“I told the tailor to leave extra room in the shoulders.” She opened one lapel to display the lining. “The facing is silk where it counts, of course. But the sleeves have a removable lining of cotton flannel. Able to be laundered, and less likely to cause irritation. Shirts are the softest lawn I could find. And the cravats have a muslin collar inside them, so they won’t need starch where it touches your skin.”
He marveled at how much thought she’d put into this. Naturally, this had been her line of employment for many years—suggesting and crafting the garments that best suited an individual. But that was work.
This . . . this was a gift.
Her hands skimmed from his shoulders to the cuffs, and she looked him over. “I knew the green would suit you. You look so handsome.”
By his soul. He volleyed between overwhelming emotion and distaste for an obvious lie.
“See for yourself.” She went to the standing mirror and turned it to face him.
He didn’t need to look in the mirror. He knew exactly what he’d see. A scarred and powder-burned horror that appeared laughable when contrasted with a fine new coat.
It was, he had to admit, a splendid coat. It fit him to perfection, and from this vantage, he could imagine himself a younger man, sitting in the club or accepting a glass of brandy after a day of autumn sport. Back in the “before” of his life.
“Well . . . ?” she prompted. She looked pleased with herself and eager for praise.
“It’s a finely made coat,” he said.
“But do you like it?”
I like it very much. But most of all, I like you—a great deal more than I ought—and even if it’s too late for me to save myself, I’m not going to give you false hope.
He swung his arms. “Well, it does offer more flexibility in the arms. You know, for punching orphans and sacrificing lambs to Satan.”
She returned to the boxes, stacking them with brisk, irritated motions. “Does it give you some sort of cruel satisfaction, always belittling my work? I know it doesn’t impress you, but it’s my chief talent. I’d have made career of it, if not for—” She cut off the statement.
“If not for what?”
“Never mind.”
“I will pay mind when and where I wish, thank you. If not for what?”
“If not for you.”
He blinked at her. “What could I have to do with it? What, you would have opened your own shop with your two pounds, three shillings?”
“I planned to become an independent dressmaker, but I needed a way to attract my own customers. A gown that showed my best handiwork, on display at one of the largest social events of the Season.”
“Annabelle’s wedding gown.”
“The snow-beast pelt splattered with unicorn vomit. Yes.”
He gestured expansively. “Well, I’m so sorry I interfered with your plans for a lifetime of degrading labor and gave you a life of wealth and privilege instead.”
She pushed her hair back with her wrist. “Of course I wouldn’t trade one for the other. I’m not stupid. And I’m grateful for all you’ve given me. It’s only . . . this is all I have to offer you, and you insist on insulting it.”
“So what would you have me do?”
She spread her arms, indicating the dozens of boxes. “Use this. Get out of the house. Take me with you. Somewhere. Anywhere.”
He groaned. “Emma . . .”
“It doesn’t have to be public. Surely there’s somewhere we could go without being seen. Vauxhall, perhaps. Or a masquerade. I want to spend time with you. Take me along on one of your nightly prowls about London, if nothing else.”
“That’s not going to happen. None of it is going to happen.”
“Because you’re too proud.”
“Because I am decided. You shouldn’t presume that a few new topcoats will change my mind. We had a bargain, I remind you, and it did not include outings and jaunts about Town. Your role in this marriage is confined to precisely one purpose.”
“Broodmare.” Her eyes brimmed with hurt. “Yes, I recall.”
She left the room.
Ash rubbed his face with both hands. He’d been stalking the streets of Mayfair for weeks now, striking fear into the hearts of the populace, and he’d never felt as despicable as he did at that moment.
He’d never deserved the name “monster” more.
It’s better this way, he told himself. Better to hurt her now rather than later.
Right. And if he repeated that balderdash a thousand times, he just might start to believe it.
“Here’s another.” Nicola came up for air and added a new book to the towering stack Alexandra was holding for her. She seemed determined to take at least one book from every shelf in Hatchard’s bookshop.
Emma tilted her head and examined the spines. “History of the Thames, Roman architecture, Viennese cookery, mechanical engineering . . . Is there some thread that connects all these?”
“Naturally, there is,” Penny said. “It’s somewhere in the tangle of Nicola’s brain.”
“I heard that,” Nicola called from two shelves down.
Alexandra didn’t lift her head from her reading. She had Nicola’s tilting tower in one arm, and in the other hand she held a single book of her own. Something about stars.
“It was a compliment. You know how I marvel at your intelligence.” Penny leaned against the bookshelves. “Just think, if we could put your brain, my soft heart, Alexandra’s common sense, and Emma’s eye for fashion together to make one woman. We’d be unstoppable.”
Alex used her thumb and teeth to turn a page of her astronomy book. “We’d be a well-dressed woman who spends her days tinkering with clockwork and baking biscuits to feed the forty-three ducks, goats, cows, and hedgehogs crammed in the back garden.”
“Only forty-three?” With a skeptical harrumph, Nicola added another book to the stack in Alexandra’s arm.
This time, however, she’d added one too many. The tower swayed, wobbled, and ultimately crashed to the floor.
Everyone in the shop turned to glare at them in silent censure.
Nicola’s freckled brow knitted as she stared down at the heap of books. “I should have known that would happen. See, this is why I need the books on engineering.”
Alexandra chased after her own book, which had landed a few yards from the rest. After having retrieved it, however, she collided with a gentleman—and this time, both of their books scattered to the floor. She began stammering her apologies at once, even though the gentleman’s back was still turned. When he swung to face her, however—
She went silent.
They all did. None of them could speak.
The man standing before Alexandra must have been the most dangerously handsome gentleman in all of London. Even Emma, foolishly taken as she was with her own husband, could see it.
Well-formed features. Roguish green eyes. Brown hair that misbehaved just the right amount.
The gentleman bowed to Alexandra.