by Abby Gordon
“Venus,” murmured Tony.
The designer had sharp ears though and looked at him. “Indeed,” she agreed, pulling Pippa toward the curtain with her. “Jessica, and Miss Jacobs when she called just now, said you would need at least two evening gowns, and we can certainly have you rivaling Venus Rising.”
“Merci, Madame,” Tony told her.
“Now, you, vite,” she shooed him toward the door. “Three hours you come back and get ma petite.”
“But…” he tried to protest.
“Monsieur,” she frowned at him. “She will be safe with us. Michel, Giselle?”
A tall, well-built man and a slender woman appeared at the curtain.
“Oui, madame?”
“Take Mademoiselle Pippa and start her measurements. Although, I’m sure we’ll find that Charlotte was quite accurate.”
“Accurate? Charlotte?” Pippa glanced from one to the other.
“Madame Jacobs is a designer and has a good eye,” Giselle told her. “Ah, the coloring, Madame? We have that rose silk. And the brown and rose tweed suit would be très élégante.”
“Oui,” Madame agreed, blocking Tony.
“But…” he protested again.
“You. Go. We’ll need two suitcases, one carry-on, and a garment bag.”
“But…”
Madame DeLoache smiled understandingly. “You’ve just realized you love her and don’t want her out of your sight, non?” She patted his hand. “We will not let her leave our sight for a second. She will be safe with us. I promise.”
Reluctantly, Tony nodded.
“Wait a minute,” Pippa said, turning to him. She put her hands on his face and pulled him down for a kiss. “That’ll hold me a little bit.”
“And this a bit longer,” he told her, kissing her harder.
“Ah, l’amour,” Giselle sighed.
“Oui, oui,” Madame DeLuca fussed, pulling Pippa away and giving her a little push toward her assistants. “And, you, monsieur, don’t forget and send the bags as soon as you can. There’s a shop just across the street.”
“I’ll do that now,” he promised, eyes following Pippa as she glanced over her shoulder to give him a smile.
As good as his word, Tony walked out, checked traffic, and jogged across the street. The owner knew Madame DeLuca and quickly sorted him out, having two assistants take the brown, green, and rose striped luggage to the shop. Getting directions, Tony went three shops further down, using the designer and high-end luggage designer as references, and dropping the comte’s name along with Sean’s, found eager assistance in getting a few things.
His cell rang as he was paying and the owner’s assistant was expertly packing the small leather satchel he’d bought. Seeing the strange number with a French location, he quickly answered, “Hello?”
“Mr. Henderson? This is the Comte de la Lavendal. I believe you and Miss Sheldon know my granddaughter Jessica.”
“Yes, sir. She’s a lovely woman.”
“She is,” the man agreed proudly. “I was hoping we would be in London by now, but with the airports getting cleared, we are just leaving Iceland. Added to that, I’ve received word that high winds caused damage to Lavendal.”
“Nothing too serious, I hope,” Tony replied.
“I’m hoping not,” the comte answered, clearly worried. “I was hoping that you and Miss Sheldon would be agreeable to meeting us at the airport and flying with us to Lavendal this afternoon. Spending the day and probably tomorrow night there and returning to London the following day for our meeting with Baron Jonal.”
“Certainly, sir.”
“Excellent,” came the pleased response. “Where are you now? I’ll have a car collect you and bring you to the airport. We’ll see who gets there first.”
“It may be you, sir. Pippa is at Madame DeLuca’s courtesy of Jessica. I may not be able to get her out of there.”
The comte’s booming laugh made Tony smile.
“Don’t mention that to my Madeline. She’ll want to get off the plane and then we will have problems.”
“Agreed,” Tony chuckled. “It might make things simpler if you had someone meet us at Madame DeLuca’s shop then. Would it be all right if we go by Jessica’s apartment on the way to the airport? I left my things there and we can ask the landlord to keep an eye on it.”
“Excellent idea. You do that and we’ll see you in a few hours.”
“See you then, sir.”
Hanging up, Tony whooshed out air and looked at the shop owner. “I sounded all right, didn’t I? His granddaughter is marrying my best friend.”
“Very proper and respectful, Mr. Henderson,” the older man assured him.
“Thank you,” Tony replied, smiling. “Because if the next couple days go as I hope, I may very well be working for him. And,” he picked up his bag, “I’ll be coming in to be properly outfitted so I don’t look like a fool.”
“Look forward to it, sir. We’ll take care of you.”
“As you did. Thank you.”
Tony walked back to DeLuca’s and could hear laughter from the back of the shop.
“Can I help you find something you need, sir?” came the question from a young lady behind the counter.
A glance at the tall brunette showed her assessing his body, interest in her expression.
“I’m here for Miss Sheldon,” he replied coolly.
Her countenance changed swiftly from sexual to professional. “This way, sir.”
She rapped on the frame before pulling the curtain slightly. “A gentleman is here for Miss Sheldon.”
“Are you decent, sweetheart?”
“Stay there and let me surprise you,” she called back.
“All right, but we don’t have much time,” he told her. “The comte called. He’s sending a car to pick us up so we can meet him…”
Pippa stepped through the curtain and his jaw dropped. As Madame DeLuca, Michel, and Giselle followed her, she did a slow pirouette. In a silk tweed skirt suit of brown, cream, and rose, nude heels, her hair braided and gathered in a chignon, Pippa looked every inch the elegant young women he’d seen on Bond Street.
“Stunning,” he breathed. “My God, Pippa. I knew you were beautiful, but…”
“Madame DeLuca and Giselle gave me some polish,” she smiled, walking to him. “And told me how to do the makeup and hair.”
“I’m afraid to touch you,” Tony whispered.
“You better,” she told him. “I need a kiss.”
“I can do that,” he agreed, framing her face and kissing her tenderly. Hugging her, he looked over at the beaming trio. “Butterfly indeed,” he complimented them.
“She was so easy to work with,” Madame smiled. “The evening gowns will be ready tomorrow.”
“That’s fine,” Tony told her. “The comte wants us to join them this afternoon. The storm caused damage at Lavendal,” he said to Pippa. “We’re to meet them at the airport and fly down this evening. We’ll be at Lavendal through Tuesday morning. We have a meeting with Sir Lincoln at one that afternoon. And the premiere of Sean’s movie is Friday night.”
“Then we must swiftly pack what you’ll need, Mademoiselle Pippa,” Madame DeLuca clapped her hands. “Vite!”
Giselle had already disappeared. Panic appeared in Pippa’s eyes. “What will I need?”
“We’ve got everything,” Madame told her, taking her hand. “We’ve already packed the makeup and skin care products Madame Jacobs had sent over.” She lifted the curtain. “The walking shoes, mais oui, the trousers with that jacket and the rose skirt, the black silk for dinner…”
Tony shook his head and took a seat in one of the chairs in the center of the shop. Giselle came out and went to the stockings area.
“Hose or stockings?” he wondered.
“Stockings, monsieur,” she replied, letting him see the garters in her hand.
“Oh, lord,” he murmured, just imagining Pippa wearing them.
She chuckled. Michel
came out and picked out a few things before retreating behind the curtain. Tony glanced at his watch, betting himself that the car to get them would arrive before she was ready. Restless, he stood and walked around.
“Excuse me,” a man spoke from the door. “The Comte de la Lavendal sent me.”
Tony turned. “Hello. I’m Mr. Henderson. Miss Sheldon is nearly ready.”
“Excellent, sir. Shall I put your things in the car?”
“Please. And I’ll see if I can get her to move along quickly.”
Smiling, the chauffeur took the bag and left. Tony went to the curtain and peered around the edge.
“Pippa, the car is here.”
The four were putting things in the garment bag and small carry-on. Shoes were wrapped in tissue paper. Slipping something into the smaller bag, Giselle whispered in Pippa’s ear, glanced at Tony, then giggled. Pippa bit her bottom lip and blushed. Tony was intrigued and filed that away to ask her about when they had a moment alone.
“Un moment,” Madame told him, glancing about. “I know…aha. Voila.” She reached out and selected two scarves, handing them to Michel. The scarves were tucked into a side pocket of the garment bag. “And…” Hands on hips, she tapped her fingers as she moved slowly along the wall. “These,” she decided, picking up something Tony couldn’t see and putting it carefully in a small bag, handing that to Giselle who put them in the carry-on. “This, the cream and the rose sweater and the gold blouse. Mix and match as you need.”
“Merci, Madame,” Pippa hugged her.
Rapid French was spoken by all four as Pippa embraced Michel and Giselle. Tony lost track of the conversation as Michel carried the bags to the waiting car. Giselle helped Pippa don a camel coat with threads of rose and gold. Madame handed her gloves and a pashmina in soft rose.
Taking a deep breath, Pippa turned to Tony. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”
“The world is yours, sweetheart,” he told her with a smile.
Pippa’s bags were in the trunk and the chauffeur was waiting at the door for them.
“We need to stop by Miss Longworth’s apartment,” Tony told him.
“The comte gave me the address, sir.”
“Excellent. Thank you.”
Inside, Pippa gave him a wide grin. He could only smile back at her.
Chapter Twelve
Dusk was falling in the late afternoon as they reached the small private airport. Pippa glanced through the window as the car was allowed to pass through the gate, then looked at Tony.
“I guess you’re used to this with Sean.”
“A bit,” he allowed, nodding. “I do a lot of commercial travel though, like coming over here yesterday. And Sean really only uses his private plane when he goes to the island. He thinks it’s a bit ostentatious. Although, he does like the convenience.”
“Like when he needs to rescue Jessica?” she grinned.
“Something like that,” he chuckled.
“The Lavendal plane just landed, sir, miss,” the driver told them. “We’ll head to the hangar where they’ll be refueling.”
“Thank you.”
In minutes, they were pulling into the brightly lit hangar, where a distinguished white-haired man in at tailored suit and black cashmere overcoat watched the workers. As the car pulled to a stop, he turned. Jessica’s grandfather, Pippa told herself. A French comte. She glanced about as the driver got out and opened Tony’s door. There was no sign of the comtesse. Of course, she reminded herself, a couple like that—established, aristocratic, and all—the husband would meet new people first, assess them, and decide if they could meet his wife. Taking a deep breath as Tony exited, she moved to follow him.
He squeezed her fingers as she stepped out. “Just be yourself, sweetheart,” he whispered as they headed for the man.
“Right,” she muttered back at him. “Easy for you to say.”
“I’ve never met a comte either.”
“Not sure if that helps me or not,” she was able to say before they reached the man in question.
“Good evening, sir,” she greeted him.
Dark eyes like Jessica’s studied her a moment before he smiled, then extended his hand. “Mademoiselle,” he replied, kissing her fingers when she gave them to him. “Monsieur.”
The men shook hands. Pippa saw two men leaving the plane to get their cases.
“Thank you for meeting and coming with us,” the comte began. “Antoine sent us some pictures of the damage. I don’t think any of the vines were seriously harmed, but it’s difficult to say. The storm hadn’t quite ended when he took them.”
“Were they the champagne or the pinot?” Pippa asked.
The comte smiled at her. “The pinot.”
She nodded. “It’s a hardier vine. Hopefully, it will be all right. Were the frames—” she stopped herself. “I’m sorry.”
“Non, non,” he shook his head. “Good questions. It shows me that you know the vines.”
A man in a tailored, military style coat approached. “Monsieur le Comte, nous sommes prêt.”
“Excellent,” he replied, glancing toward the car. “Pierre, merci.”
The driver bowed his head slightly. “Tuesday morning, monsieur?”
“Oui,” the Comte answered, offering his arm to Pippa. “Now, come meet my bride.”
As he escorted her toward the movable stairs, Pippa glanced over her shoulder at Tony, who grinned back at her. The comte so far was not anything like she’d expected, but at the same time, very familiar. The pilot preceded them up the stairs at a brisk pace, going to the left to enter the cockpit. The comte guided her to the right, where two waiting attendants helped them with their coats and winter things.
“Ah, there you are,” a soft, feminine voice greeted them.
Pippa turned to see a tall, elegant older version of Jessica come from the rear of the plane.
“Good heavens,” she breathed. “You look just like Jess.”
“Merci, ma petite,” the woman smiled, greeting her with air kisses. “And, monsieur, welcome.”
Tony took her hand and kissed it the way the comte had kissed Pippa’s.
“No stealing my bride,” came the admonishment, with a smile.
“I have one, sir,” he assured him, wrapping an arm around Pippa’s waist. “Or will.”
“Magnifique,” applauded Madeline. “Felicitations.”
“Monsieur,” the pilot called. “We have been cleared to takeoff in ten minutes.”
“Excellent. Let’s sit down, shall we, and talk?”
Madeline lead the way to comfortable seats facing each other across a table. The men had the women sit by the windows and they buckled in. An attendant came to them almost immediately.
“Anything before takeoff?”
“Tea, please,” requested the comtesse.
“That sounds lovely,” Pippa agreed.
The men declined. The tea was brought as the plane taxied toward the runway. The comte studied Pippa a moment.
“How did you and Jessica meet?” he asked.
“I met the maître d’ at the Lincoln four years ago this past summer when he attended a conference at the hotel I was working,” she replied. “He said he liked the way I worked and offered me a job. Three days after I started, I met Jessica. Two days later, we had a fight.”
“A fight?” Madeline frowned, sipping her tea. “About what?”
“I was just seventeen, angry at the world, and not taking care of myself.” She leaned forward and whispered. “I was fifty pounds overweight.”
“Non.” The Comtesse was shocked, a hand going to her chest.
Pippa nodded. “And I looked rather like a clown. Whatever makeup trend was going on, I tried it whether it worked on me or not. We were at work, in the women’s changing room, and Jessica came over, calm as can be, gathered up my makeup and threw it all away, saying I was better off with none than with all of that.” Pippa grimaced. “The discussion fell apart and went downhill from there. I ask
ed her who the bloody hell she thought she was. She told me that I wasn’t happy, and until I admitted that then I couldn’t be happy.”
The roar of the engines for takeoff made it difficult to speak for a few moments. Once the plane had leveled off, the attendant returned and the men ordered drinks.
“And that made you friends?” the comte wondered, sipping his whiskey.
“Not yet,” Pippa told him, taking a sip. “I was rather sulky that whole night as we worked. Pouting really. When we left, Jess gave me her address and number and told me to call if I wanted a friend. I went home, still angry at her, but she had me thinking, and then I cried. I went over to her flat at three in the morning in the pouring rain. Jess didn’t bat an eyelash, but brought me in, fixed me a cup of tea, and became my friend.” Pippa blinked back tears. “She became the older sister I’d never had.”
“Fifty pounds,” Madeline murmured, shaking her head.
“She started working on me that night.” Pippa smiled at the memory. “She taught me so much, and I can tell she learned it from you. She had me walking, eating right, taught me some ballet.” Pippa grinned at Tony, who winked at her. “And then before I realize it, she’s taking me around London, showing me things I’d heard of but never thought I’d see.” Giving a little laugh, Pippa shook her head. “Me at a museum? Seeing masterpieces? Going to ballet or opera? No way. But she insisted, and dragged me all over the place. I complained for a few months. I couldn’t let her think I was letting her get her way that easily,” she admitted. The three chuckled.
“But then,” she sighed and smiled, remembering that afternoon. “There was an exhibit that Jessica was so excited about. It was a loan from the Louvre. And there I was in a room with Monet, Chagall, and Pizarro. I was absolutely in heaven. I gave the security guards heart failure though. I was so drawn to the art that I didn’t realize I’d gone beyond the rope to touch them. I couldn’t believe something so beautiful was real.”
“Ah, c’est vrai,” Madeline agreed.
“Jess hadn’t started really on my wardrobe or anything, so there I was, clomping around in my favorite boots, corduroys, and my five-year-old parka. I still have them. I won’t let Jess talk me into throwing them away.” Pippa chuckled at the memory. “The guards were probably terrified I’d vandalize the paintings. But I was hooked. And then,” she glanced at the comte, “the Lincoln hosted the semifinals for the annual British Wine Awards. Somehow, Jess got the two of us on the setup crew. We had time when we finished and, I realize now that she set everything up, she suggested we ‘play’ testers ourselves. She got this funny expression on her face after the second round and when we were done, she said I was a sommelier.” Pippa shook her head. “I thought she’d lost her mind.”