Page 68 of Let Me Be Your Hero
Archibald shot Izzie a look. He hadn’t seen anyone else using that color.
Izzie gave him the tiniest of nods. Her expression said,don’t worry. I’ll handle it.
Taking a seat at the table, Izzie took up her knife and began to butter her toast. “Where were you thinking to use it?”
“The front parlor,” his mother said. “We’ll have the color everywhere! The walls, the cushions… we’re even having a new rug made up.”
“It’s badly overdue for a change,” his father explained. “The room hasn’t been redecorated in eighteen months.”
Archibald was scrambling to figure out how to explain that redecorating the entire parlor in the color of vomit was not, infact, the height of fashion without hurting his parents’ feelings when Izzie lowered her knife. “Oh, dear.”
“Whatever is the matter, dear?” his mother asked.
Izzie’s face was crestfallen. “It’s just… I was speaking to my mother the other day. And to my sister, Lady Thetford.”
His mother leaned forward eagerly. Lady Cheltenham and Lady Thetford were two of the leading tastemakers of theton. “What did they say?”
“Although you are absolutely correct, and that shade of green is the peak of fashionat the moment, my mother and sister are convinced that its reign will be… short-lived.”
“Short-lived?” His mother’s eyes went wide as guineas.
“You don’t say!” his father exclaimed.
Izzie took up her teacup, her expression one of regret. “I fear so. And, because a full redecoration, with a new rug and reupholstering all of the furniture, will take time, I dread the possibility that, at the very moment your new parlor is complete, the color will becomepassé.”
“Passé!”his mother gasped.“The horror!”
“Whatever shall we do?” his father cried.
Izzie’s eyes went wide as if the solution had just occurred to her. “Although a room takes considerable time to make over, I’m sure your modiste could have a spencer made up for you in this shade in a matter of days, Mrs. Nettlethorpe-Ogilvy. And perhaps a waistcoat for you, sir.”
“A spencer!” his mother exclaimed. “In velvet, I think.”
“It will be the perfect thing for the crisp autumn weather,” his father noted.
“Just so,” Izzie agreed. “And then, you can have the room made over in what my mother and sister assure me will be thenextfashionable color…”
His parents both leaned forward, holding their breath.
Izzie paused for dramatic effect, then said, “Pale blue.”
“Pale blue!” his mother cried. “But of course!”
“Very elegant,” his father added. “What do you think, Thorpe?”
He swallowed a bite of eggs. “I don’t pretend to be a great arbiter of fashion. But if Lady Cheltenham and Lady Thetford recommend pale blue, I do not think you could do better.”
“Just so,” his mother agreed. “When the designer comes today, we will tell him we have changed our minds and insist upon pale blue…”
Across the table, Izzie caught his eye, the corner of her mouth curving up a fraction.
He saluted her with his coffee cup. God, he loved his wife.
CHAPTER 32
Two hours later, Izzie settled into one of the Nettlethorpe-Ogilvys’ plush carriages. Instead of footmen, two guards from Nettlethorpe Iron mounted the steps on the back, and another took a seat next to the coachman. An additional coach followed, filled with more guards, including her husband’s valet, Jack Rattigan. She should be safe, indeed, as she made her way across town.
Izzie leaned back against the red velvet squabs. She couldn’t believe Archibald hadn’t guessed her destination, which was, of course, Nettlethorpe Iron. Had she not been begging to see his workshop all week?
