To her amusement he flushed with pleasure at her compliment, his grey eyes becoming rather more animated. “Well I confess I've enjoyed doing it,” he replied with a surprisingly boyish smile. “Most of my clients to date have been rather dull you see. You are the most refreshing change, Lady Ware.”
Milly hesitated, curious and not a little baffled by the frank admiration in his gaze. “You have some glassware for me to inspect I think,” she said, changing the subject.
The next hour or so was taken up inspecting a variety of glass jars and containers but nothing he had brought quite seemed fit for the purpose.
“You see it needs to be expensive,” Milly said, her tone thoughtful. “Some of the wealthy ladies of the ton spend shocking amounts of money on the most ridiculous products you see. But in the first place, ours really does work, and in the second, if it's expensive, exclusive and it looks it ... it's my belief they'll fall over themselves to buy it.”
“Yes,” Mr Priestly mused, frowning at the simple ceramic pot in his hand. “Yes I do see.”
“Would it be possible to get something in cranberry glass perhaps?" she asked, but didn't wait for him to answer, too keen to move forward. "The other thing of course is advertising, which I've been thinking about.”
Mr Priestly looked up, patiently interested and Milly paused. Beau had been the only man to ever listen to her when she's spoken before, but there was something in this young man's face that told her he respected her opinion. It was a nice feeling, to know someone believed in her. “I would like you to put an advert in the personal columns please.”
“The personal columns?” he repeated, his dark brows drawn together. “But surely the advertising ...”
Milly grinned and shook her head. “We are starting a rumour, Mr Priestly. You will place an advert which asks the question, do you know my lady's secret?”
“But ...?”
Chuckling, Milly was delighted by the perplexed expression on his face.
“I would also like a small engraving made, of a feather - like this,” she said, showing him the small drawing she had made. “It needs to be very light and delicate. This should be shown under the question, it will also be on the container in some form. On the lid I think, if possible.”
“But I don't understand, Madame. How will the question in the personal column help?”
“Because everyone loves to know a secret, everyone loves to know something that others don't and then be able to tell their friends that they discovered it first. That questions needs to appear in all of the papers that are most read by the ton. They will believe someone is gossiping and it will drive everyone to distraction not knowing what the secret is.”
“But what is the secret,” he demanded, laughing at her.
Milly held up one of the jars. “This is 'My Lady's Secret', and I am going to find someone very glamorous to let that secret slip. She will be the first person to tell her friends that the secret is this incredible face cream but that they mustn't tell anyone as it is terribly exclusive, shockingly expensive and has a very, very limited supply.”
She watched as Mr Priestly's eyes opened wide. “My goodness, you'll be inundated with orders.”
“Well,” Milly said, not beyond being flattered by the awed look in his eyes. “Let us hope so at least.”
She got to her feet, gathering her copies of the contracts and putting them carefully into her reticule.
“Madam, I believe your talents have been wasted to date, you were born to business.” His tone was full of admiration for her and Milly laughed, more than a little pleased by the compliment. “Well thank you, Mr Priestly, I do think that we make rather a good team, don't you?”
“Indeed I do,” he replied, and then ran to get a small piece of paper and a pen. “While I remember, you said you wanted someone to engrave the feather design. Well I have just the man. This is his address, not a very salubrious neighbourhood I'm afraid. Will ... will your husband accompany you to see him?”
He looked up and Milly thought she saw a slightly calculating look in his eyes. She blushed and shook her head.
“Oh, oh no, I shan't trouble my husband. It's of no matter. Mrs Goodly and I will manage I'm sure.”
“No indeed, Madam!” he replied, looking horrified. “I would undertake to instruct the man myself only I know how particular you are about overseeing the details. But ... if you would allow me to escort you, I'm of course at your disposal.”
Milly pushed aside the thought that Beau would be furious with her for this and smiled, holding out her hand to him. “Why, Mr Priestly, that would be much appreciated. Shall we say first thing tomorrow morning?”
“Certainly, it will be my pleasure. I shall pick you up at eight?”
“Eight it is, the sooner we get the engraving done the sooner that question can be posed and the nearer we are to having a saleable product.”
They said their goodbyes and Milly stepped back into the carriage.
“Well I must say you were quite right about Mr Priestly, Edith. He's just the fellow. I'm so pleased with everything he's done.”
“Yes, love,” Mrs Goodly replied, sounding doubtful. Milly ignored her. She'd already made a deal of objections about doing all of this behind Beau's back, which Milly had no patience for. Her husband could lead his life as he saw fit and she'd damn well do the same. She was tired of being afraid. Somehow she had swapped her fear of being abused or belittled for an equally dreadful fear of discovering something she didn't want to know and getting her heart broken.
To celebrate the coming success of My Lady's Secret, they had lunch at Gunter's on Berkeley Square. For once, however, even the delights of pineapple ice cream couldn't deflect Milly's mind from returning to Beau. She wondered what he'd thought when he'd returned home to find her gone. Had he cared very much? Or had he merely been annoyed? With sorrow she felt she had to believe annoyance would be the most likely emotion.
His ego would have been wounded and she couldn't deny the possibility that her continued refusals would only make him try harder. Well she would just have to continue to be stubborn. It was all or nothing now, and she wasn't foolish enough to believe for one moment that a leopard could change his spots. He'd been a hunter all his life and she doubted her limited charms would keep him home for long.
She gave a heavy sigh and then forced herself to smile at Mrs Goodly who was watching her with a frown. But she couldn't shake the idea that Beau would undoubtedly follow her to London. The idea of spending as long as she could away from home suddenly seemed an inviting one. Indeed she had another very important visit to make, she only hoped that Mrs Goodly didn't throw a spanner in the works.
Turning her mind to the problem she realised that Mrs Goodly wasn't looking very happy.
“Why, Edith, I'm afraid you've been bored to death all morning. Why don't I drop you at your aunt's house for a couple of hours. I'm sure a comfortable visit will please your aunt too, you haven't seen her for some weeks now.”
Mrs Goodly brightened perceptibly at this and pushed away the little glass dish her ice cream had been in. “Oh, yes indeed. I should like that, only ... what about you, dear?”
Milly waved her hand in a dismissive gesture and avoided Mrs Goodly's eye. “Oh, I shall go home and send our carriage back for you later.”
“Oh splendid. I wonder if ... if Lord Ware might be in town by now?”
If Mrs Goodly noticed Milly's face pale at the idea she said nothing, but as Milly didn't have the least intention of going home she felt it didn't matter.
Once Mrs Goodly was comfortably settled in her aunt's parlour, Milly sent a boy with a note to run back to the house and bring their carriage to collect Mrs Goodly at six o'clock. Then she gave the driver of the hack she'd hired the address of King's Street in Pall Mall. The poor fellow cleared his throat and looked uncomfortable.
“I don't reckon you've got that address right, my Lady,” he said, rubbing the back of his thick neck with stubby fingers. “It a
in't the kinda place a respectable lady goes to, thatn, t'aint indeed.”
“No, it's perfectly correct,” she assured him with a confident smile. “So please stop dithering, I have a lot to do this afternoon.”
Milly looked out of the carriage as it drew to a halt on King's Street. Despite her blithe words to the carriage driver her heart was beating in a disagreeable manner and she had to admit to feeling rather out of her depth. But nothing ventured ... And she wasn't about to let her business fail at the last hurdle for lack of a little courage. She was pleased, however, that she'd thought not to use their own carriage this morning as flaunting Ware's crest about in this part of the city would have been scandalous indeed.
A few doors down from Nerot's Hotel was one of three large houses that shared a four storied front with a shallow porch and Doric columns. It looked elegant and refined and somehow not what she had expected. With a deep breath she instructed the driver in no uncertain terms that he must wait for her, no matter how long she was. Clenching her fists she made her way to the front door.
A scant moment after knocking, the door opened to reveal an enormous man wearing a butler's livery with a certain disreputable style, along with a rather incongruous cauliflower ear. Milly blanched but held firm and demanded if the lady of the house was at home.
The butler, who seemed every bit as taken a back as Milly, told her that Mrs Dashton didn't usually receive visitors at this hour but if she would be so good as to wait in the drawing room he would see if she was available.
Milly did as requested and looked about her with interest when the butler left her alone. The room was, as the outside of the house, elegant and unexceptional if rather masculine in style with lots of dark wood. There was a lingering smell of cigar smoke. To her surprise she didn't have to wait long at all before Mrs Dashton swept into the room. She was dressed in rather less startling style than at their first meeting but was nonetheless breathtaking. A pure white morning dress of India muslinet was cut rather low to show her impressive proportions to best advantage with little puffs of tulle at the sleeves.
Sweeping into the room she beamed at Milly and reached out to take her hand before giving an elegant curtsy.
“Well, your Grace, when I was told a duchess was waiting for me in my very own drawing room you could have knocked me down with a feather. I was never more surprised in my life. To what do I owe the honour of your visit?”
Milly smiled at Mrs Dashton and felt sure that her instincts had been correct, this was the woman she needed.
“Well, Mrs Dashton,” she said, feeling a bubble of excitement overcome her. “As it happens, I have a proposition for you.”
Chapter 20
“Wherein our heroine holds all the cards.”
Milly laughed with delight and raised the glass of Champagne that Mrs Dashton had pressed into her hand. The two women had found themselves to be more alike than they might have supposed. Mrs Dashton, or Dollie, as she'd insisted Milly call her, was a very shrewd business woman.
She'd risen to the very top of her profession and could expect the cream of the ton, the men for the most part, to visit her establishment. She had connections to the Prince Regent himself and the ear of many influential men, and some of their wives. Milly was startled to discover that it wasn't only men who thirsted for excitement and Dollie's own brand of titillating entertainments, however.
Milly couldn't help but grin. “I asked Beau, I mean Lord Ware, if he would bring me. I thought he would suffer an apoplexy.”
Dollie arranged the elegant drapes of her dress over her knees and settled back a little more on the chaise of straw coloured satin. She stared at Milly, a penetrating look that made her a little uncomfortable.
“Yes indeed, his Grace was very protective,” Mrs Dashton murmured, her tone considering.
Looking away from the knowing stare, Milly blushed.
“He's a good man and he wouldn't like it if people gossiped about me,” she said, taking a sip of her Champagne. “He was just protecting my reputation.”
Dollie smiled, her eyes glinting. “So then, I have to imagine that his Grace is blissfully unaware of this little outing and our burgeoning partnership.”
Milly placed her Champagne glass down and looked at the woman, her gaze frank. “My husband knows nothing of this and I intend that it remains that way. He ... he had his interests and ... I ... and I ...”
To Milly's horror her throat became thick and she couldn't say anymore. In an instant she found herself held in a comforting embrace and a pretty white handkerchief pressed into her hands.
“Oh you poor child,” Dollie whispered. “Are you very much in love with him?”
Milly sobbed, nodding her head, quite unable to repress the emotions that she'd kept bottled up since yesterday when the hateful Mrs Hadley had come to see him.
Mrs Dashton soothed her, stroking her head and murmuring gentle words. “Well now, this won't do at all,” she said as Milly struggled to compose herself, horrified by her lapse in decorum though Dollie seemed not to mind. “I can't have my newest business partner with her mind not on the job now can I?” Dollie added with a gentle smile.
“Oh but ... but I would never ... the business won't be affected ...” Milly spluttered, wondering if she'd just ruined all of her carefully wrought plans. Dollie however just laughed at her and patted her hand.
“Oh I know that, my dear. I'm not about to back out. I think, however. that I might just take you to my modiste after all though. It will cheer you up enormously. I know it does me.”
Before Milly knew what had hit her she had been swept up in Dollie's carriage and carried off to meet Mrs Shabner in Tavistock Street.
***
It must have been the Champagne, Milly thought, staring at herself in the mirror. The creature looking back at her was not what she was used to at all.
“Yes indeed,” Mrs Dashton said, circling her and nodding with approval. “We'll take that one and the two silks, the white muslin and the sarsnet too.”
“Oh, but I can't!” Milly objected, going white with the idea of the cost when their finances were already at such a stretch. She could perhaps pay for them herself but every penny was invested in the business and she didn't dare.
“No, indeed, but I can,” Dollie said, grinning at her. “I can't remember the last time I had such an entertaining afternoon. You will accept my payment for these gowns plus an investment of five thousand pounds as my ten percent stake in My Lady's Secret.”
“B-but we agreed on five thousand already, the gowns ...”
“The gowns are my gift to you, my dear,” Dollie said, holding her hands out and taking Milly's in hers. “I think perhaps you have a greater hold on your husband than you might suppose. But I dare him to overlook you from now on. You're not the kind of beauty that turns heads perhaps but you have a certain something.”
Frowning and trying to see what that something might be, Milly looked back at the surprisingly voluptuous looking woman reflected in the glass.
“What?” she demanded, failing to see it at all.
Dollie laughed, a rich, decadent sound that conjured visions of silk sheets and wickedness. “Well, with those fragile limbs and that lovely skin you look like a sweet little doll. Something delicate that needs protecting. You're the kind men put their cloaks over puddles for.”
Milly gave a very unladylike bark of laughter. “Oh really!” she said with indignation. “I've never had a man do anything of the sort for me!”
“Haven't you?” Dollie asked, raising one elegant eyebrow.
Milly opened her mouth and closed it again. Well perhaps she had.
“And besides,” Dollie added, winking at her. “You've never had my help before.”
“Maybe he should overlook me though,” Milly said, plucking at the rich silk of her gown, her brow furrowed. “Maybe ... maybe I would be happier than ... gaining his attention and then ... losing it.”
A slow smile broke out over Dollie's lus
h mouth like a dawning sun. “Oh, sweet girl. Just you keep coming to see me and work on getting your husband's attention. I'll show you how to keep it.”
***
Beau stalked the confines of his town house with growing impatience. A note had been sent in Milly's hand requesting a carriage be sent to an address that he recognised. It was where she had first instructed him to write to her and he knew it to be Mrs Goodly's aunt's so he was not unduly worried.
When he looked out close to half past six, however, and saw Mrs Goodly stepping out of her carriage ... alone, things changed.
“Mrs Goodly, where is my wife?” he demanded, not pausing to consider the wisdom in treating his wife's closest companion in such a rough manner.
Mrs Goodly started and looked at him in surprise. “Why ... I ... I don't know, your Grace. I believed that she was here. Indeed she left me hours ago with the intention of returning here. She said she would send the carriage and it arrived at six so I imagined ...” She trailed off and Beau stared at her with impatience and growing concern.
“She sent a boy with a note to arrange the carriage, Madame, so I assume she was well aware she would not be home in time to arrange it," he snapped with frustration.
The sound of another carriage drawing up outside was to be heard and a moment later the under butler opened the door.
“Good gracious,” Mrs Goodly said, staring at the creature in the doorway with a look of stunned surprise. Hers was nothing to Beau's however. Far from looking red eyed and miserable, visions of which had been tormenting him ever since he'd got home last night, she looked ... she looked ...
Beau clamped his mouth shut. She didn't look as though she'd spent one single moment thinking about him.
“Oh, hello,” she said to him, before turning to the mirror and taking off a charming new bonnet with a large ostrich feather that curled in a becoming fashion about her face. “I didn't know you were coming to town.”
He watched and found to his chagrin any words he might have made in answer died in his throat as she allowed a footman to remove her pelisse. The dress was most certainly new. A cerulean blue satin, it highlighted her slender frame and the tiny capped sleeves showed of her elegant limbs. Gone were the long sleeves and certainly gone was the high collar. Beau swallowed as he took in the rather daring neckline that told him in no uncertain terms that his wife had decided to stop binding her breasts.
The Devil May Care Page 17