Chapter 4 #2
Adelaide fitted the second glove over her fingers and smoothed the pearl buttons at her wrist. “Your husband’s cousin, unless I have misunderstood the family connection. You may find it useful, in future, to remember that before offering further opinions on where society intends to place me.”
Loretta’s lips parted, but no sound followed.
Madame Bellamy stepped in to unfasten the toile, suddenly brisk with professional purpose. Adelaide descended from the platform once the pins were cleared and allowed Violet to settle her cloak over her shoulders.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Sullyard,” she said finally, pausing only long enough to meet the other woman’s stare. “Do take care with the silence. It becomes you rather well.”
Violet held the door, though she waited until they reached the passage before letting out the breath she had been containing. Behind them, the dressmaker’s room remained so quiet that Adelaide heard the faint tap of one pearl-headed pin striking the floor.
“I almost pity her.”
Violet waited until the dressmaker’s bell had closed behind them before speaking, though amusement still lingered in her voice.
Adelaide glanced sideways as they stepped carefully around a puddle that reflected the pale afternoon sky.
“I could not even fathom pitying such a cruel creature.”
“I said almost.”
The two of them giggled, heads together, for a moment before proceeding down the street, which bustled despite the damp weather.
Gentlemen picked their way between carts with varying degrees of success, while ladies lifted their skirts clear of the mud as though determination alone might keep the hems clean.
A flower seller called cheerfully from beneath an awning, and somewhere farther along the square a blacksmith’s hammer rang against iron in steady rhythm.
Violet adjusted the parcel containing Adelaide’s altered measurements beneath her arm.
“My lady…” There was enough hesitation in those two words to make Adelaide slow her pace. “I think you may have started a war.”
“I merely answered a question.”
Violet’s expression remained serious. They walked another few yards before Adelaide replied.
“I am not afraid of her. Should I be?”
Violet’s gaze drifted toward the busy street ahead. “I have met women like her before.”
“So have I.”
“No.” Violet shook her head gently. “Not quite.”
There was no self-pity in her voice, only experience. “When people possess very little power, they tend to use it loudly. Mrs. Sullyard…” She searched for the words. “She has enough of it to be patient.”
Adelaide frowned. “I thought she merely enjoyed gossip.”
“I think she enjoys winning.”
The distinction settled between them.
Adelaide considered it while a brewer’s wagon lumbered past, forcing them closer to the shopfronts. Loretta had certainly enjoyed making small humiliations appear accidental over the years.
A compliment sharpened just enough to become an insult. Concern offered publicly where it could not be refused. Invitations that somehow never quite arrived.
Yet there had been a dangerous sort of calculation in her face after hearing the duke’s name. “I suppose,” Adelaide admitted, “I may have deprived her of a pleasant afternoon.”
Violet looked at her and could not help but chuckle. “You are smiling.”
“I should probably stop.” The admission finally drew laughter from both of them, easing the last of the unpleasantness left behind in Madame Bellamy’s fitting room.
At the next intersection, Adelaide slowed. “I’ve just remembered.”
Violet looked up with a sudden anticipation in her features.
“Mr. Fletcher promised to finish repairing Bramble’s side saddle before the end of the week. If I do not collect it today, he’ll spend another fortnight perfecting work that was already excellent.”
“The stable master with the leather workshop?”
Adelaide nodded.
“I must go—”
“I promised Elise I’d collect her medicine before we returned home. The apothecary is only two streets over.”
Adelaide reached automatically for her reticule. “I can come with you first.”
“You’ve already waited three extra days for that saddle.”
“Another hour will make little difference.”
“It will to Mr. Fletcher.”
Violet smiled knowingly. “I shall meet you at the carriage in half an hour.”
Adelaide hesitated only long enough to squeeze Violet’s hand. They parted with one last smile before disappearing into different streams of London foot traffic.
Alone, Adelaide drew her cloak a little closer against the cool breeze and turned toward the narrow lane where Mr. Fletcher kept his workshop.
The smell reached her before the building itself did: leather, saddle soap, damp timber, and the faint smoky scent that always seemed to cling to working stables.
She preferred it enormously to perfume.
Adelaide had expected the duke to become little more than another obligation, but instead he had occupied an inconvenient amount of her thought of the past few days—mostly because she had failed to understand him.
Dukes had always preferred to be admired, but Eric Sullyard had listened to her explain drainage as though it genuinely interested him…
Still she wasn’t entirely convinced that he wasn’t simply very good at pretending.
A pair of young apprentices hurried past carrying bridles between them, speaking so rapidly they scarcely noticed anyone else using the pavement.
Adelaide stepped aside to avoid them, but someone else chose precisely the same moment, and she collided squarely with a solid chest.
“Oh!”
The force of it carried her backward before strong hands caught her. One settled instinctively at her waist. The other steadied her elbow.
For a moment neither of them spoke.
“Good heavens!”
The voice reached her before recognition did, and she looked up and saw… “Blue…”
It was her first coherent thought. His eyes carried the curious shifting color she’d noticed days earlier in his London study, somewhere between blue and green depending on how the light reached them.
She had dismissed the observation then as the consequence of standing far too close to an argumentative stranger.
Apparently proximity had not improved her objectivity. Nor, she realized with sudden embarrassment, had his hands which remained around her waist. His grip was firm enough to keep her upright and warm even through the layers of her pelisse.
The Duke of Wolverton seemed to become aware of the same fact at exactly the same instant, and his hands withdrew at once. “I beg your pardon,” he said quickly.
Adelaide found that her voice had deserted her with astonishing efficiency. “I assure you, Your Grace, I had no intention of colliding with anyone today.”
A faint smile appeared despite his obvious effort to suppress it. “I should hope not.”
For reasons she could not have explained, that only made remembering how close they had just been considerably more difficult.
“They—” She tried to rationalize the entire situation, but he interrupted her instead.
“Why are you alone?”
And not moments after only seeing blue… Adelaide saw red.