Lord Will & Her Grace (4 page)

"Thank you, sir. You're very kind," Sophie
said, lying through her teeth. She dropped a small curtsy and
hastened from the shop.

Now she was stuck. She hadn't even ordered
the material. She would just have to come back another day and see
if there was anyone else in the vicinity who could make up a pair
of simple pantaloons and a thick, warm coat instead of the flimsy
town shawls good for nothing but decoration of the décolleté.

Of one thing she was sure. She would never
set one foot near that gentleman's house. Now what was the name of
his residence? Holton Mews? Hilton Grove?

William watched the lady in question's lovely
derrière swish through the door of the shop. The only delightful
thing about the atrocious footwear and rag she wore was that it
failed to hide her beautiful trim ankles.

"Well," William said, turning to the draper.
"A pity to let that one escape."

"I daresay, my lord, the young miss who just
left was indeed, Miss Somerset."

"I haven't the slightest doubt of it,"
William said, smiling. While she was dressed like the poorest
servant, he was surprised she hadn't been snapped up by one of the
penniless members of the
ton
in London despite her
disastrous entrée into the beau monde. It was obvious her
transgression had left her reputation beyond repair.

"A fine fortune that one will bring to the
altar, I hear tell," said the draper in conspiratorial tones.
"
Ten thousand a year
."

William blinked. Good Lord. The mystery of
why a fortune hunter in London hadn't snagged her hand deepened.
She must've been caught in flagrante delicto. Perhaps she was with
child. He cleared his throat and in that instant his mind assembled
a brilliant idea.

She could provide the answer
.

His man down from London had indicated there
wasn't much time if he meant to continue with his plan.

He tried to concentrate on the task before
him. "Let us begin again, then. I require a complete outfitting.
Show me your shirt linen to start."

"Very good, my lord." The man brought down
three bolts of fabric from the shelves behind him and laid them on
the wooden counter, shiny from years of use.

William indicated the bolt of choice and
pushed away a card of lace with a look of disgust. "Let's have a
look at the possibilities for waistcoats and coats, if you
please."

The man examined his finery and pulled a bolt
of peach-colored silk from the shelves behind him. "For. God's
sake, man, haven't you anything more somber or dignified?" The
draper's eyebrows rose in confusion from William's foppish
appearance.

He felt exasperation creeping under the high
shirt points of his ridiculous collar. Honestly, what was Farquhar
thinking to own shirts like these? He couldn't remember if he'd
ever spent a more ridiculous morning. Choosing fabric, indeed.
Where was that bloody valet of his anyway?

As if on cue, tinkling doorbells heralded
Jack Farquhar's entrance. If it was possible, his valet wore an
even more outrageous display of male splendor. Pale rose breeches
with mother-of-pearl buttons at the knees met black riding boots of
the finest calf polished to a mirror finish.

Farquhar's ostentatious waistcoat was an
embarrassment to mankind. The deep rose and green harlequin pattern
matched the lapels of Farquhar's burgundy coat.

But the
pièce de rèsistance
was
Farquhar's hat: a dashing woodman's design much like what Robin
Hood was said to have sported, notwithstanding the rose-colored
peacock feather erupting from the back.

The draper's hands, in the midst of
retrieving another bolt from the shelves, stopped in midair. He
gulped and appeared flustered.

"Thank God you're here to relieve me from the
tedium of all this. You know what I require, Farquhar. Have it all
sent to Hinton Arms and arrange for a tailor from London."

"How delightful! But I see we're in a bit of
a temper this morning," the valet replied, then looked at the
draper. "Let us have a look at that marvelous peach silk before you
return it to the shelves, sir."

"Farquhar…" William said in a dark warning
tone. "If I see one brightly colored article—"

The valet interrupted. "Oh, all right. If
you're going to be fusty about it."

"Look at it this way. If you arrange for all
my needs to my specifications, I'll treat you to a peach
waistcoat."

"How divine. I love presents."

"I'll leave you to this then. I'm to the
cobbler now."

"Do bring back a bit of hide for Mrs.
Tickle." Farquhar paused. "Please?"

"I'll not spend an instant on that
good-fornothing hound of yours. You go too far."

William turned to face the draper who looked
thunderstruck by the exchange. The backcountry shopkeep had
obviously never, in all his years, seen the likes of someone like
Farquhar, a debonair dandy of the first order.

Indeed, Farquhar passed all boundaries of
acceptable behavior and dress for a valet—or for any town fop for
that matter. But his loyalty and honesty had surpassed all
standards. Why, Will owed his very life to the man and vice versa.
The war years might have been the start of their acquaintance and
mutual admiration, but the months after had only strengthened their
reliance on one another to hold close their secrets.

William turned to depart. But not before
watching his valet rub his hands together in anticipation and ask
to see the peach silk again. William shook his head. If Jack was
not the finest valet in all of Christendom, and an excellent foil
in their former spy games…

SOPHIE nervously tapped the cream-colored
velum card on her lap. She looked at it again.

The Misses Anna and Felicia Mornington

request the pleasure of the company of

Miss Somerset and Miss Owen

for dinner Wednesday next, five
o'clock
.

Oh dear. When she'd left London, Sophie had
hoped she was through with dressing up and primping. She loathed
the anxiety surrounding formal social occasions.

She would prefer spending an afternoon
walking for miles along the beach or seeking out the two shepherds
and the large flock of sheep on her uncle's vast estate.

There was nothing to be done. She must accept
the invitation otherwise the talk about her in Burnham-by-the-Sea
would include the term "hermit" instead of "eccentric," which she'd
overheard below stairs early one morning. While she might not have
appeared to care what others thought, there were times she was
deeply hurt by the cool reception of the people in the area.

At least Mari would be happy about the
invitation, Sophie thought while she composed a reply. Perhaps this
would help her avoid her cousin's nightly harangue on her future
state of poverty should the inheritance slip through Sophie's
fingers.

Miss Somerset was proving to be an amusing
diversion during the otherwise unimaginably dull visit in
Bump-in-the-Sticks, William's new appellation for this loathsome,
mucky corner of England.

He smiled inwardly. When she entered
Mornington's formal salon, the look of horror on her face was
beyond price. He'd never seen such an expression directed toward
him. The gray-green fire in her almond-shaped eyes was as
intriguing as he remembered. And she possessed the most exquisite
creamy complexion with natural rosy cheeks, so unlike the painted
ladies in town. Her decided chin spoke of intelligence and
defiance.

If he was honest, her features were hard to
fully appreciate from this distance. She'd seated herself as far
away from him as possible, using generations of Mornington antiques
to obstruct his view of her charming profile.

Enforced celibacy made him long to tangle his
fingers in her thick dark blond hair, some of which had escaped the
strict coronet of braids she'd fashioned.

William shook his head. Since when had gauche
country misses interested him? Charles's simpering sisters had
driven him to madness.

"Miss Somerset, may I say again what pleasure
you and Miss Owens have given me and my sisters by joining us for
dinner tonight?" Charles Mornington asked.

William's friend looked in good form tonight,
cutting a proper figure despite his short stature and stout frame.
It was a pity William had not been able to fit himself into any of
Mornington's more conservative garments.

William looked down at the ridiculous
ensemble Farquhar had forced on him this evening. It was the worst
yet, involving a dark orange-colored satin coat, bottle green knee
breeches and a mulberry waistcoat with heavy gray brocade. He felt
like a bloody gourd.

"Oh yes, Miss Somerset, Felicia and I are
delighted you have joined the neighborhood. There are no other
ladies"—and here Lady Anna sniffed—"who are of our caliber in the
neighborhood."

"Anna and I were just saying that until we
learned Lord Will had arrived here, we were having a dreadful time
tearing ourselves away from the amusements in town," Lady Felicia
said and dissolved into a round of high-pitched giggles.

Mornington's two juvenile sisters had been
doggedly tailing Will for a fortnight. It was a wonder that two
girls, not long from the schoolroom, had learned the game of cat
and mouse so quickly. As they sat primly on the blue settee, he
could almost imagine claws beneath their long gloves.

It would have been an altogether different
story if they had been available for a dalliance. William would
have been able to endure their silly chatter and cattish behavior.
Ah, indeed… sometimes two ladies fighting over him in a bedchamber
could be quite, quite… Oh hell, and damnation. Surrendering to
celibacy was not in his nature.

Mornington stood up to signal the dining hour
and looked to Miss Somerset.

William could not stop himself from claiming
her hand before his host, leaving Mornington to lead in the Welsh
country cousin.

"Miss Somerset, allow me to take you in to
dinner, my dear."

She flushed, which showed to advantage the
cream and gold hue of her shoulders against the white silk gown
with an apricot sash. Oh, yes, indeed, she presented a tempting
morsel.

She refused to meet his eye but rose from the
chaise and began to walk with him toward the double doors.

"Miss Somerset, I believe decorum dictates
you take my arm," William said softly.

She reluctantly placed her arm on his without
looking at him.

The party of six crossed the hall to enter
into the austere magnificence of the dining hall.

"I have been wondering if you have a twin
sister, Miss Somerset," he said for her ears only.

"A twin sister? Of course not. I am an only
child."

"Then I should warn you that there was a dowd
at a shop in the village who said she would pass a message to you.
She had a remarkable resemblance to you, my dear."

"I have no idea what you are talking about,
my lord. But I would appreciate it if you would refrain from
calling me your 'dear.' I am not." Miss Somerset released his arm
and attempted to move to the other side of the dining table.

It was a shame what the gossipmongers of
London had done to this girl. Her bruised pride and reputation made
her prudish and unsure. Yet he was delighted to have found her. She
would prove to be a little bit of a challenge, he was sure. But a
recently fallen young spinster, along with the most definite allure
ten thousand a year brought, was exactly what was called for to
alleviate the dull, limited society here.

"
Ma Chérie
," William said under his
breath as he caught her arm. "You must allow me to seat you to my
right as is proper."

She paused, then looked at his hand on her
arm and spoke quietly. "Please release me, sir. I have had my fill
of etiquette lessons, thank you."