The Postilion (The Masqueraders #2) - S.M. LaViolette Page 0,139
Cordelia turned to her younger niece, Jane, who sat slouched on a settee, her nose in a book. Her pelisse, bonnet, gloves, and reticule lay scattered about her on the plush divan, as though she were a female volcano that had erupted, spewing women’s garments far and wide.
“Jane, darling, won’t you please consider looking at a hat?”
Jane looked up, her blue eyes unfocused behind thick, smudged spectacles. “I beg your pardon, Aunt Cordy?”
“A hat, my dear. That is why we are here, among all these hats. You must select one.”
Her smooth brow wrinkled. “Must I?”
“If you care to attend Lady Northumberland’s tomorrow.”
Jane appeared to be giving her words serious consideration.
Cordelia sighed. “You have already accepted the invitation, Jane, it would be unkind to change your mind at this late date. Besides, you wanted to see the conservatory for yourself. There will never be as good an opportunity as having a party inside one.”
Jane pursed her lips and grudgingly closed her book. “Can you not choose something for me?”
The shop bell jingled and she turned to find Eldon Simpson, the new Earl of Madeley, standing in the doorway, looking very much like a fox inspecting a henhouse.
Drat.
“I thought I recognized His Grace’s carriage in that dreadful snarl outside.” He spoke to Melissa, although his eyes flickered to Cordelia, to whom he gave the slightest of nods to acknowledge her existence.
Melissa flushed in a way that made Cordelia’s heart sink. How could her niece not recognize a hardened rake and cold-blooded fortune hunter when she saw one?
That was a foolish question and Cordelia knew it. Her sister’s children had been protected and cosseted from the moment they’d been born. They had no clue what dangers the world held for pretty—seemingly wealthy—girls.
Cordelia smiled at the handsome Lord Madeley, whom she knew to be one step away from being chased by shopkeepers bearing pitch forks and torches.
“Good afternoon, my lord.” She masked the chill in her voice with a pleasant smile.
“Good afternoon, Miss Page.” He glanced at Melissa and then Jane. “Will you ladies be gracing Lady Northumberland’s conservatory party tomorrow?”
“That is why we are here, to select new hats,” Melissa said.
Jane had already inserted her nose back into her book and appeared unaware of the handsome lord’s existence.
The earl’s eyes widened, all the better to show off their sky-blue color. “Hat shopping? I adore it above all things.”
Melissa laughed. “Will you be going to the party, my lord?”
“An alfresco party in a conservatory? Why, I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Lady Melissa.”
Cordelia knew the earl would rather be boiled in oil than attend such an insipid affair. But he was so strapped as to make finding a wealthy bride—immediately—a necessity.
“Oh, dear,” Cordelia said in the harried but accommodating tone she knew people expected of spinster aunts and chaperones. “What has happened to the time? I’m afraid we are running terribly late. Have you made your selection, Melissa?”
Her niece cut her a narrow-eyed look. “Surely we needn’t leave just yet, Aunt.”
“Hmm.” Cordelia was adept at appearing not to notice slights, irritated, sighs, or withering looks, and doing so with a vague smile. “I seem to recall seeing something the exact shade of your gown in Madame Lisette’s window, Melissa. If we make haste, we might be able to see if the hat is still there.” She didn’t wait for an answer and instead turned to Jane. “Come, my dear, we must be on our way.” She helped Jane collect her scattered possessions and ushered her toward the door. “It was a pleasure seeing you again, my lord.” She gave her glowering niece a pleasant smile. “Shall we go, Melissa?”
Lord Madeley bowed over Melissa’s hand and smirked. “I shall look forward to seeing you again soon, Lady Melissa.”
Cordelia herded the girls out of the shop before her.
“That was very rude, Aunt Cordy,” Melissa hissed beneath her breath, sounding remarkably like her mother, the Duchess of Falkirk.
Jane pushed her smudged spectacles further up her small nose and tucked her book beneath her elbow before scowling at her elder sister. “Oh, don’t be such a cat, Mel. Anyone can see Lord Madeley is nothing but a hedge bird.”
Cordelia had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. “Jane, that is hardly a polite thing for a lady to say.”
Melissa glared at the youngest member of the family. “I’m sure she learned it from Charles.”
So was Cordelia. The duke’s son and heir, Cordelia’s only nephew, was close to his youngest sister. Unlike most young men his age,