Ann Lethbridge - A Lord For The Wallflower Widow

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 they 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.