Tall, Duke, and Dangerous

by Megan Frampton

  Ana Maria thought it also might be so that he didn’t have to bother with it. Thaddeus seemed to dislike bother.

  “Where are you going in your orange gown?”

  “Peach,” Ana Maria said, rolling her eyes.

  Jane brought the gown over, holding it up so it wouldn’t wrinkle.

  And, just as she’d hoped, Ana Maria smiled when she saw it.

  It had two flounces, one going halfway down on top of the other as though she were a cake come to life. The peach-colored fabric was warm and vibrant—“Definitely not orange,” she muttered—and sported several whimsical additions that made it thoroughly and absolutely a lady of leisure’s gown. Suitable only for standing or walking slowly while appearing gloriously beautiful.

  The sleeves had multiple layers also, and the modiste had designed the gown so it could be quickly swapped out to transition from a day dress to a ball gown.

  Ana Maria was extravagant, but at least she wasn’t foolishly so. Although being a Practical Lady seemed contradictory. Suitable for her walking oxymoron self, she supposed.

  “Going? Oh yes. I am taking Miss Octavia to the fabric house. She wished to see for herself the fabrics that inspired my salon.”

  “That Miss Octavia seems like a wild one,” Jane said in a warning tone.

  “Excellent! Since I am mild myself, perhaps we can meet in the middle and be wildly mild. Or mildly wild.”

  Jane rolled her eyes.

  Once dressed, Jane worked on Ana Maria’s hair, persuading it to curl where it never had before. Another benefit of being a lady—not having to stand with arms akimbo over your head as you attempted to smooth your tresses into place.

  There was something to be said for being a lady. It was just that it felt as though a piece of her was missing.

  She’d have to make it part of her Practical Lady mission to find it.

  “Good morning,” Octavia said with a bright smile as Ana Maria descended from the coach. Octavia lived in a small apartment in the back of Miss Ivy’s, the club owned and named after her sister. Ivy had just married Ana Maria’s brother, Sebastian, so Octavia was living on her own, something that would have been scandalous if it weren’t already scandalous that Octavia was also working at Miss Ivy’s as a host and occasional dealer.

  “Good morning.”

  Octavia pushed the door to the club open, gesturing for Ana Maria to walk through. It was empty, of course, but with just a little imagination Ana Maria could envision it in the evening, filled with chattering people from all strata of Society, the clink of coins, the sounds of chips being stacked on top of one another, or scraped away to end up in the house’s bank.

  She’d only been here when the club was closed, and she resolved—because this was what she wanted—to come some evening when it was open, to see if she liked gambling. She’d never had the opportunity before, of course, but now Thaddeus was giving her a more than adequate allowance, and she had friends here.

  “Come along to my rooms, Carter is already making tea.”

  Ana Maria jolted herself out of her reverie of high stakes play, following Octavia as her friend walked briskly to the far corner of the room, opening another set of doors and walking through.

  They settled themselves in the small room that was the catchall for anything that wasn’t sleeping or dressing, the maid Carter coming in to deposit a tray of tea things onto the table that was nestled between the two comfortable chairs.

  “You should come some evening,” Octavia said as she poured the tea.

  Had she read Ana Maria’s mind?

  “I should. I will,” Ana Maria replied. “I know Sebastian and Ivy are here most evenings, but is there—is there anyone else I have met?”

  Octavia raised one knowing eyebrow. “Sebastian’s friend, that glowering duke, comes a few nights a week. Never gambles, only drinks. Tips well.” The last bit was spoken as recitative facts, and Ana Maria chuckled.

  The description likely fit Nash more generally as well—never gambles, because gambling was a risk, and she didn’t get the feeling he did risks, and she knew full well he liked to drink, though she’d yet to see him drunk. The tipping well bit also sounded like him, because even though he worked on his gruff facade, she suspected that he was softhearted, and despised his wealth when it meant others went without.

  “When—that is, is there an evening the Duke of Malvern comes more frequently?”

  Octavia folded her arms over her chest and leaned back in her chair with a frank look of appraisal. “Are you interested in that lummox?” She paused. “I can see him having a certain brutish charm,” she said, emphasizing the last two words as though she were saying something far more salacious, “but I would have thought you might have preferred a more social person. Someone who, perhaps, will exchange pleasantries rather than grunting.”

  “I like the grunting.”

  The words were out before she realized she’d spoken, and then she felt her cheeks heat, far hotter than the tea she’d yet to taste.

  She picked the cup up off the table and brought it to her lips, lowering her head in a vain attempt to hide her face.

  “You do, do you?” Octavia sounded amused. And, more frighteningly, she sounded as though she were pondering something.

  “He is a family friend,” Ana Maria hastened to explain. “We’ve known him since he was about ten years old, of course I am accustomed to his . . . noises.” She could have compiled a dictionary of what his various sounds meant—some grunts were clearly approval, while others were just as clearly annoyance.

  “And he is attractive, in a brooding, villainous way. Rather as if one of those fearsome lords from the novels came to life. He doesn’t have a castle, does he?”

  “Not to my knowledge.” Ana Maria didn’t necessarily want her friend to take an interest in who Ana Maria was interested in, but she did enjoy the circularities of Octavia’s mind. No wonder Sebastian now counted her amongst his closest friends.

  “Pity.” She tapped her lip in thought. “Still, it’s not enough for him to stomp around and mutter inarticulately. At least not for you. What is it that you like about him?”

  This was dangerous territory, not the least of which was the very distinct possibility that Octavia would find some indiscreet way to throw the two of them together, and she already knew what Nash would have to say about that.

  He regarded her as his friend’s older sister, nothing more.

  “Shall I tell you where we’ll be going today?” Ana Maria said brightly.

  Octavia rolled her eyes, but didn’t comment on the blatant change of topic. “Certainly. I am considering redecorating some of the chairs in the club, and I’d like to look at fabric.”

  Ana Maria forgot all about how prickly and uncomfortable she felt, launching into a detailed description of the places she’d been to already, and the places she wished to go. Finally, Octavia held her hand up.

  “Shouldn’t we just go there? Much as I’d love to hear how this one store displays their fabrics from India more charmingly than the other does their fabrics from China.”

  Ana Maria winced. “Right. I am sorry, I just—”

  “You’re just enthusiastic,” Octavia cut in. “I appreciate that very much. It is wonderful to see a lady in your position enthused about something that isn’t male and with a title.”

  At which point both ladies burst into laughter, Ana Maria laughing at her friend’s obvious sarcasm, and Octavia grinning at having been so obviously sarcastic.

  At least they weren’t talking directly about Nash anymore.

  “What about this one?”

  Octavia held a bit of fabric up to show Ana Maria, who was internally debating between cloth that was a vibrant fuchsia in a paisley pattern or a more demure seafoam green with bizarre approximations of sea life.

  Ana Maria frowned in Octavia’s direction. “What would you use it for?”

  Octavia wrinkled her face up in thought. “I was considering covering the bar at the
far end of the room. Although I don’t think liquids and this fabric will mix.”

  “Likely not. That one doesn’t look sturdy enough for upholstery. Perhaps only for a wall hanging.”

  Octavia made a disappointed noise as she dropped the fabric.

  “You seem to know a lot about my wares, my lady.”

  The shop owner stepped out from behind his long counter, an appraising expression on his face. He was Chinese, which made Ana Maria think that was why his fabrics were so much more extensive than British merchants. She presumed he could negotiate directly with the fabric makers in his home country, at least, and the Chinese silks were her favorite. “You were here a few months ago? You purchased the bolts of silk that had just arrived from China.” He shook his head in fond remembrance. “I had many customers for that fabric, but you purchased the most of it. A truly remarkable color.”

  “Yes,” Ana Maria replied.

  “And you’re back with your friend to buy more?”

  “Yes. That is, I am considering redecorating. This is just a preliminary visit, my friend wished to see where I found the fabrics I used.”

  “Ah.” His gaze traveled from Ana Maria to Octavia and back again. “And this young lady, your friend? Is she as knowledgeable as you?”

  Octavia snorted as Ana Maria shrugged.

  “You are here to assist, then,” the merchant said.

  “Look at this one!” Octavia enthused, waving another piece of fabric in the air.

  It was nearly iridescent, shimmering in the mid-morning light.

  “Let me see that,” Ana Maria replied, striding forward. She ran her fingers over the fabric, marveling at how the colors seemed to shift under her hand.

  “That is nacre velvet,” the shopkeeper said. “Just arrived from Italy. You have a very fine eye, my lady.”

  “Well, actually, I am the one who spotted it first,” Octavia said, grinning at Ana Maria.

  “Yes, but—”

  “My friend is teasing. It is lovely. I can’t see it on a wall, though. How would you get the full impact of it?” Ana Maria moved the fabric as she spoke, and the colors changed from a greenish blue to a blueish purple.

  “That would be spectacular as a gown,” Octavia said.

  “Not too bold?”

  Octavia grinned. “Not at all. Perhaps you might even make someone grunt in approval.”

  Ana Maria chose to ignore that comment.

  “I’ll take all of it,” she said to the shopkeeper. His eyes widened, and then he sprang into action, gathering the bolts and laying them all on his long table. He gestured to the far corner of the room. “If you like that one, there are others I think might pique your interest.”

  An hour later, Ana Maria felt as if she’d been transported into fabric heaven, while it seemed Octavia viewed it more as fabric hell.

  “I have to get back to the club,” Octavia said, glancing at the watch pinned to her bodice.

  “It’s not even lunchtime. You can say it—we are good enough friends. You are absolutely and completely bored here, and you might scream if you have to stay a moment longer.”

  Octavia’s face was relieved. “Yes. Exactly.” And then she knitted her brow. “Will you be all right here? On your own?”

  “I spent the first twenty-eight years of my life doing things on my own. I promise I know how to take care of myself.”

  “You do, but do you know how to take care of yourself now that you are a ‘my lady’? I doubt you went around town dressed like that when you were doing errands for the duchess.”

  It was a good point, but Ana Maria did not want to have to leave, not now when she was just getting into the depths of Mr. Lee’s collection. Nor did she want her friend to expire from boredom.

  “Just go ahead. Mr. Lee will see me safely into a cab.”

  Mr. Lee nodded, then held up his index finger to make a point. “I will ask Mrs. Lee to come out, she is doing the bookkeeping, but she should be finished by now.”

  Ana Maria turned to Octavia. “See? I will have a chaperone, after all. Go on, don’t worry.”

  Octavia gave her friend a kiss, then swept off with her usual confident stride. Ana Maria watched her go, envying the younger girl’s self-assured poise.

  Perhaps one day Ana Maria would master the art of walking without worrying.

  Mr. Lee returned in a few minutes, an Englishwoman by his side. She was dressed in a plain gown of dark blue, but the quality of the fabric was impeccable.

  “This is my wife, Mrs. Lee. She is technically the owner of the shop, though she prefers to work behind the scenes. I explained about your friend leaving.”

  Ana Maria held her hand out to the other woman, who took it after a moment of hesitation. “Thank you for taking time out of your work.”

  “You are welcome, my lady.” Mrs. Lee spoke softly, as though she wasn’t accustomed to conversing with strangers.

  By the time Ana Maria had finished, she had purchased not only all the bolts of the shimmering fabric from Italy, but also a selection of silks, satins, taffetas, muslins, and some serviceable cottons that would be a vast improvement over the clothing the current duke’s female staff was wearing.

  “That won’t all fit into a hansom,” Ana Maria said as she surveyed her items. She picked up one of the bolts of the shimmering fabric and tucked it under her arm. “I’ll take this one, and send a carriage for the rest later. Perhaps tomorrow?”

  “Excellent,” Mr. Lee said. “Let me find a cab for you.” He stepped out of the shop onto the street.

  “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Lee,” Ana Maria said when the ladies were alone.

  “Thank you for your patronage. Not everyone wishes to do business with us, and I appreciate your courtesy.”

  “Not do business—oh!” Ana Maria exclaimed as she realized why. “Well, the products are excellent. Those people are missing out.”

  Mrs. Lee’s mouth curled into a shy smile. “Thank you so much.”

  Mr. Lee poked his head into the shop. “I have a cab, my lady.”

  “Yes, thank you, but don’t you want a deposit?”

  He offered a reassuring gesture. “That is fine, we don’t—”

  “A deposit would be wonderful,” Mrs. Lee interrupted.

  Right. Mrs. Lee did the books, so she would know.

  Ana Maria tugged off her gloves and reached into her reticule for the notes she’d tucked in there. Thaddeus was more than generous with her allowance, which meant she had a sizable amount to put down. She knew, from having been sent to merchants when she was working, that the nobility usually decided to pay tomorrow, or the next day, when given a chance. And if they weren’t given that chance, they’d take it. So she knew full well the delicate balance Mrs. Lee was probably navigating.

  “Here,” she said, placing all but one of the notes on the counter. “You can tote that up, and send me a note as to what I owe. I am—”

  “Of course we remember you, my lady. Lady Ana Maria Dutton living with the Duke of Hasford in Hanover Square.”

  “Yes.”

  Mr. Lee popped his head back out, then ducked back inside with a frown. “The cab was purloined by somebody else.”

  “It’s fine,” Ana Maria said. “It will do me good to walk, it’s not that far.”

  “But—”

  “I know it’s not done.” She repressed her irritation. The Lees didn’t know she hadn’t been treated as a lady six months ago. “But I have been traveling around London on my own for some time now, and I would prefer not to be cooped up in a cab.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Lee’s faces were matching expressions of horror, and Ana Maria tried not to laugh.

  “I’ll send the carriage tomorrow for the rest, remember. And please do tell me how much I owe. Thank you so much.” She kept speaking until she was at the front door, then slipped out before they could argue some more.

  “Drat,” Ana Maria muttered to herself. “I am thoroughly and entirely lost.”

  She’d b
egun the walk home half an hour ago in such joyful spirits; she had found fabrics that made her heart sing, and she felt as though she was actually being useful, even if it was only to help her friend decorate the way she wanted to.

  But she’d been lost in her thoughts, pondering if there was something more she could do, something more official, and she must’ve missed a turn, and now she was in a less reputable part of town and it was starting to get dark.

  And she didn’t have a poker on her. Perhaps she should not have been so quick to insist on going home alone.

  Though she did have her new bolt of fabric—perhaps if someone accosted her, she could point out how remarkable the shifting colors were.

  Or thump them on the head. With soft fabric.

  Not the best plan.

  She glanced around, trying not to look as though she were lost. She knew a well-dressed lady looking confused in a rougher part of town was a sure invitation to trouble.

  She heard the distinctive squawk of seagulls, and knew she must be close to the docks. Where she definitely did not want to be. Drat.

  When she’d been a maid of all work, she’d gone into far worse neighborhoods than this, but she’d been wearing the clothing the duchess allowed her, which were drab rags, and had a knife strapped to her shin. She’d never had occasion to use it, but she suspected it gave her an air of confidence to act as a deterrent.

  “Miss?”

  She turned at the sound of the man’s voice, relieved to see he had a kind smile. Not that a kind smile was an indication of being a reasonable person, but it was a promising beginning.

  “Yes?”

  “I think you might need assistance.” He gestured across the street, a sign proclaiming it was the King’s Arms. “Perhaps we might go in and have a pint?”

  Because assistance equaled an ale. Of course it did. Thank goodness she wasn’t a naive young lady, though even naive young ladies would have to look askance at his kind of help.

  “No, thank you,” she said, beginning to step away.

  He grabbed her arm, swinging her back around to face him. “But you’re clearly lost, and if it’s not me, it’ll be somebody worse.”