Page 97 of The Lyon Whisperer
“Begin your pardon, ma’am, but I can’t much see the point. Far as I can tell, the colonel prefers black, aside from his shirtsleeves.”
That was true. “Nevertheless, a patterned waistcoat and matching kerchief will make a nice addition to his wardrobe.”
“If you say so, ma’am.”
“I do,” she said with outward assurance. Sally had the right of it. Her husbanddidprefer austere black. However, she could hardly reveal her true aim without betraying Eloise’s confidence.
The carriage veered right onto a side alley and slowed to a halt. A moment later, Geoffrey opened the carriage door and helped her to the curb.
“Shall I come inside with you, ma’am?” Sally asked, eyeing the hanging iron sign announcing the establishmentSmith’s Haberdashery.
Amelia assured her she wouldn’t be a moment and proceeded into the shop.
She entered a world of luxury and elegance. Swaths of silk, high-end cottons, muslins and tulle lined the walls. Crystal chandeliers hung from high ceilings, their brilliance reflected in displays of silver and gold ornate buttons, and sparkling brooches. Glass bowls of potpourri strategically placed around the room scented the air with jasmine, orange, and spice.
An impeccably dressed man approached her. “Good afternoon, madam. How may I be of assistance?”
She flashed him a brilliant smile and extended her gloved hand. “How do you do, sir? I am here at the suggestion of Madame Eloise. She assures me your shop carries the finest, most exclusive fabrics.”
“She is quite correct, madam. May I ask to whom I have the privilege of speaking?”
“My name is Lady Amelia Culver, wife of the Baron of Sidford.”
By the man’s expression, she garnered he was not terribly impressed.
She went on. “Future Viscount of Everston and the renowned Iron Lion of Barrosa.”
At the last, interest sharpened his gaze. “The Iron Lion, you say? I have heard tell of his bravery and prowess on the field, my lady.”
“Have you?”
He linked his arms behind his back and his demeanor warmed. “My brother fought in the war. He shared many anecdotes upon his return. According to him, your husband and his regiment more than distinguished themselves, they were who came in to salvage things when all seemed lost. I believe your husband, through his leadership, saved my brother’s life, Lady Culver.”
“I see.” Her husband never failed to amaze her.
“Mr. Tyrone Smith at your service madam. Please tell me how may I assist you today? You seek a particular pattern for a gown?”
“Actually, Mr. Smith, I seek the finest weave, and a pattern in the latest style, for my husband. I wish to surprise him with a gift of a new suit. We are only recently wed, you see.”
“Very good. The latest pattern, you say? As in pinstripes? Checks?” His expression looked dubious.
“I was thinking more along the line of a jacquard print.…”
Mr. Smith’s lips twitched.
“You find something I said funny, sir?”
He flushed. “Forgive me, my lady. I do not mean to overstep.”
“Please. Your guidance is most welcome.” She reminded herself not to forget she was here to find the fabric the arsonist used.Still.The more she considered, the more she did like the idea of bestowing a gift on her husband. Something to express her affection without saying more than she ought.
It wouldn’t do for him to think she was besotted with him.
“It’s just, based upon the description given me by my brother, I imagine your husband being more prone to…black.”
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Her husband’s notoriety was making this difficult. “You are quite right, Mr. Smith. But perhaps a splash of color would do him good. Say, for his handkerchief or his pocket square?”
“Very good. Right this way.”
