A Lady Never Tells(58)

A woman with deep auburn hair swept into the room on the heels of the butler. She wore a walking dress of emerald green, and a black velvet heart-shaped bonnet framed her face, dipping romantically in the center almost to her forehead and lushly lined with pleated silk. A feather of the same vivid green curled across the middle of the hat from the back. On any other woman, the dramatic bonnet might have stolen the viewer’s eye, but on this woman it served merely as a backdrop to one of the most beautiful faces Mary had ever seen.

Vivian Carlyle’s eyes were large and wide-set in a perfectly proportioned face, and they were of a shade of green as arresting as her dress. There were those who said (though never in public) that Lady Vivian’s mouth was a trifle too large and her jaw a bit too strong for true beauty, but such minor imperfections were not noticeable to Mary and her sisters. Nor were they, as some genteel people were, put off by the woman’s open, candid gaze and air of confidence.

“Hallo, Stewkesbury, don’t look so nervous,” Lady Vivian said, offering her hand to the earl in response to his bow. “I shan’t be here long. We have a day’s worth of shopping ahead of—” She glanced down and saw the dog, which had risen and padded along after the earl and now stood gazing up at Vivian with interest. “Good Lord. Oliver, is that your dog?”

The earl glanced down at Pirate. “I am beginning to think so.”

“Well.” Vivian looked from Oliver to the dog and back again. “Clearly you must have hidden depths.”

The earl cocked a sardonic eyebrow at her. “If they are represented by that dog, I dread to think what they might be.”

Vivian laughed and turned to greet Charlotte and Fitz. Last, she went to Mary and her sisters, holding out her hand and saying, “And you must be the Bascombes. Charlotte has told me so much about you. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Charlotte introduced each of the sisters to Lady Vivian. After a few moments of polite chitchat, the women bade good-bye to Fitz and the earl and left on their mission. Lady Vivian’s smart hunter-green barouche waited in front of the house, drawn by four matched grays, its leather top folded back to allow the ladies to see and be seen. A liveried footman jumped forward to fold down the step and hand the women up into the vehicle. It was a bit of a squeeze, but fortunately the barouche was roomy as well as luxurious, and the women were slender.

“Now,” Charlotte said as the carriage rolled away from the curb, “you must tell me about this dog and how he came to be following Stewkesbury about.”

“Yes, do,” Lady Vivian urged. “I was never so surprised as I was to see the earl with that, that …” Words apparently failed her, and she had to laugh.

Lily, by consensus the best storyteller, began to relate their experiences with the coachman, the dog, and the Honorable Mr. Pinkley Fanshaw. By the time they reached New Bond Street, Vivian and Charlotte were laughing so hard they cried.

“Oh my.” Charlotte dabbed her handkerchief to her eyes. “What I wouldn’t have given to have seen that man whirling about with the dog hanging on to his coattails!”

“Do you know Fanshaw?” Vivian asked.

“No, do you?”

“A little. If you knew him, you would be even more delighted at the thought of his dance with Pirate. He’s a terrible fop; no absurdity is too outrageous for him.”#p#分页标题#e#

“He sounds like Cousin Gordon,” Charlotte commented.

“Worse. At least Gordon Harrington has the excuse of being eighteen years old. Fanshaw is approaching forty and still has the sense of a goose.”

The barouche pulled to a stop, and the footman sprang down from his seat to assist them out. Mary followed the others, glancing around at the busy commercial area. As far as the eye could see, there were shops on either side of the street.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“Grafton House first,” Charlotte replied. “One has to get here before eleven or it’s horridly crowded; one can hardly find a shop assistant to help.”

Such was not the case now, Mary saw. Although there were more customers inside than she had ever seen in a store before, a clerk was immediately by their side, bowing and offering his assistance. Mary had the suspicion that even had they come at the height of the day’s business, someone would have rushed forward to help Lady Vivian.

Neither Mary nor her sisters paid any attention to the shop assistant, however, for they were gazing about them in wonder. On every side were row upon row of bolts of cloth, some rolled up and set in large shelves, others standing on cabinets or atop the shelves, the material hanging off them in a luxurious fall of color. Even in Philadelphia, Mary had not seen so large a store devoted almost entirely to fabrics. On wooden counters that ran down either side of the store, clerks rolled out bolts of cloth to show their customers or to measure and cut lengths. Most of the customers strolled about, gazing at the materials, or stood at the counters, but the assistant whisked out stools for Vivian and Charlotte, settling them at one counter and eagerly fetching down whatever cloth they wished to examine.