He shrugged. “In my experience, women are insatiable when it comes to fripperies, and if you’ll forgive me, Miss Gray, you almost ripped a pin from Mr. Calico’s coat.”
Lavinia narrowed her eyes. “I wonder if it’s better to be insatiable about money or pins,” she hurled back. “Is it better to ask for a pin, or ask for a mansion and when refused, burn it down?”
Willa blinked. Lavinia obviously knew something about Mr. Sterling that she hadn’t told her about.
With that, Lavinia turned her nose in the air and twirled, skirt flying around her ankles. She marched to the other side of the wagon where she joined Lady Biddle.
Mr. Sterling’s face was indifferent. “It seems my reputation precedes me.”
“Did you indeed burn down a building?”
“I unsuccessfully attempted to buy an estate near here. Two years later, after the mansion burned to the ground, I was offered the land. But I had nothing to do with that fire.”
“Then how did the rumor start?”
“North and I were up to no good as boys,” Mr. Sterling said, his eyes glinting with amusement. “It was the work of a moment for the locals to decide that I must have been at fault.”
“Lord Alaric was not a member of your naughty tribe?” Willa said, incredulity leaking into her voice.
“We were far more reckless than he ever was.” He hesitated. “I’m surprised that Miss Gray brought up that rumor. It wasn’t a strictly ladylike comment, was it?”
“Ladylike is a matter of tone of voice,” Willa told him. “If you had offended me, I might have mentioned a fact that I remember reading in the Times: Sterling Lace employs children, but I would say it in a pleasant tone of voice.” She met his gaze without allowing a shade of condemnation to enter her voice. “If you were to make an unkind comment about ladies’ fondness for pins, I mean.”
“Damn it, that’s—” He cut the words off. “Very kind of you to forewarn me.”
“Hopefully, we shall have no opportunity to discuss it,” Willa said. She gave him a cordial—entirely ladylike—smile and moved to Lavinia’s side.
“Thank you,” Lavinia murmured, leaning forward. “Look at these adorable baby dolls, Willa! Perhaps we should buy some. Sometimes I miss being five years old.”
A stifled noise, like a snort of laughter, came from behind them.
Just then Alaric appeared in the wagon door.
“You are right,” he said to Mr. Calico.
“Taking her, are you? I’ve grown fond of her, but it will be a pleasure to have the wagon to myself again.”
“I imagine it will be,” Alaric replied, jumping down. His hands were empty.
“By ‘her,’ do you mean Mr. Calico’s fragrant companion?” Willa inquired.
Lavinia shuddered. “The entire castle isn’t large enough to contain that stench.”
“A harsh judgment,” Alaric said. “I think she merely needs a bath and a larger box.”
He reached into his pocket and brought out a tiny creature, only half the size of his hand. It had a white fluffy tail and a black head with a stripe between its eyes.
It poked up its head and looked straight at Willa with shiny black eyes that looked like little currants.
“Yes, I’ll take her,” Alaric said to Mr. Calico. “I can’t allow her to be made into a tippet, as you bloody well knew, you old reprobate.”
“I don’t know why not,” Lady Biddle said, coming closer. “That tail would frame a lady’s face quite nicely if it grew long enough. How long will it become?”
“You might buy her as a gift,” Mr. Calico suggested to Alaric, completely ignoring Lady Biddle.
Willa tore her eyes away from the baby. “I cannot own a pet … but may I hold her?”
Alaric placed the animal into Willa’s outstretched hands, where she promptly curled her little claws around Willa’s forefinger, using it to balance herself.
“Ugh,” Lavinia said. “She reeks, Willa.”
Lady Biddle pressed a handkerchief to her mouth and backed away, suggesting that she might faint. Willa rather hoped she would, but wishes like that never seemed to come true.
She raised her cupped hands closer to her face and the animal looked back at her fearlessly. After a second, the baby stretched forward and brought her nose close to Willa’s.
“You are a darling,” Willa breathed.
“As a gift,” Alaric was saying, behind her back.
Willa and the baby looked at each other. Then, with a graceful twirl, the little animal turned and curled into a ball. Her fluffy white tail draped over Willa’s wrist and her head rested against Willa’s finger.
Her eyes closed.
“My mother is going to have spasms,” Lavinia groaned.
“I have never asked for anything,” Willa said, meeting her friend’s eyes. “Never. If Lady Gray won’t allow my American sable, I’ll set up my own establishment.”
“No, you won’t!” Lavinia retorted. She reached out one finger and drew it down the baby animal’s back. “Perhaps Lord Alaric is right and a bath will help. She is very soft.”
“What do I do now?” Willa asked. She didn’t dare move her hands.
Willa hadn’t noticed Mr. Calico retreat into his cart, but now he stepped down, carrying a basket. “This is her bed,” Mr. Calico said, “along with her favorite blanket, a list of food she likes to eat and, importantly, her soap, Miss Ffynche. Bathe her once a week and she will smell as fresh as a daisy. If you wish, you may give her a bath in chamomile in between.”
“Do you know how old she is?”
“Something over four weeks,” Mr. Calico said.
“I shall call her Sweetpea,” Willa decided.
Sweetpea opened one eye and looked at her. Then she made a chuffing noise, closed her eye, and lapsed back into slumber.
“She’s nocturnal, by rights,” Mr. Calico said. And then, to Alaric, “If you would be so kind as to inform Mr. Prism that I shall arrive at Lindow Castle in the late afternoon, I would be most grateful.”
Lavinia was holding an armful of things she wished to purchase: some French fashion plates, two books, a few lengths of sprigged muslin, and a baby doll. Her two suitors were bickering over which of them would pay her bill.
“Bloody hell,” Mr. Sterling said, handing Mr. Calico a note. “That should cover it. Can you deliver the lady’s trinkets to the castle, along with those prints?”
Mr. Calico bowed, just as Lavinia realized what had happened. “I shall pay you back,” she said to Mr. Sterling.
“As you wish,” he said, making it absolutely clear that he didn’t give a damn.
Lavinia huffed and swept past them, a suitor on each arm, toward the lane that led back to the castle.
Alaric took Sweetpea from Willa and put her into her basket, his hands so gentle that the baby animal scarcely stirred. “If you’ll allow me, I’ll carry Sweetpea, but first I must pry my aunt away from Mr. Calico’s enticing wares.”
Sure enough, Lady Knowe was adding a couple of books to a stack on the steps of the carriage.
He slung Sweetpea’s basket over his arm—and against all the laws of nature, he just looked more manly. Willa couldn’t stop herself from looking at him from head to foot, cataloguing his tousled, unpowdered hair—no wig and no hat—broad shoulders, a body made to do things.
Not just to dance.
Mr. Sterling fell in beside Willa and they wound their way up the hill in silence. Ordinarily Willa had no difficulty making small talk, but now she was at a loss. The notorious Sterling Lace Factory employed children. One child had been found dead in his factory, but likely there had been others.
So she remained silent until he said, out of the blue, “The report wasn’t true.”
Willa had been wondering whether it would be bad for Sweetpea’s fur to give her a daily chamomile bath. Chamomile was so delicate that it wouldn’t sting her eyes.
“Ah,” she said, pulling her attention back to her companion. “You are referring to the report in the Times?”
“The newspaper claimed I employed children, one of whom died on my premises. I didn’t, and I don’t. I ended the practice immediately when I bought the lace factory, and all of those children are safely housed in the country.”
Parth Sterling had the look of a soldier: dangerous, a bit wolfish around the eyes. Not a man who would bother with lies.
“All right,” she said.
Silence.
“You’re not asking me for details? For proof?”
She shook her head. “I believe you. Lavinia might be harder to convince.”
Mr. Sterling glanced ahead at the figure of her best friend. “I have no interest in convincing her.”
Right.
Alaric was wild in the way animals were wild. You could see a need in him for open windows and wide expanses. In contrast, Mr. Sterling was dangerous, like a trapped animal, a large predator.
One had to wonder what led to that hard chin and hard eyes to match. The way he carried silence with him like a weapon.
Perhaps he was interested in power, although that Times article had described the owner of Sterling Lace as one of the most powerful commoners in Britain.
Or perhaps he wanted more money, although it sounded as if he had more than one man could use.