Heiress in Red Silk (Duke's Heiress #2) - Madeline Hunter Page 0,73
among some birch branches propped amid the hats. He glanced her way several times, then more pointedly stared. He looked as if he thought she was stealing his designs.
What nonsense. He had his genius right there for anyone to see, so his styles were hardly secrets. His hats bedecked many crowns in the gardens and restaurants. How could he hope to keep them to himself and his clients? She never duplicated a hat she saw anyway. Not even the ones printed in the plates. She only borrowed bits and pieces of ideas at most.
His dagger gaze irritated her enough that she entered the shop. She looked at everything while the proprietor grew increasingly agitated. One hat had lovely, pale green silk covering its brim, pleated in a most unique manner. She wished the man would go away so she could examine how that pleating was done.
“I would like to try this on.” She pointed to the hat, then her head, and looked hopeful.
Her English and her request appeared to reassure him. He invited her to sit and placed the hat on her head after she removed her bonnet. She admired herself in his looking glass. He said something in French.
“It is a little small. How soon can you make another that fits?” She tried some hand gestures to communicate what she meant.
He gave her a blank stare. She probably looked like that when someone addressed her in French.
She tried to figure out how to communicate her desire. She asked again. Very slowly. More blankness, plus a little shrug.
A male voice spoke right behind her. A long blur of French rolled over her head. She recognized the voice and looked back at Kevin. The proprietor rattled something back, and the two of them chatted around her.
“He said he can alter this one and deliver it to the hotel by this evening,” Kevin said. “Is that even possible?”
“Yes, it can be done. That is fine. Please ask him the price.”
More French. The proprietor’s hand appeared in front of her with a slip of paper. Kevin bent over her shoulder. “That comes to around two pounds.”
She took her pencil out of her reticule, crossed out the figure, and wrote another. “Tell him that if he alters it, he must stretch the underlying straw, so it is not worth as much.”
Kevin gave the milliner that bad news.
The man examined her offer. Shock. Dismay. A lot of French. She did not look at him or Kevin, but squinted at the hat, giving it a very close scrutiny.
With more sighs and mumbles, the man scribbled on the paper and placed it firmly on the table in front of the looking glass. She did not need Kevin to translate.
She noted that the final figure was one quarter lower than the first. She removed the hat and handed it over with a smile and a nod.
Before she could take matters in hand, Kevin had paid and left the hotel’s information. She tied on her bonnet and stepped out of the shop.
“Did I embarrass you?” she asked when Kevin joined her.
“Not too much.”
“I suppose that isn’t done in shops like that.”
“France is still poor from the war. I don’t think you are the first woman to demand a lower price. He probably hoped that because we are English, we would not quibble over ten shillings.”
“I certainly hope your sort of English don’t. Otherwise, why have my shop off Oxford Street?”
She gave the gallery structure more of her attention and realized why she had been drawn to these shops. “The windows are very large and look to be all of a piece. I wonder how they do that without mullions.”
“It is one sheet. They make a long cylinder of glass, then cut it down its length and flatten it while it is reheated. It is exported and there are buildings in London where you can see it.”
“You know such odd and interesting things. Could I have my windows like this?”
“It is very expensive, and I’m told it attracts mischief. Too expensive for a shop that you let, I would think.” He gestured to her reticule. “Have you seen your full and jotted down your inspirations? Or do you want to continue?”
“I am finished, I think.”
They hired a carriage to return them to the hotel, then crossed over to the Tuileries and strolled under its budding trees. Kevin guided her to a bench.
“We need to talk.”
“From your expression I think it did not go well with Mr. Forestier.”