Kitabı oku: «The Bride Trilogy», sayfa 4
Six
Amid great fanfare and household commotion, the duke’s future bride arrived. A boy from the village rushed in with the news, giving the duke and his meager staff time for last-minute preparations, his aunt to make her way to a seat in the Grand Drawing Room—and Lily time to compose herself.
She was grateful for that. She knew what would happen when Jocelyn arrived. His Grace would be stunned by the beauty of his future wife and Lily would become invisible. It was inevitable and yet just thinking about it made her ache a little inside.
Half the household hovered in the entry as the Caulfields’ fully restored, elegant black traveling coach rolled up in front of the castle. Footmen rushed down the steps to unload the carriage, a groom appeared to help the driver with the horses, and the housekeeper, Mrs. McBride, a short, stout woman with iron-gray hair, appeared in the entry to assist the guests.
The butler held open the heavy wooden door and Matilda Caulfield marched into the entry like the duchess she meant for her daughter to become. A few steps behind her, Jocelyn swept into the house.
One of the footmen stopped dead in his tracks.
The butler’s watery blue eyes focused and stared.
Dressed in an amethyst gown that matched the brilliant color of her eyes, Jocelyn was stunningly beautiful, her features perfectly symmetrical in her pale, exquisite face. Her nose was straight, her lips the shade of roses. Her thick chestnut hair, pulled back in glossy curls, nestled against her shoulders.
Perhaps she had stopped at the inn in the village to freshen and change, for her gown was the height of fashion and not the least bit wrinkled or travel-stained. High-necked and long-sleeved, it showed not the slightest glimpse of her voluptuous bosom and yet the tempting swell beneath the gleaming silk was apparent above her tiny, corseted waist.
Jocelyn spotted the duke, standing in the entry to greet her, and her eyes widened in pleasure at his tall, golden masculinity, equal and opposite to her own feminine appeal.
Lily felt a sickening lurch inside her as the duke stepped forward. He bowed slightly to Matilda Caulfield and then to Jo. “Welcome to Bransford Castle,” he said. “My aunt and I have been eagerly awaiting your arrival.”
Matilda Caulfield, tall and broad-hipped, with the same dark hair as her daughter’s but now streaked with silver, managed a pleasant nod of greeting. “As we have been eager to get here.”
Jocelyn graced him with one of her heart-stopping smiles. “Thank you for inviting us, Your Grace.”
Formal introductions were made all round. Lady Tavistock was smiling, looking pleased with the bride the late duke had chosen. All Lily wanted to do was run away.
“I am glad you arrived safely,” the duke said. “I hope your journey was not too unpleasant.”
“Not at all,” Matilda said.
“The roads were dreadful,” said Jo with an airy wave of her hand. “I told Mother we should wait another few days, give the roads a chance to dry out, but she wouldn’t listen. We suffered for it, I can tell you. Wet, cold and miserable all the way here.” She sighed dramatically. “At any rate, we are here now and that is all that matters.”
The duke’s tawny eyes assessed her. “Indeed,” was all he said. He turned to the housekeeper. “I am sure the ladies are tired from their journey. Mrs. McBride, would you please show our guests up to their rooms.”
“Certainly, Your Grace.”
The household once more scurried into action, footmen running up the stairs, hauling trunks and satchels and hatboxes, the upstairs chambermaids making a final check of the guest rooms.
“I hope you will find your accommodations satisfactory,” the duke said. “Your cousin, Miss Moran, has made every effort to make sure you are comfortable.”
Matilda tossed Lily a glance. “I am certain we will be.”
Jocelyn hurried over to Lily and took hold of her hand. “I’ve missed you, Lily. Come upstairs with me, won’t you? You can help me unpack and decide what to wear down to supper.”
Lily just nodded. Waiting for the group to follow the housekeeper up the stairs, she fell in behind the assembly making its way to the second floor. As she passed the duke, she wasn’t the least surprised to see his tawny gaze following Jocelyn’s sensuous figure up the wide carved staircase.
Her stomach quivered. Ignoring a ridiculous feeling of abandonment, she continued up the stairs behind her cousin.
That night, Lily took supper in her room. Though Jocelyn tried to coax her into joining the group in the dining room, it was time she returned to the shadows.
Matilda Caulfield did not press the issue.
“My God, man.” Sheridan Knowles stood next to Royal in the entry. Halfway up the staircase, Jocelyn made her way to her room on the second floor. Sherry had arrived unannounced, as usual, two days after the Caulfields’ arrival. Royal had introduced him to Jocelyn, who afterward excused herself and was now on her way upstairs for her afternoon nap.
Both men watched until she disappeared.
“My God.” Sherry still stared.
“You’ve already said that.” Turning, Royal walked past him down the hall into his study. Sherry followed him inside and closed the door.
“She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
Royal paused at the sideboard and poured himself a liberal shot of brandy, which seemed to be a habit these days. “She’s beautiful. I can hardly argue with that.”
He had just finished luncheon with his aunt, his future bride and her mother, an affair that seemed to have no end.
“Your father certainly came through for you.”
Royal took a swallow of his drink. “He certainly did.”
Sheridan tipped his head back, studying Royal down the length of his slightly too-long nose. “She certainly won’t be a burden to bed.”
“I’m a man. She’s an extremely beautiful woman. It will hardly be a burden.”
Sherry eyed him shrewdly. “All right, so what is it you don’t like about her?”
Royal blew out a breath, raked a hand through his dark blond hair. “Nothing. At least nothing that would keep me from marrying her. It is merely that we share very few common interests.”
“What does that have to do with anything? You will marry her, bed her and she will give you children. On top of that, you will have the luxury of making every man in London jealous of your incredibly beautiful wife. Along with that neat little package, you will also gain control of her incredible dowry and very sizable inheritance. What more could any man ask?”
He shook his head. “Nothing, I guess. Jocelyn will make the perfect duchess, just as my father said.”
Royal took another drink, set the brandy snifter down on his desk. “Apparently, she’s a very good horsewoman. After her rest, I’m showing her a bit of the estate.”
His future bride seemed to require a good deal of rest, he thought, sleeping late in the mornings, then napping half the afternoon. He tried not to think of Lily, working dawn till dusk to prepare the house for her cousins. When she wasn’t moving furniture or seeing that the rugs were beaten, she was fashioning bonnets for her wealthy clientele. He couldn’t remember Lily every complaining about being tired.
“So she likes horses, does she?”
“Apparently.”
“There—you see, you do have something in common. Tell me, how do you think she feels about you?”
How did Jocelyn feel? He wasn’t sure. His future wife wasn’t an easy person to read. Either she was good at controlling her emotions or she didn’t have any.
“I don’t know her well enough to tell. Perhaps she will open up a bit more this afternoon, when we are away from her mother.” They would be riding with a groom, of course, since neither Mrs. Caulfield nor his great-aunt Agatha could act as chaperone. He was actually looking forward to the ride, hoping he would discover something in his bride-to-be that would draw them together.
Sherry sank into one of the leather chairs in front of the fire, draped a long leg over the arm. “Well, if you decide you don’t want her, let me know. I’ll be happy to act as a substitute groom.”
Royal grunted. “I thought you wanted Lily.”
Sheridan grinned, exposing his crooked bottom teeth. “She doesn’t come with a fortune, my friend.”
Royal downed the last of his drink. “That I should marry Jocelyn and rebuild the Bransford fortune was my father’s dying wish. I promised him I would see it done and there is nothing on this earth that could stop me from keeping my word.”
Sherry rose from his chair. “Then I shall hold good thoughts for you this afternoon. May you find in your delectable companion whatever it is you seek in a suitable bride.”
Royal gave a faint nod of thanks, knowing Sherry meant every word. He was a man whose friendship Royal valued greatly.
“I suppose I had better go out to the stable and find the lady a suitable mount. Thank God my father didn’t sell all of his blooded horses.”
“One last piece of advice?” Sherry offered, not really seeking his permission. “Kiss the lady. That ought to give you some idea of how the woman feels.”
Royal smiled. It wasn’t a bad idea. As Sherry followed him out of the study, Royal thought that for once he might actually heed his friend’s advice.
“Help me with the buttons, will you, Lily?” Jocelyn presented her back then stood impatiently as her cousin buttoned her sapphire velvet riding habit. It was cut in the military fashion, with rows of small brass buttons marching up the front. Jocelyn had only just received it, along with her latest order from the modiste. Lily had fashioned the matching miniature top hat, which Jocelyn thought complemented the outfit quite nicely.
She settled it at a jaunty angle on top of her head, pinned it in place and pulled the tiny scrap of veil down just enough to cover her forehead.
“How do I look?” She turned to give Lily a better view.
“Hold still.” Lily walked over and shoved a pin into Jocelyn’s hair, fastening a stray curl in place, then stepped back to assess her. “You look perfect. The duke will not be able to take his eyes off you.”
Jocelyn frowned. “Do you think he is truly pleased with me? It is difficult to tell how he feels.”
“The man is a duke. He is trained not to show his emotions. I am sure that is all it is. This afternoon, he will have you mostly to himself. Perhaps he will let down his guard a bit.”
Jocelyn certainly hoped so. She had been sure the duke would be far more impressed with her than he seemed to be. He hadn’t made one comment about her beauty, as most men did. In fact, he seemed to have only marginal interest in spending time with her.
Perhaps he was simply busy with his affairs. His estate was vast. There was surely a good deal to do to keep it running smoothly. Today would be different, she told herself.
“Have a nice time,” Lily said as Jocelyn made her way toward the door.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?”
“You know I don’t ride very well. Besides, this is your chance to get to know him.”
Jocelyn nodded. She was looking forward to the afternoon, of course, but there was something about the duke that made her nervous. She flirted and teased as she usually did, but he seemed to pay little attention. At luncheon she had told a very funny story about a house party she had attended where one of the chambermaids took a tumble down an entire flight of stairs and landed in front of very proper Sir Edward Marley.
Instead of appreciating her humorous tale, the duke had asked if the woman had been seriously injured.
“I was trying so hard not to laugh I didn’t notice,” she had replied. The duke made no comment.
He was waiting for her in the entry, she saw as she descended the stairs. He was certainly handsome enough, dark blond and fair and amazingly masculine, considering the beauty of his face.
“The horses are waiting out front. I’ve chosen a gelding named Vesuvius I thought you might like. He is spirited, but not difficult to handle.”
“I’m sure I shall enjoy the ride.”
They descended the wide stone steps to where a groom waited with the horses, one a tall bay gelding with a white patch on his forehead, the other a magnificent gray stallion. Ignoring the bay, she walked straight to the stallion.
“I think I would rather ride this one. What is his name?”
The duke’s dark blond eyebrows drew together. “His name is Jupiter. The gelding is wearing the sidesaddle.”
“Surely it would be easy enough to change.”
He hesitated only a moment, then motioned to the groom, who rushed forward. In just a few minutes, the saddles were exchanged. The duke lifted her onto the gray, then went to the gelding and swung up on its back. A short while later, they were trotting along the drive, heading off toward the fields, the groom following along behind them.
Jocelyn rode a little ahead, saw an open field and kicked the stallion into a gallop. Following, the duke urged his mount forward and caught up to her easily. Laughing, she urged the stallion faster. He was a magnificent beast, clearly capable of handling the terrain. She spotted a low stone hedge, and the stallion took it easily, landing neatly on the opposite side. She could hear the duke behind her.
“Miss Caulfield, wait!”
Jo nudged the stallion even faster, aiming at a hedge off to the right.
“Miss Caulfield—Jocelyn, wait!”
Jo laughed and neatly clipped the hedge, landing perfectly on the opposite side. Unfortunately, in a shady spot some of the snow had melted into a puddle she hadn’t seen. The horse hit the mud and nearly went down. Jocelyn kept her seat, but just barely, and she was furious that the animal had made her look bad in front of the duke.
He caught up with her just as she raised the crop to slam it against the horse’s flanks, reached over and jerked it out of her hand.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked sharply.
“The stupid horse missed my command. You saw him! He nearly unseated me.”
“I tried to warn you. The fields are wet. You were riding too fast. It’s a wonder you both didn’t go down. It’s a miracle you weren’t injured.”
“It was the horse, I tell you. If he had obeyed my command—”
He seemed to be drawing on his self-control. His jaw looked hard, but his words came out softly. “Why don’t we ride south. You can see a bit of the forest. There’ll be snow left on the branches. It’s beautiful this time of year.”
Jocelyn sniffed, placated but barely. She could have been injured. The duke should have taken her side, should have whipped the blasted horse for not obeying her command.
She looked up at him, sitting on the bay, tall and broad-shouldered, unbelievably handsome. She supposed she could forgive him. He was going to be her husband, after all.
“I believe we have lost our chaperone,” she said, glancing around, but seeing no sign of the groom.
“He’ll find us. He knows where we’re going.”
But Jocelyn was glad he was gone. She wanted a little time alone with the duke. When he reached the forest and suggested they walk for a bit, she readily agreed. The duke tied the horses, lifted her out of the saddle, then took her hand and led her down to a small, bubbling stream.
He stopped at the edge of the water, looked out over the landscape, a very blue sky over rolling hills that held the last traces of snow.
Jocelyn’s gaze followed his. “It’s lovely, Your Grace.”
“I would like it if you called me Royal—at least when we are alone. May I call you Jocelyn?”
She smiled. “I would like that very much.”
His gaze roamed over the countryside. “This land means a great deal to me. Once the house is refurbished, do you think you could be happy here?”
She returned her attention to the winter-barren fields stretching as far as she could see and thought how bleak it was. Pretty, in a barren, empty sort of way, but life in the country simply wasn’t for her. “I presume we will also be spending time in London.”
“If that is your wish.”
She smiled with relief, thinking that once they were married, a brief, once-a-year trip to the country would be more than sufficient. “Then of course I could be happy.”
Royal reached for her and she didn’t stop him when he drew her into his arms. She closed her eyes as he bent his head and kissed her. It was a soft, gentle meeting of lips, a respectable kiss until she opened for him. Royal hesitated only a moment, then deepened the kiss, tasting her more fully, letting her taste him.
He was good at kissing, she thought in some far corner of her mind, his lips soft yet firm, moist but not sloppy. Once they were married, allowing him his husbandly rights would not be a difficult thing.
Royal was the first to end the embrace. He looked up, saw his groom riding over the top of a distant hill. “I think it’s time we returned to the house.”
Jocelyn glanced over his shoulder and saw their chaperone approaching. “Of course.”
He helped her remount, setting her easily in the sidesaddle, then swung up on the back of the bay.
They rode in silence to the front of the castle and a groom rushed forward to take the reins. Royal lifted her down and they climbed the front stairs together. The butler opened the door and they walked into the entry.
Jocelyn spotted her cousin coming down the stairs. “Lily!” she called out to her, catching her by surprise. “Where are you headed in such a hurry?”
Lily turned. “I was just collecting a bit more trim for the hats I am sewing. How … how was your ride?”
“Lovely.” Jocelyn thought of the kiss they had shared and beamed up at Royal with a hint of mischief in her eyes. “Quite lovely, wasn’t it, Your Grace?”
But he seemed not to hear her. His entire attention was focused on the woman at the foot of the stairs—her cousin, Lily Moran.
Seven
“All right, Lily—” Jocelyn paced back and forth across the Aubusson carpet of the duchess’s suite. “I want to know exactly what went on between you and the duke before Mother and I arrived.”
Lily just stood there, her insides humming with nerves. “I can’t imagine what you are talking about. Nothing the least untoward went on with His Grace. Mostly, I worked all day trying to make things right for you and your mother. The duke was polite to me, but that is all.” Unfortunately, she thought with a twinge of guilt.
Jocelyn eyed her sharply. “Are you sure, Lily? You certainly seemed to grab his attention when we walked into the house.”
Lily worked to keep her mind from straying to that one single moment, that beautiful instant when the duke’s gaze seemed focused entirely on her and for once Jocelyn was the one who was invisible.
It couldn’t have meant anything. It was merely a trick of the mind.
“You are completely mistaken, Jo. Since when has a man ever given me the slightest glance after he has been introduced to you?”
Jocelyn flopped down on the bed and gave up a little sigh, mollified a bit at the truth of Lily’s words. “He kissed me this afternoon.”
Lily’s stomach tightened. “Did he?”
“He’s a very good kisser. I would rate him a nine out of ten.”
Jo had a kissing scale? Lily knew her cousin had kissed a number of gentlemen, but she hadn’t realized each of them was being rated. “Have you ever kissed a ten?” she asked.
Jo rolled onto her back and gazed up at the green silk canopy above the bed. “Only one. Christopher Barclay. You remember him, don’t you? He’s the fourth son of some obscure baron. He’s a barrister—young, though, not old. We danced at the Earl of Montmart’s ball and later we walked in the garden. Christopher kissed me. I should have slapped him, I suppose, but his kiss was definitely a ten.”
Perhaps that was so, but Lily couldn’t help thinking that if Royal Dewar ever kissed her, it would also be a ten.
Royal. She had never said his name aloud, but lately she had begun to think of him that way, as Royal, instead of His Grace or the duke. It was dangerous, she knew, but she couldn’t seem to help herself.
“So how was your ride?” she asked. “Aside from the kiss, I mean.”
Jocelyn’s lips thinned. “His bloody horse nearly threw me—that’s how it was. I couldn’t believe it. And he didn’t do anything about it.”
“What did you expect him to do?”
“It was the horse’s fault. I expected him to do something.”
Lily ignored the outburst. Jo rarely took the blame for anything that happened. Lily wasn’t surprised she would blame the horse. “Did you talk about anything interesting?”
Jocelyn shrugged. “He asked me if I could be happy here. I said that I could—as long as we also spent time in London.”
Lily thought of the lovely rolling fields, the yew forests and the stream that trickled along the edge of the garden. There was nothing she would like more than to live out here in the country. “I wonder when he’ll ask you to marry him.”
“Soon, I imagine. We’ll only be staying a week, perhaps less. Mother and I decided a shorter visit would be better. She thinks a six-month engagement will be long enough to make all of the arrangements for the wedding. I’m sure the duke will make a formal proposal before we leave for home.”
“You don’t sound terribly excited.”
“Oh, I will be—once our engagement is officially announced.” Lying on the bed, she scooted back until her shoulders rested against the elaborately carved wooden headboard. “Can you imagine what people will say? I shall be the envy of every woman in London.”
“That is certainly true enough, but have you given any thought to your feelings for the duke? Aren’t you the least concerned that you might not love him?”
Jo laughed. “Don’t be silly. I don’t believe in love. Besides, once I give him an heir, I can take a lover if I wish. I can choose whomever I want and perhaps I will fall in love with him.”
It seemed so coldhearted. Lily sank onto the stool in front of the dresser. “You can’t really mean that.”
“Oh, but I do. That is the way it works, cousin, in marriages that are arranged.”
Lily swallowed. “I see.” But she didn’t really see at all. She only saw that Royal would be marrying a woman who didn’t love him and had no intention of being faithful. The sick feeling returned to her stomach.
Royal headed down the hall and walked into his study. A man stood in front of his desk. He turned at the sound of Royal’s footfalls—medium height, a solid build, jet-black hair and hard, carved features.
“I presume you are Chase Morgan,” Royal said, speaking of the man he had hired to find out exactly what had happened to the Bransford fortune.
Morgan made a slight bow of his head. “At your service, Your Grace.”
“Have a seat.” Royal sat down behind his desk and the investigator sat down across from him. “You’ve brought news, I take it.”
“Indeed, very interesting news. I thought it might be more productive if we could discuss the matter face-to-face rather than trying to communicate by letter.”
“I appreciate that. So what have you discovered?”
Chase rose from the chair and retrieved a leather satchel Royal hadn’t noticed before. He set it on top of the desk. “May I?”
“Of course.”
The investigator opened the case, pulled out a sheaf of papers and spread them on the desk in front of him. “Each of these pages represents a company in which your father invested. There are millworks, railroads, shipping lines and various trading commodities.”
Royal grunted. “None of which managed to earn a shilling in return.”
“Exactly so.” Morgan singled out one of the papers and slid it in front of Royal. “The interesting thing isn’t so much which companies your father chose to invest in, it is who owned these supposed companies.”
Royal arched a brow. “Supposed?”
“That’s right. None remained in business for more than six months. Most were closed down sooner than that—if they were ever more than merely accounts on paper.”
“You are saying they were fraudulent?”
“That is the way it appears.”
His mind ran over the implications. “But you don’t know for certain.”
“Not yet.”
He tapped the paper. “How do we find out?”
Morgan pointed down at the paper. “We need to investigate the people listed as owners of these businesses—the Southward Mill, for instance, and the Randsburg Coal Mining Company. There are also corporations named that supposedly own shares in these businesses, which means we need to find out who owns those corporations, as well. I was hoping you might recognize some of the names, be able to tell me something we could use.”
Royal sat there a moment, trying to absorb the news as he scanned the list on the page. He reached for another sheet, and another, and finally shook his head. “I am sorry. I don’t recognize any of these names.”
“I didn’t really think you would, but it was worth a try.” Morgan sat forward in his chair. “What I need to know is how far you want me to take this?”
Royal tapped the paper. “If these investments were shams, then someone or several someones took advantage of my father in his weakened mental condition. I want to know who these men are.”
Morgan nodded. “All right. It may take some time, but sooner or later, I’ll find out who brought these investments to your father’s attention. There may be any number, but more likely just a greedy few who saw a golden opportunity and seized it.”
Royal stood up from his chair. “I want those names, Morgan. Do what it takes to find them.”
The investigator stood up as well, an imposing figure with his whipcord-lean body and thick black hair. “I’ll send word as soon as I have further news.”
Royal walked the man to the door of the study then watched him disappear down the hall. He’d had his suspicions that perhaps his father had been duped, but until today he hadn’t been sure.
Unconsciously, his jaw hardened. He would find out who was responsible for the terrible losses his family had suffered. The question then would become—what should he do?
Jocelyn sat in the Blue Drawing Room taking tea with her mother and the Dowager Countess of Tavistock. She would rather have been shopping or perhaps gossiping with some of the young women in her social circle about the ball last night at the Earl of Severn’s town mansion, which she had been forced to miss. But after she became a duchess, she could do whatever she pleased.
She nodded at something the dowager said, though she wasn’t paying all that much attention. She wished the duke would make an appearance. Plying her charms on a handsome man was always entertaining. Perhaps he would rescue her from the tedious afternoon.
She took a sip of tea from her gold-rimmed porcelain cup, thinking that at least she was enjoying the chance to wear her new striped-mauve silk gown. It was a lovely dress, the skirt fashioned of deep flounces edged with mauve velvet ribbon. She started at the mention of her name and realized the countess was addressing her.
“I’m sorry, my lady, I must have been woolgathering. What did you say?”
“I said my invitation to tea extended to your cousin, Miss Moran. I expected she would be joining us. She isn’t ill, is she?”
Jocelyn waved a hand. “Of course not—Lily is almost never sick. She is merely busy making her silly hats. Mother thought it best to leave her to it.”
One of the dowager’s silver eyebrows went up. “Miss Moran makes hats?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” Mother set her teacup down a little too firmly, rattling the porcelain against the saucer. “I am embarrassed to say our dear cousin has ambitions of one day owning a millinery shop. I vow, I have never heard the like. I told her it simply wasn’t done.”
“What sort of hats does she make?” the dowager continued as if the topic was actually of some importance.
“Why, all sorts of hats, ma’am,” Jocelyn answered. “In fact, Lily made the velvet cap I am wearing this afternoon.” She turned her head to show off the lovely mauve creation with its clusters of velvet ribbons that matched her outfit.
The countess looked intrigued. “Why, it’s lovely. You say she is making hats at this very moment?”
Jocelyn nodded. “In a room somewhere down the hall. She sews hats every afternoon.”
The dowager slowly rose to her feet. With a knobby hand, she reached for her cane and used it to steady herself. “I love hats. I believe I should like to see your cousin’s handiwork.”
Her mother’s mouth thinned. Jocelyn merely followed as the old woman made her way slowly down the hall.
“The Daffodil Room, I believe it’s called,” Jocelyn said. “I think it is at the back of the house.”
“I know the room. It has a lovely view of the garden.”
A garden that needed a good deal of work, Jocelyn thought. She would hire the best landscape designer in England to modernize the pathways and replace the plants and bring the overgrown mess back into vogue.
The countess paused outside the door to the drawing room, peered in, then walked inside. “So this is what kept you from taking tea with us.” She gestured toward the swatches of cloth, ribbons, lace and imitation flowers stacked on the tables and strewn over the backs of the chairs.
Lily shot to her feet, dumping the bonnet in her lap to the floor. She bent and quickly retrieved it. “My lady. I didn’t realize you expected me to come. I apologize.”
The old woman flicked Mother a glance. “It’s all right, my dear. Now, tell me what you are doing with all of this frippery.”
“Making hats, my lady. It is … sort of a hobby of mine.”
“Hobby or business?”
Lily glanced at Jocelyn, clearly not wanting to embarrass her.
“The truth, young lady.”
“Making hats is my business, Lady Tavistock. I have a number of clients who purchase my designs. I hope to own my own shop one day.”
“So I’ve been told.” The countess strolled about the drawing room, using her cane only occasionally. There was a row of finished hats up on the mantel: a dress cap of pearl-gray silk trimmed with moss-green velvet leaves, a headdress of lace and violet ribbons, a leghorn hat with a cap of blond lace.
