The Wary Widow (13 page)

Thirteen

Chloe didn’t fall asleep until it was near to dawn, but at a quarter past nine, she sat up with a start. Her mind flashed back to the previous night and her discovery. In the light of day it seemed so absurd that she wondered if she’d actually dreamt the whole thing.

She shook her head. No, she certainly had not dreamt it. The Wetherby twins had switched places and Andrew had made one fatal mistake—one that Chloe kicked
herself
for not realizing in the moment.

She sat down at her writing desk, intent on giving him a piece of her mind. She dipped her pen in the ink and set it to the paper, but she’d not even finished her curt salutation before Lizzie burst through the door.

“Are you excited?” she asked, a smiled pasted on her face.

“Of course,” Chloe replied, wanting to match her cousin’s enthusiasm, but knowing she fell rather short. She just wanted to pen her note and be done with it.

“Which do you think is best with this dress?” Lizzie brandished two ribbons and Chloe had to squint to make sure of what she was seeing.

“They’re the same color,” she said.

One would have thought she’d declared that water wasn’t wet, the way Lizzie regarded her, but it was true. They were both yellow and both the exact same shade.

“They most certainly are not!” Lizzie held them up to examine them more closely. “Look, this one is clearly lemon and this one
—
” she shoved the second one out, nearly smacking Chloe in the nose “
—
chartreuse.”

The last was said with a French accent and an air of superiority. Chloe rolled her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Lizzie, I would love to help,” she said, “but I just don’t see the difference.”

Frustrated, Lizzie stomped from the room and closed the door. Chloe turned immediately back to her letter.

Lord Andrew,

 
I’m not exactly sure what you and your brother

are playing at, but rest assured, your secret is

no longer a secret. Furthermore, I must ask you to

disregard
anything

“What about this one?”

Chloe nearly jumped out of her skin at her cousin’s voice. She hadn’t even heard her open the door.

“Good heavens, Lizzie, you frightened me half to death.”

“Sorry,” she said quickly, and then held up yet another yellow ribbon. “Do you like this one more than the other two?”

“How many yellow ribbons do you own, Lizzie?” Chloe asked as she shifted her body to block her cousin's view of the letter.

Lizzie shrugged and said, “I don’t know...seven, eight?”

Sensing she might be asked to look at the four or five others if she didn’t give a good enough answer, Chloe decided to indulge her cousin. In an attempt to get her cousin as far away from the desk as possible, Chloe stood up and dragged Lizzie toward the window, under the auspices of needing more light to give a fair assessment to the yellow ribbons.

“Well, I do like this one—far better than the other two, actually.” She plucked it from Lizzie’s hand and held it up against her hair. “Yes, yes, this is definitely the one.”

Lizzie’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure?”

“There is no doubt in my mind!”
Just get out!

“All right, then.”

And without so much as a thank you, Lizzie bounded out of the room again. Chloe practically ran back to her desk and sat down to write again. She wrote one word before Lizzie burst through the door, the remaining yellow ribbons draped over her arm.

Clearly there were forces at work to try and prevent her from writing that letter to Andrew. Admitting defeat, she crumpled the half-written note and tossed it into the bin, then set to the task of finding the perfect yellow ribbon for Lizzie.

By afternoon, Chloe found herself firmly ensconced in the bosom of the Wetherby family. It seemed that any woman who had anything at all to do with the family decided to join them on their shopping excursion.

In addition to the three she was already acquainted with, Lady
Eastleigh’s
mother-in-law, the dowager marchioness, as well as her own mother, Lady Grimsby, joined in the fun. At least, what
they
deemed to be fun. Chloe didn’t mind shopping, but being measured and fitted by strange women was a bit unnerving.

They arrived at a dressmaker's shop in what Lizzie assured her was the most fashionable part of town, which Chloe was sure equated to the most expensive part of town. And with a name like Madame le Riche, what was one to expect?

The little maid, called Sophie, saw to the welfare of the ladies with tea and biscuits while the dressmaker herself took Chloe behind a curtain and demanded she strip down to her chemise and drawers. Chloe did as she was bid, but when Madame le Riche gasped at her underclothing, a blush rose to Chloe’s cheeks.

She knew her nether clothes were a bit worse for the wear, but they could not have been that bad.

“My dear,” the woman began in a thick, French accent, “the first law of fashion is that the dress is only as good as what is underneath.”

She
tsked
a few times to further express her distaste and then called for her assistant. They spoke in rapid French while drawing a string around various parts of Chloe’s body, and making notes in a small, leather-bound book. Chloe felt like a sparrow caught in a squall.

What was the meaning of all this anyhow? She had unearthed all of her old dresses, and Sarah had pressed and darned them until they were like new. So why was she here?

From behind the screen, she could hear the other women laughing and talking, having a veritable teatime while she was poked and prodded by an army of seamstresses.

“Oh, this one would look lovely on her petite frame, don't you think?”

“Absolutely! In a rich green.”

“Or this in blue?”

“Chloe looks lovely in blue!”

Oh, dear!
They were plotting out all sorts of additions to her wardrobe. Who was going to pay for all this?
She
certainly didn’t have the funds, and she was sure Uncle Arthur would not be keen on buying a new wardrobe for his daughter’s chaperone.

Oh, goodness, what if Lizzie meant to pay out of her pin money? She couldn’t let her cousin do such a thing.

“Lizzie?” she called sweetly through the curtain.

The laughter stopped and Lizzie’s feet came running towards her. “Yes?” she asked, peeking around the screen.

Chloe waited for the chatter to resume so she could ask Lizzie about payment. “Lizzie, I haven’t the funds to pay for this shopping trip. You do know that, don’t you?”
“Of course I do,” her cousin replied with a sweet smile.

“Oh, Lizzie, I can’t have you spending your own allowance on me-
²

“But I’m not.”

Chloe blinked up at her cousin. “Then, who?”

A wide smile broke out on Lizzie’s face. “I’m not at liberty to say, dear cousin, but your benefactor assures me it is of little consequence.”

“Little consequence?” Chloe repeated, looking about at the various silks and satins that had accumulated around her. “This trousseau could cost a small fortune.”

Lizzie laughed, a lilting, sweet laugh. “Perhaps to you it is a small fortune, but for some...oh, do not worry so much, Chloe! It is a gift and the giver will not take no for an answer.”

With that Lizzie disappeared behind the curtain and rejoined the ladies. A great deal of whispering ensued, and Chloe vowed she would throttle her dear cousin should she relay any of what they’d just discussed. But within moments, the chatter resumed at its normal volume.

For the rest of the afternoon, Chloe modeled several ready-made dresses, over which the ladies all
oohed
and
ahhhhed
, but in which Chloe felt vastly uncomfortable. She wished she could say her old gowns were comparable and acceptable, but now that she wore truly fashionable dresses, she realized just how inadequate her old wardrobe was.

And virginal. She was no debutante, and therefore the whites and pastels were no longer suitable. Thus the stream of reds, greens and dark blues she’d been forced to model all afternoon.

By the time they left the
modiste
, Chloe wanted nothing more than to lay down for a long nap, but it was not to be.
At least not yet.
They still had bonnets and ribbons and gloves to shop for, so the entourage made their way through the Burlington Arcade, patronizing one shop after another. Chloe had hoped to ascertain which of the ladies was her benefactress, but whoever it was, she was a sneaky woman. She supposed it was easy to be sneaky when every shop owner knew who you were and was able to apply credits to your account with nary a word on the subject.

At three o’clock, as she stood at the milliner’s counter, Chloe began to feel a bit overwhelmed. She did not mean to raise any alarm, and so she slipped quietly from the shop, eager for a bit of fresh air and quietude.

Sometime in the course of the afternoon, it had begun to rain. She breathed in the cool, damp air and slumped against the bit of marble wall that separated the hat shop from the jeweler. Her feet ached, and her head hurt, and she just wanted to go home.

***

Andrew rounded the corner into the pavilion of the Burlington Arcade. It had begun to rain and he'd been caught without an umbrella, so he thought to take shelter there and perhaps pick up a box of cigars for his elder brother's birthday. He was whistling to himself, feeling good after having visited his solicitor on the Strand. His ventures continued to pay off and soon he'd be richer than Midas. They were on the dawn of industry, he was sure, and his careful investments in the textile mills had thus far earned him a killing.

He was about to turn into the tobacconists, when a certain
red-head
caught his eye. He smiled wide. The poor woman looked as if she would rather be anywhere other than where she was, which was on a shopping trip with the Lionesses.
 

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Hawthorne.”

Andrew approached her cautiously, though she still started a bit as he approached, and a girlish blush rose to color her cheeks. He smiled. She averted her gaze.

“Lord Andrew,” she said with a slight curtsey. “I trust you are fine this afternoon?”

He wondered at her cool tone, but chocked it up, for the time being, to her apparently trying day of shopping. Of course, she was probably still angry about the kiss too, but it was best not to relive that moment right now.

“I am indeed, though I must admit, you do not look very well yourself.”

Chloe gave him a weak smile. “I fear your family has it in mind to make me into...well, one of
them,
I suppose. They’ve had me out shopping all day. Of course, I’m sure you already knew that...
Lord Michael.
”