Mistress - Amanda Quick [31]
“It certainly will,” Iphiginia murmured. She surveyed the picture quite closely. “The room appears to contain a somewhat mixed collection of antique vases.”
“All are exact copies of antiques in the Etruscan style, madam. Exceedingly fashionable.”
Iphiginia elected not to point out that the vases were no more Etruscan in design than his paisley waistcoat. “Where do you plan to put the books?”
“The books?” Mr. Hornby looked baffled.
“It is a library, is it not?” Iphiginia said.
Hornby assumed a politely superior air. “Madam perhaps is not aware that few people of fashion actually use a library for the purpose of reading these days.”
Iphiginia concealed a smile. “Of course. I do not know what I was thinking to even mention books.”
“Quite all right, madam,” Hornby said. “It is precisely the wish to avoid such decorating mistakes that brings persons of taste to a firm such as Hornby and Smith.”
Amelia frowned. “Mr. Hornby, you are obviously not aware that Mrs. Bright is accounted an expert in matters of antique design.”
Hornby’s eyes widened. “Uh, no. No, I was not. Forgive me, madam. I had not realized.”
Iphiginia waved aside his stammered apology. “Quite all right.”
Her expertise in antiquities had been one of the most useful elements of her masquerade. Zoe had quickly fed the rumor mill with the news that the mysterious Mrs. Bright had a scholar’s knowledge of the antique style, the latest fashion in home decoration.
Iphiginia had been an immediate success at every ball, as there was no shortage of people who wanted to discuss their decorating schemes with her. Maintaining a fashionable home was as essential as being au courant in one’s dress.
Before Hornby could apologize further, the small bells over the shop door tinkled discreetly. A short round woman of middle years bustled into the showroom. She was a vision in several yards of flounced and ruffled white muslin.
Her gown was trimmed with a white spencer and she wore a massive white hat trimmed with huge white flowers. She carried a lacy white parasol and a snowy white reticule.
“Good grief,” Zoe muttered as she gazed in awe at the newcomer. “Lady Pettigrew looks like a giant snowball.”
“It is not my fault,” Iphiginia whispered.
Amelia raised a brow. “It certainly is. They are calling it the Lady Starlight fashion. Any number of ladies are determined to wear it.”
“Oh, Mrs. Bright,” Lady Pettigrew sang out. “I thought I saw your carriage in the street. How fortunate. I have been most anxious to speak to you. Do you have a moment?”
“Good morning, Lady Pettigrew.” Iphiginia had encountered the plump, vague, eccentric Lady Pettigrew at a number of social affairs. Although the woman’s husband was on Iphiginia’s list of potential blackmailers, Iphiginia was rather fond of Lady Pettigrew. “Allow me to introduce you to my friend, Lady Guthrie, and my cousin, Miss Farley.”
“Delighted.” Lady Pettigrew smiled benignly at Zoe and Amelia. “I assume you are seeking Mrs. Bright’s opinion on a matter of classical taste and fashion, Lady Guthrie? That is precisely what I wish to do.”
“As a matter of fact, I have asked Mrs. Bright to give me her advice on how to use antique vases to the best effect in my town house,” Zoe said smoothly.
Lady Pettigrew beamed enthusiastically. “It is well known that Mrs. Bright is an authority on the archaeological style. I, myself, wish to consult with her about my Temple of Vesta.”
That piqued Iphiginia’s interest. “Are you constructing an antique temple, Lady Pettigrew?”
“Actually, I already possess one,” Lady Pettigrew said, not without a touch of pride. “It is a wonderful old ruin located in a charming grove on the grounds of our country house in Hampshire.”
“How old is it?” Iphiginia asked.
“It was built about thirty years ago by Pettigrew’s father. The thing is, I am not entirely certain it is accurate in every detail. I should very much like to restore it properly.”
In spite of her more pressing concerns, Iphiginia was captivated by the prospect of examining the Pettigrew ruin. “As it happens, I made careful measurements