unlike generations of true-blood Kelbys, had no appreciable trace of magpie within her, was impressed. He pointed to a velvet-lined tray. “You should buy some hatpins here. I hear they come in handy to repel unwelcome advances from bad men. Speaking of which, what about the villain David? How am I to convince him of my scholarship?”
Maris wished she’d had a dozen hatpins to repel David Kelby five years ago. But they wouldn’t have been enough. The truth was, she hadn’t wanted to repel him, idiot that she was. “He does not live at Kelby Hall. But he does visit when he wants something, which is much too often. You’ll have to be on guard against him.” She turned away from a lacework butterfly with reluctance.
“Did he serve?”
“What? Oh, you mean in the army? Oh, heavens no. He’s much too in love with himself to get in harm’s way.” Maris tried to imagine David killing anyone with a weapon other than his vicious tongue and came up short. Henry believed his nephew was the cause of Jane’s death, but David would never bestir himself to actually put his hands around someone’s throat. He would somehow convince his enemies to strangle themselves.
Well, that wouldn’t work, would it? Once one was deprived of oxygen to the brain, one’s hands would drop and—
Oh, good grief. Where was her mind taking her? Captain Reynold Durant unsettled her even as he continued to steer her down the fashionable side street.
“Here we are. I told you it wasn’t far.” He opened the door, and a delicate bell above tinkled. The shop was empty, thank goodness, because the vexing man was still at her side. No gentleman accompanied a lady to a dress shop unless he was her protector or her husband. Surely he was aware of that.
“Thank you, Captain. You may leave us now.” Maris hoped the chill in her voice was clear enough.
“What, and deprive myself of all the fun? Come in, come in—what is your maid’s name, Lady Kelby?”
Maris was too shocked to speak.
“Betsy, sir,” her maid supplied unhelpfully. If she was worth a fraction of what Henry paid her, she’d push Captain Durant out the door to protect her mistress. But alas, Betsy had a moonstruck expression on her face as she took in the blackguard’s impressive physique and dashing smile.
“Don’t worry about indiscretion, ladies. Madame Bernard has a back room for her best patrons, which you are about to be. I’ll just tuck myself in a corner and offer some advice. Ah, Fleur, ma cher! Here you are. See whom I’ve brought. The Countess of Kelby who is in desperate—one might even say dire—need of you.”
The bell had summoned a large, forbidding Frenchwoman who looked like no one’s “cher,” or much of a flower, for that matter. Her hair and eyes were iron-gray and the rest of her resembled a battleship ready to launch a hundred deadly cannon balls. She glanced at Maris with disapproval.
“Pah. I do not believe this drab could be the Countess of Kelby. I do not dress your loose women on credit, Reyn, so turn about and try to charm another hapless modiste.”
“On my honor, Fleur. You must apologize at once.”
Maris started at Captain Durant’s blistering tone. He had been the epitome of lazy, careless charm since she bumped into him on the street, but he was suddenly rather frightening. Those black eyebrows!
Oh, what if her baby inherited those eyebrows? She’d have to get a special brush.
Fleur Bernard dropped to so deep a curtsey Maris worried if the older woman could rise up again. “Pardon, your ladyship. This coxcomb is ever one for playing tricks upon me. He and his army friends—well, I shall spare you the tales. You are a most respectable woman, yes? I am covered in shame. Please forgive me.”
Not having been born to the peerage, Maris had always felt uncomfortable when a fuss was made over her rank. She thought of herself as her husband’s secretary first and his countess much further down the list. “It’s . . . it’s all right. Please do get up.”
Reyn extended a hand and helped return Madame Bernard to her not inconsiderable height. She was exquisitely dressed. Her dress was black, but there was nothing funereal about it, trimmed as it was with thick lapis and silver braiding which shimmered in the shop lights. If Madame’s own clothes reflected what she could do for her customers, Maris was ready to forget her earlier rudeness and submit to her