Silk Is For Seduction - Loretta Chase [59]
On Tuesday night, Mrs. Downes met with the seamstress at the usual time at the usual place.
The seamstress gave her a pattern she’d copied.
“That’s all?” Mrs. Downes said. “You promised me a book of patterns, with details.”
“And you’ll get it,” the seamstress said. “But they were in an uproar over that green dress of Lady Renfrew’s, and then we were run ragged, fetching this and that for all the ladies coming to look at the dress Mrs. Noirot wore to that ball.”
Mrs. Downes knew about the poussière dress, and the excitement it had stirred among the ladies. Her own customers had been talking about it, right in front of her!
But worse even than this indignity was the news of the Duke of Clevedon taking Lady Clara Fairfax to the accursed shop.
“I want those patterns,” she said. “And you’d better get them soon.”
“I’d better!” the seamstress said. “Or else what? I’m the one doing your dirty work.”
“And I’m the one losing customers to that French whore. If you can’t do what you promised, I’ll tell her how you came to me and offered to spy for me. Then you’ll be out on the street. There won’t be any fifty pounds. I will give you something, though, like your mistress will: a bad name. And you won’t ever get work in any respectable shop again.”
On Wednesday night, the Duke of Clevedon was among the last to arrive at the Earl of Westmoreland’s assembly. Had he tried to enter Almack’s at that hour, he’d have found the doors firmly shut. But Almack’s weekly assemblies had not yet begun, and in spite of this being a much livelier gathering, he danced only once with Lady Clara, then adjourned to the card room for the remainder of the evening.
On Thursday, he spent a quarter hour at the Countess of Eddingham’s rout before departing for White’s Club, where he played cards until dawn.
On Friday, he dined at Warford House. That night he couldn’t escape to play cards. Instead, he pretended to enjoy himself, though it was clear as clear to Clara that he couldn’t wait for the evening to be over.
He wasn’t unkind to her. He hadn’t said a cross word to her since Tuesday. But he was remote and unhappy, and she’d heard he was losing shocking amounts at cards. Even allowing for the usual gossipy exaggerations, he was playing more recklessly than was his custom.
Then, on Saturday, at a ball, Lady Gorrell, pretending not to see Clara standing well within hearing range, described in lurid detail the contents of the letter she’d received that day from her sister-in-law in Paris.
Monday
Two sharp knocks at the closed shop door startled the Noirot sisters. It was scarcely nine o’clock in the morning, and while they and their seamstresses usually toiled from nine to nine, the shop itself usually did not open until late in the forenoon. There wasn’t much point in opening the showroom early when few of their customers rose before noon.
The question was whether they’d have any more customers. If they didn’t stop their traitor soon, they wouldn’t have a shop to open.
While Leonie had her suspicions, so far they hadn’t any proof, and various ruses had failed. Early this morning they’d set a trap. If this one worked, they’d discover the culprit by tomorrow. Meanwhile, they could only wait, and seethe, and go about their business in the usual way.
At present that meant Marcelline, Sophy, and Leonie were arranging shawls and lengths of fabric upon the counters in a seemingly careless array meant to entice.
Early hour or not, business was business, and one must put a cheerful face on it.
Leonie went to the door and opened it.
Lady Clara Fairfax, red-faced, sailed over the threshold, a square-jawed maid following close behind. Ignoring Leonie’s greeting, her ladyship made straight for Marcelline. Gliding toward her with a smooth greeting and a smoother curtsey, Marcelline asked in what way she might serve her ladyship.
“You might serve me by telling me the truth,” Lady Clara said. “On Saturday night, I overheard a most astonishing tale—one I could hardly credit—”
She broke off, belatedly remembering the servant at hand. “Davis, wait in the