Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
“Lemonade for the children, please, Geraldine, and tea for His Grace and the ladies,” Mrs. Shaw ordered one of her younger assistants, smiling benevolently as Fanny dashed about the shop, exclaiming over bolts of bright silks, ribbons and shiny buttons, Ezra in her wake and Louisa chasing after him to prevent any actual damage.
To Benedict’s eye, the scene was chaotic and yet everyone seemed perfectly happy. He could not imagine any of this happening in a London modiste, knowing several of them well enough through purchasing gowns, nightwear and underwear for ladies of his acquaintance over the years.
“So, as well as measuring and agreeing on the children’s outfits, I hoped to finalize Lady Louisa’s new dress, choose material for my next winter coat, and buy some ribbons for Fanny’s dolls,” explained Lady Esher as they proceeded into a rear sitting room that the seamstress used for consultations.
“Yes, we can see to all that today, Lady Esher. I have no other appointments this morning and Geraldine can deal with any casual customers who might come by. Miss Vennels can see to the final fitting of Lady Louisa’s dress.”
“I knew I could rely on you, Mrs. Shaw. Now, we will want a good quality cotton for Fanny’s dress…”
The Duke of Northwick’s mind soon drifted as Lady Esher and Mrs. Shaw sank down on the sofa and fell into detailed conversations over materials, trims and patterns that held no interest for him.
He stood at the mantelpiece, sipping his tea as Fanny pored over a huge basket of ribbons that one of the assistants had brought in for her. Ezra, meanwhile, was rolling himself in a large and irregular remnant of soft velvet, rather like a puppy, a beatific grin on his chubby little face.
Benedict smiled at the sight but did not accede to Ezra’s entreaties that he should join him on the floor.
He wondered what he had been like at the same age.
While his parents lived, Benedict’s life had been too fraught with the demands of enduring and surviving each angry day with his father, to ever look back and reflect on his early childhood.
After his parents had died, there was no one to tell him anything.
The servants had dispersed from the estate at Northwick Park, presumably most of them glad to leave the scene of such tragedy.
Benedict had been sent away to school by a benevolent but distant godfather and taken that well-intended man’s advice to put it all behind him.
“How lucky you are, little Ezra,” he mused very softly, bending down to pat the little boy’s belly and hearing him giggle. “May you always be so lucky.”
Enough of that, Northwick…
Setting his face back into a neutral expression, the duke stepped away.
Benedict was not a sentimental man and would not like to be thought so.
Neither Lady Esher nor Mrs. Shaw were paying attention, however.
When an assistant appeared with her measuring tape and began to measure Fanny for her dress, he put down his cup and strolled away to investigate the rest of the premises.
Benedict was not looking for anything in particular although it crossed his mind that he might choose some silk for a pocket square or necktie, as some little memento of Rosemere.
He remembered seeing some suitable bolts of cloth on a shelf in the main shop and vaguely intended to head in that direction.
Did we come in through this room? Or have I taken a wrong turning?
After wandering through a warren of several storerooms and passing a workroom where two ladies were quietly sewing, Benedict hesitated in the doorway of what seemed to be a small sun-filled sitting room, with a screen in one corner.
Another door on the opposite side might be the one leading back to the shop.
“I’m ready, Miss Vennels,” pronounced the light, bright voice of Lady Louisa Ascot, just as Benedict entered the room and stopped dead on hearing her.
When Lady Louisa stepped out from behind the screen in her dress of fine pale green muslin and saw Benedict standing there, she froze too.
With the sunshine lighting up her golden curls and creamy skin, she was like a vision of early summertime when all is in bloom.
Benedict could not tear his gaze from the perfection of her parted pink lips, the generous curve of her bosom and the wonder in those eyes that presently looked as green as her gown.
“Do excuse me, Lady Louisa,” he said shortly, managing to take hold of himself and averting his eyes as he crossed the room and passed grey-haired Miss Vennels in the doorway that led to the shop.
Benedict’s heart pounded as he made his escape and yet he could not really understand why.
Lady Louisa had been fully dressed and he had committed no breach of etiquette.
They had only taken one another by surprise.
So why was he as breathless as if he had run a race?
And why had Lady Louisa’s face flushed so deeply when she saw him standing there?
After forcing himself to inspect silks until his breathing and pulse had returned to normal, Benedict took a deep inhalation and began to walk back to where he had left the rest of the party. This time, the room with the changing screen was empty and he encountered only staff on his way.
“There you are, Your Grace,” commented Lady Esher as he reentered the large sitting room. “I feared we had lost you, and could not say I blamed you either. A seamstress’ premises are no place for a gentleman and you have been most accommodating.”
“Even gentlemen may look at silks for ties and handkerchiefs,” Benedict returned, his eyes glancing over at Lady Louisa, now back in her ordinary white cotton day dress again and studiously perusing ribbons with Fanny, while Ezra played with a shiny paperweight on the table beside Lady Esher.
Were Lady Louisa’s eyes hazel or green? They had looked so very green when he saw her just now in that green dress and such bright sunlight, although he had previously believed her eyes to be hazel.
She did not look up and his curiosity remained unsatisfied, although he again noted the flushing of her cheeks.
“I need to go pot!” announced Ezra abruptly, cutting across all other conversations and interactions in the room. “Uncle Benedict, I need to go pot!”
Wriggling down from the sofa the little boy hurried towards Benedict, red-faced and clutching himself with urgency.
“Oh dear, we ought to have brought Gertie,” sighed Lady Esher as Lady Louisa jumped up from the floor beside Fanny.
“Come with me, Ezra. I know the way. You cannot expect His Grace to take you to find the chamber pot.”
“No, I want Uncle Benedict!” the child protested, dodging Lady Louisa’s hands and rushing straight across the empty hearth.
In trying to follow Ezra’s path, she caught her foot on the raised tiling around the fireplace and fell heavily down onto the stones, knocking her head backwards against the mantelpiece as she tried to save herself.
“Louisa!” shouted Lady Esher in alarm as Mrs. Shaw gasped in horror and Ezra began to wail, aware that something bad had happened but not really understanding what.
Moving at speed, Benedict was kneeling at Lady Louisa’s side first, before either of the two older ladies could reach her. No one else in the room could know the welling of feeling that that moved him to act, nor the depths of fear he felt on seeing her strike her head.
“Louisa? Can you hear me?” he asked urgently, first feeling her scalp for any sign of a wound and then taking her hand and agitating it between his own to rouse her. “Talk to us.”
It was a few seconds before her eyelids fluttered and then opened, bewilderment filling her gaze. Relief rushed through Benedict’s veins.
“Oh, what happened? Your Grace… I must have fallen…”
“Yes, you fell and hit your head. Can you see me?”
“I…yes. I can see you.”
“Can you see me moving my hand?”
Benedict passed his hand back and forth across her vision and felt relief as those hazel-green eyes tracked its movement normally.
He remembered the old physician at Northwick doing that more than once with his mother when Benedict had sneaked out and brought the man to the house without his father’s knowledge.
Lady Esher was also beside them by this time while Mrs. Shaw gathered the two frightened children close to her for comfort and to keep them out of the way.
“Louisa! Oh, my dearest girl…Shall I summon the physician?”
“No, I am well, Aunt Beatrice. I am sure I…Oh…”
In an effort to reassure her aunt, the young woman attempted to rise and sank back weakly, likely still reeling from the blow to her head.
“Do not try to stand yet,” Benedict instructed, placing an arm at Lady Louisa’s back as she sat, lest she grow dizzy and hit her head a second time. “Take some deep breaths and let us look at you.”
As he touched her, that scent of woodland violets rose from her hair and skin and filled his nostrils.
Benedict found himself taking another deep breath only for the sweetness of the perfume although he did not allow his mind to stray from its immediate task of examining Lady Louisa for injury rather than appreciation.
“What do you think, Your Grace?” asked Lady Esher anxiously. “I do not want to take any risks with my darling girl and the physician is nearer here than at Rosemere.”
“I really don’t need the physician, Aunt Beatrice,” Lady Louisa continued to insist, likely not wanting to cause a fuss or worry her aunt more.
“I think Louisa is dazed but at least she is conscious and there is no blood,” said Benedict. “She has a slight bump on her head and likely she will have a bruise tomorrow, but I hope no worse than that. Her sight and hearing are evidently well, and if she can argue with you then she can think.”
“His Grace says that I don’t need the physician,” Lady Louisa stated. “Really, Aunt Beatrice. I shall be well presently.”