Page 106 of The Lyon Whisperer
Still.She hoped no one would notice her scurrying down the street, unescorted, and report back to her father, or worse, her husband.
She lengthened her stride and angled her face toward the display windows to avoid being seen by passengers in passing coaches and curricles. The odd orientation left her winded and slightly dizzy.
Perhaps she should have confided in Chase. She could not imagine he’d be pleased with her choice this day.
You must behave with decorum in dress and speech.
Guilt pricked her. She shoved the pesky emotion from her mind and pressed on.
In what seemed an eternity, she at last reached the tailor’s shop. She reached into her reticule for a small hanky to wipe her brow, pasted a smile on her face, and stepped inside.
Mr. Hoby, the man she’d dealt with on her first visit stood behind the counter, scrawling in a ledger. He glanced up, a pleasant expression on his face. The second he laid eyes on her, he frowned.
Oh, dear.Had he been unsuccessful in locating the fabric?
She kept her smile in place and moved toward him. “Good afternoon, Mr. Hoby. Here I am, as promised.
He stepped from behind the counter. “Yes, I see. I wish you had given me your direction on your first visit to save yourself a trip.”
She halted. “Whatever do you mean, sir?”
He scratched his brow and, like her moments before, withdrew a handkerchief to mop his brow. “I’m afraid…I’m afraid I can’t help you, madam.”
She blinked in stunned surprise.
He went on. “After going over my current orders, I realize I do not have the time to take on another project, nor a new client.”
“I beg your pardon?” She could feel blood rushing up her cheeks.
He hastened back to the counter, putting it squarely between them. “I am…er… simply too busy. I can…er…recommend another tailor should you desire to take your business elsewhere.”
Of all the scenarios she could have imagined, being turned away like a criminal or miscreant had never occurred to her.
“Good day, madam,” he said and returned to his work.
He’d dismissed her.
She felt oddly on the verge of tears, though from anger or frustration or humiliation, she could not precisely say. She blinked them back and started to turn for the door. No. Not quite yet.
She stopped, shifted to face him, and squared her shoulders. “Mr. Hoby, I do not appreciate the unmerited disdain you have shown me. Busy you may be, but surely you could have managed a better delivery. Good day to you, sir.” She sniffed, turned on her heel and marched to the door.
Before she reached it, the shop door swung open and an elderly gentleman entered.
She nearly groaned when she recognized the man as one of her father’s friends, Lord Peppersham.
He stood aside, holding the door for her, then gave a start of surprise and let it close. “Well, I’ll be, if it isn’t Lady Amelia Duval, Fallsgate’s only daughter. Wait—you’re recently wed, ain’t ya? Lady Culver, now? A baroness and soon a viscountess in your own right. The earl must be proud, indeed.”
“Good afternoon, Lord Peppersham,” she said with quiet dignity.
The man craned his head to look around her. “Here on your own, are you? Fallsgate’s not about? Too bad, haven’t seen him in an age. Hoby,” he added in greeting.
The tailor had reached the shop’s foyer in record time. He glanced between Amelia and Lord Peppersham, eyes wide with obvious alarm. “Good afternoon, milord.”
Amelia arched a brow at Mr. Hoby then turned her attention back to Lord Peppersham. “I thought to purchase a suit for Lord Culver. Evidently Mr. Hoby…” She broke off at the desperate appeal on the man’s face.
One word from her attesting to the fact he’d cast out the Earl of Fallsgate’s daughter and news would spread like wildfire.
Between her father and her husband, she would have a lot of explaining to do. Beyond that, she would escape the scandal unscathed.
