A Lord for the Wallflower Widow Read online

  He bowed and left with the little package tucked under his arm.

  Carrie could not help admiring his lithe male figure as he disappeared through her shop door. He was so masculine. Despite his elegant tailoring, he looked athletic and fit. He’d no doubt be an excellent lover. She blushed at the unbidden thought. It was his flirting that had made such a wicked thought about a man she scarcely knew occur to her.

  She was a woman, wasn’t she? And her thoughts were her own. As long as they remained merely thoughts, she was doing nobody any harm.

  What would it be like to have such a handsome gentleman paying attention to one?

  Lord Avery would no doubt be a master of the art of flirtation. And she had never been the object of a gentleman’s attentions. Not even her husband’s.

  A sigh escaped her. She was such a fool. No doubt Lord Avery would never even think of her again, let alone mention her little shop to anyone.

  She looked in the tin cash box. The grand sum of three shillings and thruppence stared back at her.

  The Westram ladies were going to be so disappointed.

  Chapter Two

  ‘What do you think?’ Mimi Luttrell batted her lashes at Avery, her pale blue eyes soulful, her lips pouting provocatively.

  He stifled the urge to yawn. Mimi would run a mile if he so much as hinted at anything sensual between them. She had agreed to this little outing in his company because her husband preferred the hunting field to escorting her to shops and balls. She wanted to feel appreciated, that was all. And perhaps wake her errant husband up to the fact that she was a desirable woman.

  It was strange how differently the English husband regarded the position of cicisbeo to those on the Continent. In Italy a man would see it as a compliment that his wife garnered the attention of a young attractive gentleman. He would even participate in funding said gentleman, provided the affaire was conducted according to the rules. In England, such financial arrangements were despised by noblemen who liked to guard their wives, pulling up their drawbridges as if they were castles.

  It had certainly worked that way with Lady Passmore, the first lady whom Avery had endeavoured to charm on his recent return from the Continent. Her neglectful husband had hot-footed it all the way back from Scotland to stake his claim on his wife and hadn’t been far from her side ever since.

  To Avery’s surprise, the whole thing had also been financially rewarding, both in terms of her eternal gratitude expressed in her effusive thank-you note accompanied by a parting memento he’d sold for a goodly sum and with the commissions from the merchants where he had taken her to shop, the latter being the same sort of arrangement he had entered into in Italy where he’d been living until recently.

  There, in Venice, he’d fallen into the role of cicisbeo quite by chance, having at first been attracted to the lady in question, only to discover there were financial benefits to be reaped from what could only be described as a platonic relationship, and all with the approval of the lady’s husband.

  Here in London, he was walking a much finer line between husband and wife, but Lady Passmore had been so delighted with the results of her innocent flirtation with Avery that she’d advised Mimi to contact him about a similar ‘arrangement’ to see if it worked on her dilettante husband, too.

  And he was happy to oblige, as long as Mimi shopped in the places he recommended and did not expect him to come to her bed, since socially that would put him beyond the pale.

  ‘I prefer the blue.’ He’d picked out the fabric because he had known that it suited her perfectly.

  Mimi frowned at herself draped in the material in the looking glass. ‘Why?’

  He gazed at her silently.

  She glanced over at him and gave a trill of laughter. ‘Really, Ave, darling. Please explain.’ Again, she fluttered her lashes.

  Unfortunately, Mimi’s girlish tricks were a little too cloying for his taste. He much preferred the stern looks he encountered in a certain millinery shop. And the very rare smile he was able to coax from its owner.

  Madame Grace, the dressmaker, pursed her lips as if trying to hold back words.

  Avery had no trouble interpreting that look of disapproval. Madame Grace knew that this lady was married to someone else. The dressmaker likely thought he was a libertine, if not something worse, but that was because she did not understand that his goal was to bring the lady’s errant husband home to her side, not drive a wedge between the couple. If Mimi’s husband did not show up in a day or two, the man didn’t deserve his wife. But he would since he did not yet have his heir and his spare. He certainly would not want another man poaching on his turf, at least until that duty was completed. And knowing the minds of men, it would be a long time before her husband strayed again.

  While Madame Grace might pout about giving him his cut of what Mimi spent in her shop, she knew where her best interests lay. Why should he not be paid for the extra business he brought her way?

  Not that these arrangements brought him a huge income. They merely helped augment his winnings at the table.

  Avery leaned back in his chair in the fitting room at the back of Grace’s shop and smiled lazily at the woman staring at her image. ‘Because that blue shade brings out the colour of your eyes, my dear, and the lustre of your skin. The rose colour you have there does not complement, rather it shouts your best features down.’

  Her lips formed an O of surprise. Again, she peered into the mirror and turned this way and that. ‘How clever you are, Ave.’ She turned to the dressmaker. ‘Let me see the first one again?’

  Madame Grace swathed her in the pale blue fabric, pleating it artfully so it displayed well.

  Mimi nodded slowly. ‘I see what you mean. I’ll take it.’

  Behind her, the dressmaker heaved a sigh of relief and Avery knew exactly how she felt. Sometimes ladies spent hours looking in the mirror and bought nothing. But Madame Grace should know better than to worry about one of Avery’s ladies. They never left her establishment without placing an order.

  Oddly, he used to enjoy accompanying a woman shopping, but more recently it had simply become a chore. He gave Mimi a broad grin of approval. ‘Where do you want to go next, Puss? Slippers?’

  Ladies loved their shoes and the cobbler made a healthy profit that he was more than happy to share with Avery.

  Mimi stroked the pale blue fabric. ‘Which bonnet would I wear with this?’

  He stilled. An array of exquisite bonnets popped into his mind. But he did not have an arrangement with Mrs Greystoke. Indeed, he’d been doing his best to ignore the fact that he had ever met the woman, because he found her far too intriguing. A distraction. Yet, despite his best efforts, he kept thinking about her smile.

  Why hadn’t he offered her the same arrangement he had with other merchants? Was he concerned about what she would think about him? Why would he even care?

  ‘Ave?’

  Mimi’s peevish tone brought him back from the recollection of a tall stern-faced woman to the dressmaker’s shop. He gritted his teeth. He hated it when Mimi called him Ave. It was presumptuous and demeaning, but she was his sister’s bread and butter and as such her irritating little foibles had to be tolerated.

  ‘Yes, Sweetling?’

  ‘I don’t have a bonnet that will go with this fabric.’ She touched the rose fabric, now discarded on the counter. ‘I do have one with pink ribbons.’

  The lady did love pink. He recalled that particular hat with an inner shudder. It was hideous. Not in the first stare of fashion either. ‘You wish to drive out in a brand new carriage dress wearing a bonnet you must have worn at least five times?’

  Mimi winced. ‘You think people would notice?’

  ‘Other ladies would certainly notice. The gentlemen would not give a fig, I suppose.’

  She grimaced. ‘But the ladies will mention it to the gentlemen and th
ey will rib George about not providing for his wife. I won’t have them belittling George.’

  Mimi was really fond of her husband in the strange way of the ton.

  ‘A bonnet it is then,’ he said. ‘I know just the place.’ He winced inwardly. He really was going to do this, then? Take her to visit Mrs Greystoke? Where he wouldn’t make a penny in commission. He must have porridge for brains. Except he wasn’t thinking with his brain if the surge of warmth in his veins at the thought of seeing her again was anything to go by. ‘Afterwards, we will see new half-boots to complete the ensemble.’ And put a few coins in his purse.

  Mimi put her arm through his. ‘Perfect.’

  Trailed by Mimi’s maid, they strolled down Bond Street, looking in shop windows until they passed a milliner’s shop. Mimi pointed at a jaunty hat with a huge feather. ‘What do you think of that one?’

  ‘It really isn’t you.’

  ‘It is all the crack. It might look better on.’

  ‘We can come back if we don’t find anything else.’

  For a moment, he thought she would refuse, but she shrugged. ‘Very well.’

  When he turned off Bond Street, she frowned. ‘Really, Avery? Where are we going?’

  ‘Not far. This shop has the best hats for really decent prices and if you purchase one, you won’t see another hat like it anywhere.’

  Her face lit up.

  Finding something unique but not outrageously priced was always the trick. There was nothing worse than arriving at a ball or a drum and discovering another lady in the exact same gown or riding Rotten Row and meeting a lady wearing the same carriage dress or hat.

  Ladies set great store by such things. Whereas most men were happy wearing black coats and buff pantaloons with the occasional idiosyncrasy of a fanciful waistcoat.

  He opened the door to Mrs Greystone’s establishment and ushered Mimi in.

  As far as he could tell not a single bonnet had been sold since his last visit two days ago.

  ‘Good morning,’ she said, eyeing him askance.

  ‘Good morning,’ Mimi said.

  A strange look passed across Mrs Greystoke’s face as she took in his companion. An expression she quickly masked with a bright smile.

  ‘This is Mrs Luttrell,’ Lord Avery said.

  Mrs Greystoke dipped a curtsy. ‘How may I be of service, madam.’

  ‘I need a hat.’

  Amusement danced in Mrs Greystoke’s dove-grey eyes. ‘Then you have come to the right place.’

  Avery felt a surge of gladness that he had brought Mimi here. He’d recognised the shadows in Mrs Greystoke’s eyes the last time he was here. Desperation. He just hadn’t wanted to acknowledge he didn’t like it. He had enough responsibilities as it was.

  Nevertheless, the idea that she was desperate had weighed on his shoulders. And he was glad he had the means to do something about it, even if it did leave him a bit short of funds.

  Mimi pulled forth the scrap of blue fabric Madame Grace had cut off the bolt. ‘This is the fabric for a new carriage dress. What do you suggest?’

  Avery wedged himself in a corner by the counter and let the two women have at it. His part would come later, when a decision was to be made. In the meantime, he could not help but compare the two women. Mimi, a sweet English rose at first glance, but with all the experience of a married woman, and Mrs Greystoke, not exactly pretty, but striking and strangely innocent.

  Greystoke. Now why did he keep thinking that name sounded familiar?

  * * *

  Lord Avery’s special lady was older than Carrie had expected and apparently a widow to boot, but pretty as a picture, nonetheless. The sort of woman she would have expected to attract him, if she was honest. Carrie helped the lady remove her hat and brought down three bonnets that she thought would suit the lady’s face and complement the fabric.

  A maid eased in through the door. Mrs Luttrell frowned. ‘Boggs, I am sorry, but you need to wait outside. There really isn’t room in here for another person.’

  The maid, who was all of eighteen, looked worried. ‘Yes, mum.’ Her accent came from the north. She started to back out.

  The sound of someone from her home county gave Carrie an odd feeling in her stomach. A bit of the same feeling of homesickness she’d experienced when she’d first arrived in London to go to school at around the same age as the maid. She’d been sent to a young ladies’ academy to acquire a bit of polish, as her father put it.

  ‘Your maid can wait in the back room,’ Carrie said. ‘This is not the best of streets for a young girl to linger on.’

  ‘Thank you, mum,’ the maid said with a look of relief.

  Mrs Luttrell gave Carrie a sharp look. ‘That is very kind of you, Mrs Greystoke. I can certainly vouch for Boggs’s honesty.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Carrie smiled kindly at the girl. ‘Perhaps you could make us all a cup of tea while you are waiting.’

  The girl beamed. ‘That I can, mum.’ She glanced at her mistress. ‘That is, if you agree, madam.’

  ‘It is a wonderful idea.’ Mrs Luttrell picked up a bonnet Carrie hadn’t suggested. ‘What about this one?’

  Carrie tried not to frown at the choice. ‘If you wish to try it on, you may, but I think you will find it hides your face and, with a pretty face like yours it would be a shame.’

  ‘Do you think so?’ She turned to Lord Avery. ‘What do you think, Ave?’

  He gave her an indulgent smile and for a moment Carrie wondered what it would be like to have a man smile at her in that warm lazy way.

  ‘I think Mrs Greystoke knows what she is about, Pet,’ he said. ‘Trust in her judgement.’

  Mrs Luttrell put the bonnet aside and picked up one of Carrie’s suggestions. ‘May I try this one first.’

  Carrie helped her put it on. She tied a neat bow and directed Mrs Luttrell’s attention to the looking glass.

  Mrs Luttrell viewed herself from various angles with pursed lips.

  Carrie held her breath. This was it. This was her chance to get this shop found by ladies of the beau monde. Oh, she could tell that Mrs Luttrell was not a diamond of the first water, or a member of any of the first families of the ton, but she wore her clothes well and other ladies would admire her, if she wore the right hat.

  After a couple of minutes, Mrs Luttrell turned to Lord Avery. ‘What do you think, Ave.’

  ‘I think you should try them all, before making up your mind. I like that one very much, but another might suit better.’

  How very odd. Most men hated shopping.

  So the lady tried on all three. When she reached the last one, Lord Avery straightened. ‘I like them all,’ he said. ‘The last two looked equally good on you, Mimi. Whichever one you pick you cannot go wrong.’

  Carrie did not agree with him. She preferred the one Mrs Luttrell had chosen to put on last. ‘The one you have on now suits you particularly well,’ she said, not wishing to argue with his lordship, but wanting the lady to make the right choice.

  Lord Avery picked up his cup and sipped at his tea. He’d put a great deal of sugar in it, Carrie had noticed.

  Mrs Luttrell turned this way and that and then also took a sip of tea. ‘I am sure I cannot decide between this one and that one.’ She pointed to the first one she had tried on.

  ‘Take them both,’ Lord Avery suggested.

  Carrie stared at him. Surely, he was jesting?

  Mrs Luttrell frowned.

  Dash it! She was going to refuse them both now. ‘Truly, the one you have on suits you best, madam. It is perfect for this time of year. I am sure you will be doing a great deal of driving out now the weather is changing for the better.’

  ‘You are right,’ the lady said.

  Carrie breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘But if I am doing a great deal of driving out...’ she tur
ned towards Lord Avery and batted her lashes ‘...then I will need more than one bonnet.’

  Lord Avery nodded. ‘I should say so.’

  ‘Then I will take them both.’

  Carrie snapped her mouth shut. Showing her surprise was not the way to do business. ‘Let me wrap them for you, while you finish your tea.’

  In short order, she had both bonnets wrapped in tissue paper and in their boxes, while Mrs Luttrell drank her tea and chatted with her companion.

  Carrie waited for them to finish their conversation. ‘Where would you like me to send the bill, Mrs Luttrell?’

  She hated the idea that she was not to be paid right away for the purchase, but it was the way the beau monde did their business. Hopefully, Lord Avery could afford such extravagance.

  ‘Send it to my husband,’ Mrs Luttrell said and handed over her card.

  Shocked, Carrie could only stare at her for a second or two.

  Mrs Luttrell didn’t seem to notice her surprise, but Lord Avery had a naughty twinkle in his eye. The wretch. He knew Carrie was shocked all the way to her toes. Her back had gone stiff and her smile had frozen solid on her lips.

  Glancing at the address, she put it in a drawer for safe keeping. As soon as they were gone she would write up the bill and have it sent round to Carlin Place. She could only hope that Mr Luttrell approved of his wife’s purchases while in the company of another man.

  More to the point, what did that make Lord Avery? Her lover? How very shocking. And disappointing...

  ‘Oh, look, Ave, darling, there is another of those pretty fans. It is similar to the one you bought for me.’

  ‘Each one is unique,’ Carrie said, aware her voice was terser than she would have liked. Was she really such a prude? It wouldn’t be the first time she had heard of a man taking an interest in another man’s wife. She had just thought it happened behind closed doors, not flaunted in the faces of respectable people.

  ‘I have received a great many compliments on it, you know.’ Mrs Luttrell stared down into the cabinet. ‘Now I can tell everyone who asks where it was bought.’ She gave Carrie a sharp look. ‘As long as there are no more exactly the same as mine.’