is empty. I mean it.”
Jane did not look like she believed her, but she agreed regardless.
As they drove out of Piccadilly, Cecilia peered into her mother’s garment box, revealing a gown of bright fuchsia pink. She admired the gown for a moment before her thought took a much darker turn.
Suddenly, she wondered whether she had made a mistake. Perhaps it had been imprudent to leave a young maid all alone on one of the busiest streets in London. She hummed worriedly, torturing herself in her mind with potential next-day news headlines: ‘Mistreated Maid left for Dead by Uncaring Lady on Bond Street.’
She tapped on the carriage ceiling, and Clemens slowed them to a halt. She opened the door herself and alighted the vehicle.
“What is wrong, my lady?”
She opened her mouth to reveal her woes when someone cried her name behind her. Spinning on her heel, she gasped as she saw Mr Travers. He was exiting a shop on the other side of the road, dressed in a rich brown coat and freshly polished boots. He waved something at her, then gestured that he was coming over.
Cecilia forgot all about poor, defenceless Jane as he approached.
“Well met, stranger,” he greeted casually before noting the driver. “Is everything all right, my lady?”
“Yes, everything is perfectly fine, Mr Travers.” Her mouth was dry beyond belief. “What are the chances we should run into each other? Are you quite busy?”
“Not at all, I have the afternoon off in fact. I am just come from the lending library.” He waved the small book-shaped packet in his hand. “What is brought you to Piccadilly?”
“A trip to the modiste’s, picking up some things for Mama.” Her breath hitched as she was reminded of Jane again. “Although I think I have done something quite terrible…”
Raphael peered through the carriage window. “That is an awful shade of pink.”
“Not terrible in regard to the gown!” She clutched her reticule to her chest. “Jane accompanied me into town and I stupidly sent her off on her own with something of a small fortune.”
“Ah, how terrible of you indeed…” He quirked a brow. “Unless you are worried that she will run into trouble.”
“I am—dreadfully so. I am not sure that she has ever been left alone in London. Oh, heavens!” She took her face in her hands.
“What now?”
“I do notthink she has ever ventured beyond Norwich!”
Mr Travers shot the driver a reassuring look, because clearly, he thought his mistress had gone mad. “We will go look for her.”
“But I would hate for her to think that I do nottrust her!”
“All right, we will go look for herdiscreetly.”
Raphael opened the carriage door for her, instructing Clemens to head back the way he had come. Cecilia climbed in, surprised when Mr Travers climbed in after her. She scooted to the other side, placing her mother’s box on her lap.
“Is it really so awful a shade of pink?”
Raphael furrowed his brow, looking slightly nauseated. “One thing at a time, my lady. One thing at a time.”
The more time Raphael spent with Lady Cecilia, the more acutely aware he became that there were some things he just could not do in her company. Such as lean out of a carriage and cry, ‘Jane! Where are you, Jane?’ Supposedly, it was more important that a lady’s maid know that her mistress trusted her, than for her to turn up promptly and alive.
He had initially planned for a quiet afternoon in Hyde while the weather was fair, but it seemed he would not be so lucky. He looked down longingly at his book, which was an illustrated version of Shakespeare’sThe Tragedy of Hamlet, wondering whether inaction would condemn him as readily as it had condemned the Danish prince.
“We parted ways here,” Cecilia murmured, reaching over him, and pointing at a small shop on the corner of Savile Row with a bright blue sign. “I suggested she make for Bond Street.” Her voice was thick with worry.
“Lady Cecilia, you have done nothing wrong.”
