In a matter of days, Maria had truly become the sister Laura never had. Lord Daventon complained she was monopolizing his betrothed but in truth, he was pleased to see her get along famously with Lady Maria. They were close, brother and sister, growing up with an absentee mother and a father who was wont to be in his cups.
Laura was still at breakfast when a footman came with a message. Lady Maria wanted her company. She had sent her carriage around. Laura quickly finished her breakfast and dashed upstairs for her reticule. When she arrived at Severn House, Maria was ready. Gwen, her companion, was with her.
As soon as they climbed into the carriage, Laura asked, “Where are we going? Not that it matters. It's a lovely morning and I'm happy to be escaping Lord Newington and Mr. Bennett. Not to mention Lord Hennicker who bristles at the sight of them.”
Maria leaned forward and tucked a stray curl behind Laura’s ear. “We are going to get you a bonnet. This one doesn't flatter your complexion.”
Laura clapped her hands. Finally! Maria had promised to take her a week ago but other engagements and callers had intruded. The shop was owned by Lady Maria and it was she who designed the bonnets that had the ton ladies tied up in strings. It was a well-kept secret. Only her companion Gwen, and now Lord Daventon and Laura knew.
Though the hour was early, three customers – one a supercilious countess – were awaiting their turn. After exchanging murmured greetings, Maria led Laura to a modest sofa. A shop girl brought out a book of designs. Neither the shop girl nor Mme. Briggette who posed as the owner of the shop knew Maria was their employer and also designed the bonnets and caps to suit individual patrons. They thought it was Gwen - which was why Gwen had remained in the carriage.
Laura leafed through the book, pausing now and then to exclaim over a particularly fetching bonnet. Maria glowed with pleasure. Softly, so as not to be audible to others in the room, she told Laura about what a bonnet was meant to achieve. “Bonnets create personality,” she murmured.
“Which of these shall I order?” Laura asked, torn between half a dozen captivating confections.
Maria helped her pick two, and also placed an order for two more, keeping in mind certain morning gowns newly come. Once they were in the carriage, Laura turned towards Maria. “I'm full of admiration. You have done so much with your time.”
“It isn't all that much.”
“You had a dream, to sail to America without taking help from your grandmother, and you used your talent to try and make it come true.”
“Do you have a dream, Laura?” Lady Maria asked.
Laura picked at the folds of her gown. “Everyone has a dream, I suppose.”
“What is yours, if you don't mind sharing it with me.”
Laura sighed and folded her arms. Maria had never seen her look so serious. “I'm grateful for the privileges I have but I long to be able to do something with my life. Aunt Nell doesn't understand. She says I'll have enough to do when I'm wed. Being mistress of an establishment, playing hostess, and minding husband and children won't leave me with any time to moan about.”
“Your wish is laudable. Though I started the bonnet shop because I wanted to earn enough to sail away to America, I don't deny it also gave me immense satisfaction to use my creativity. Do you have anything in mind?”
Laura colored. “I have heard of houses where children - orphans and foundlings - are reared. I would like to help them. It is a terrible thing, not having a mother to turn to.”
Her eyes glistened and Maria squeezed her arm, divining what lay behind her desire to help motherless children. Growing up without a mother had made her sensitive to the needs of children.
Laura blinked back her tears and smiled. “Shall we stop at the Circulating Library? The latest Minerva Press novel should have arrived.”
The stop at the library proved to be disappointing. The new novel being much in demand, its copies were all in circulation. Laura had to be content with a book she had previously read but did not mind reading again. As they walked back to the carriage, they were met by Lord Daventon.
“I saw the carriage and stopped,” he explained.
Maria smiled and allowed him to take her hands. “My lord!” she murmured.
Laura looked at Gwen, to share a conspiratorial smile. As usual, her brother and Lady Maria had become oblivious to their surroundings and were gazing at each other.
Laura turned her attention to the gentleman standing beside Gareth and froze. His Grace, the Duke of Wimberley was looking at her, his eyes rife with amusement. What was the matter with the man? Did she have soot on her nose? He was a boor, and conceited. Granted he was good looking, very good looking, but that didn't give him the right to laugh at her.
Instead of looking away, she stared at him even though her heart was behaving erratically, making loud, thumping noises everyone in the vicinity must be able to hear.
The duke raised a quizzical brow as if to ask whether he was found wanting. As if he would be! Tall, as sleek as a leopard coiled to spring, with dark chestnut hair and eyes the color of chocolate, Lord Wimberley was undoubtedly handsome.
Gwen touched Lady Maria's arm, to recall her. Lord Daventon was her betrothed but it wouldn't do to gaze into his eyes in the middle of a street. Love was for commoners. The gentry, whether affianced or married, took care not to allow a display of the vulgar sentiment.
“It's nice to see you, your Grace,” Lady Maria said, dropping the duke a curtsy.
“My felicitations, Lady Maria, on your excellent match.”
“Laura, I want you to meet an old friend,” Gareth said.
Laura gritted her teeth. “Are you sure he wants to meet me?”
His Grace chuckled. “She has changed. I never would have thought she would turn out like this.”
“How old was she when you met her? Maybe five or six?”
If Laura wasn't a lady, born and bred, and wasn’t trained by a strict governess, she would have screamed. Or at the least stamped her foot. Instead, she crossed her arms and glared at the men. It was a glare ferocious enough for her brother to notice.
“What's wrong?”
“Does he want to meet me, or doesn't he?” Laura retorted, using the annoying third person to get back. Lord Daventon shot her a surprised look. It wasn’t like her to be so bold.
His Grace threw back his head and laughed. Laura watched him, amazed to see the difference. She had seen him brooding at the ball, she had thought his supercilious the next morning, and rather conceited just now. But when he laughed, she heard an echo in her heart. She had heard that happy sound before.
“You have really forgotten him. He is Anthony, now Duke of Wimberley. He was with me at Eton. He’d come down with me during the holidays because of some contagion on their estate. You were always following him, calling him Ant-tony.”
Laura reddened. Strange though it was, she remembered him. He was but a boy of fourteen but to her an adult. He had pulled her out of the dismals and made her laugh. She hadn't forgotten him. He had a special place in her memories.
“You are embarrassing her. Lady Laura, it is a pleasure to renew our friendship.”
“The pleasure is mine, your Grace,” Laura mumbled.
“Daventon, shall we take the ladies to Gunter's? The day is warm enough for a sorbet or an ice,” Lord Wimberley asked.
“I fear we must decline, your Grace,” Lady Maria said. “We are not yet finished with our purchases.”
“We shall walk you to the carriage,” Lord Daventon said, offering his arm to Lady Maria. Laura walked with Gwen but when Lord Wimberley offered his arm, Gwen dropped behind.
“I gather this is your first visit to London. I hope you are enjoying it.”
“I am, your Grace.”
Lord Wimberley grimaced. “I inherited the title a year ago but it still brings to mind my father. I would rather you didn't use it.”
Laura peeped at him. “I cannot possibly call you Ant-tony, your Grace.”
Lord Wimberley smiled, making Laura stare. Such enchanting dimples were wasted on a man.
“Ant-tony will not do at all. I shall have to put up with 'your Grace'.”
“Does Ant-tony offend your dignity, your Grace?”
“More than you can know. If Mary Jane picks it up, I will have no authority over her. As it is, she twists me around her little finger.”
“Mary Jane?”
“My daughter,” replied Lord Wimberley, helping Laura into the carriage.