“Girls!” Mrs. Hunter called from below, ringing the brass bell that was always within her reach. “Put on your best faces. Lady Binghamton is here. Make sure you tell her how much we appreciate her patronage, but don’t mention a single word about Tuttle’s Registry down the street. Not. A. Word.”
“Yes, Mrs. Hunter,” Frances and Kaye said in unison, which brought a grin to both of them. Mrs. Hunter had been quite prickly since the other agency had opened a month ago.
Kaye drew in a breath and lifted her eyes to the low, sloped ceiling. “Is my best face on straight? I do hate when I put it on crookedly.”
“Then you’d better tuck your smirk in your pocket.” Frances laughed, earning a slight pinch from Kaye before she turned and headed downstairs.
It wasn’t until her friend disappeared that Frances realized she was still holding the scandalous booklet. She couldn’t possibly greet Lady Binghamton or Mrs. Hunter with this on her person. Looking around for a place to hide it, she went to the window where the sash was pulled up just enough to leave a finger-sized gap. Or a booklet-sized gap.
Standing there, her gaze drifted down to the street again. Lady Binghamton was stepping onto the pavement, her charge hovering close to her side. They were of the same build, both slender and petite. The younger woman’s face, however, was hidden by a long-brimmed straw bonnet, like a horse wearing blinders. This was, perhaps, why she did not see the boy bounding toward her until it was too late. Jostled by the lad, the young woman spun directly into her ladyship’s path. Lady Binghamton’s black embroidered shawl went awry, slipping from her shoulders and heading straight for the gutter.
And down into the gutter it would have gone too, if not for the sudden, gallant rescue by a gentleman in a gray tailcoat and top hat.
The gentleman had appeared out of nowhere. With an elegant sweep of his arm, he snatched the shawl from certain destruction. Her ladyship turned, her hand to her mouth. The man bowed at the waist, presenting the wayward silk like a knight in shining armor asking for his lady to wear his colors.
Frances held her breath, watching the scene unfold with avid interest. Was it possible that the ideal man truly might exist?
Just then, a breeze blew, disturbing the tails of his coat. The ends parted, one draping across his back and exposing his perfectly formed backside.
Frances craned her neck. The same breeze also dislodged his hat, forcing him to bend further, extending a rather muscular leg behind him. She swallowed. A pulse fluttered at the side of her throat. The midday sun seemed suddenly alive in her very own stomach, heating her to impossible degrees.
He must be very handsome, she thought, because even Lady Binghamton smiled at him.
Donning his hat, the gentleman straightened. The tails of his coat—unfortunately—fell back into place. Then, he proffered his arm and gestured to the door of Mrs. Hunter’s.
He’s offering to escort them inside this very shop! Frances quickly realized that she was standing one floor too far away. Without delay or checking to see if her best face was on—because, in truth, she only had the one—she made haste down the stairs.
“Come, come, Miss Thorne,” Mrs. Hunter said with a hurried wave of her hand. “Stand beside Miss North. There. Oh, your cheeks are flushed. We do not want to appear sickly to Lady Binghamton.”
“I’m certain it was merely the sun in the window upstairs. I’ll be sure to open the sash at the back of the shop to make the room more comfortable for her ladyship.” Frances glanced to the door, her breath coming up short, her lungs tightening in anticipation.
“What is that in your hand?” Mrs. Hunter tugged on the booklet. Kaye issued a mew of distress.
Oh dear! Frances had forgotten to leave the booklet behind. Thinking fast, she tugged back and slipped the booklet up her sleeve in a flash. “Merely a fan. Nothing more.”
Beneath a curly silvery wig, Mrs. Hunter’s painted eyebrows puckered. The plump flesh of her cheeks drew together like a snag in a stocking as she pursed her lips. “You are paid to be on your best behavior always, Miss Thorne.”
“I have not forgotten, Mrs. Hunter.”
Thankfully, Frances was saved any further reprimand when the door opened.
Lady Binghamton entered, followed by the young woman with the long-brimmed bonnet. The gentleman stood in the shadow beneath a scalloped-shaped awning and held the door. It took all of Frances’s training on societal politesse not to give him her attention. Instead, she offered a demure curtsy to her ladyship and bid her good afternoon.
“Mrs. Hunter,” Lady Binghamton began, her tone firm and clipped, her mouth set in a grim, permanent frown. “I have a request for your services. The matter is of some urgency.”