* * *
‘Mr Gordston! How perfectly charming to see you again,’ Lady Smythe-Tomas said, holding out her hand to be kissed. ‘I’m so glad you did not miss Lady Cannon’s garden party, it’s always so amusing.’
Malcolm smiled at her and bowed over the fine pale lavender kid glove he knew had come from Gordston’s own glove counter. Lady S.-T. was one of his best customers, and the first besides their hostess to greet him at the painfully genteel garden party. Not that there had been any lack of attention. Everyone stared, thinking themselves hidden behind teacups and parasols.
He glanced around at the groups gathered on the terrace, taking tea at small wrought-iron tables under the trees, strolling the flower-lined pathways. They all looked elegant, stylish in pastel gowns and feathered hats he could value to the shilling, smelling of attar of roses, smiling discreetly. A completely different world from the cold, harsh one he had known growing up.
It all made him think of the winter fairy, of her soft smile, her gentle touch. He had thought of her so often since their too-brief, too-embarrassing meeting, and he felt even more foolish than ever that he could have considered her less than a perfect lady. Everything about her had breathed gentleness and innocence, a castle tower high above the coal-streaked world. Just like this garden.
Lady S.-T. tapped his arm, bringing him back into that real world. She smiled up at him from beneath her wide-brimmed, lilac-trimmed hat. She was a widow of great fortune and whispered reputation, one of the great beauties of society with her masses of auburn hair and cat-like green eyes, her photograph displayed in shop windows along with Daisy Warwick and Princess Alexandra. Only a few people, like Malcolm, knew that slightly scandalous society lady was only a front for her work at the Foreign Office, for he sometimes passed on a titbit or two she might find useful. She was a great friend, someone whose company he much enjoyed—yet even her great beauty couldn’t quite distract him from the pale fairy.
‘Lady Cannon was quite naughty to invite you without telling me about it,’ Lady Smythe-Tomas said. ‘I would have so enjoyed being here early, to watch the stir your arrival no doubt created.’
Malcolm laughed. There had indeed been something of a ‘stir’ when he first stepped out of the French doors on to the terrace, a ripple of silence across the lush flowerbeds. ‘I’m not sure why she sent the card. Miss Mersey insisted I accept.’
‘Ah, the excellent Miss Mersey. She was quite right. You want as much publicity as possible for your new Paris venture. That was surely why Lady Cannon invited you. Everyone is astir with all things Paris now.’
‘Including your own office?’ Malcolm asked quietly.
Lady S.-T. tapped her gloved fingertip on her dimpled chin. ‘I may be crossing the Channel very soon, yes. Strange things seem to be afoot along the Seine. Perhaps I will call on you at your new store?’
‘You are always welcome.’
‘You know what must happen if I do. I must seem utterly empty in the pocketbook.’ She took his arm and led him down the terrace steps on to one of the gravel pathways. She nodded and waved to various acquaintances. ‘In the meantime, I must show you who is who, though no doubt you already know! They all shop at Gordston’s. Lady Amberson and Mrs Downley. Now, those hats could have come from nowhere else than your own milliner. Miss Chumleigh—now she could use a trip to your underpinnings department, such unfortunate posture. The Viscount Hexham over there, and Mrs Browne, his mistress, though they think they are terribly discreet. And Mr Evansley over there, though I do wonder why Lady Cannon would invite him. We should watch out for him. I have been tasked with keeping an eye on him most carefully.’
Malcolm studied the man she indicated. He looked quite inoffensive, small and pale with thinning blond hair, obviously thrilled to be there among the cream of society. ‘Why is that?’
‘I can’t quite say yet, of course, but he has been known to associate with Mr Nixson. We don’t know yet how deeply involved he might be in the business. Did you not refuse to get involved with that scheme not long ago?’ she answered.
Nixson. Malcolm frowned to remember when the man had come to him to propose a business deal—one that was entirely illegal, not to mention immoral. Of course he had turned him down. But who knew who among society wouldn’t be so wise to know what the man was about?
‘But oh, look!’ Lady S.-T. said happily. ‘There is Christopher Blakely, how utterly charming. I was rather good friends with his brother, Sir William. We should say hello.’
She took Malcolm’s arm and led him across the garden to greet Mr Blakely. As he and Lady S.-T. happily chatted, Malcolm studied the crowd around them, nodding to acquaintances, smiling at people who frowned at him, obviously wondering how he had been allowed into the party.
Then his attention was caught by some newcomers who appeared on the terrace with their hostess. A stately lady in a striped gown, with a younger lady behind her, small and delicate in pale blue, smiling politely. The winter fairy.
‘Ah, the Duchess of Waverton,’ Lady Smythe-Tomas murmured. ‘I’m sure you’ve heard of the family? Too high in the instep for the scandalous Marlborough House set, though Her Grace has deigned to talk to me once or twice. It’s a good thing, as they possess the Eastern Star sapphire, which would be a helpful decoy in Paris.’
Malcolm watched Lady Alexandra, his winter fairy who now had a name—and was a duke’s daughter. Not just any duke’s daughter, but Waverton’s, the man who had once ruined his family. The sweet girl who had once sat beside him near the river. The one whose innocence he would have done anything to protect. Now she was here, right in front of him.
She was smiling and nodding as Lady Cannon greeted them, but she seemed strangely far away. ‘A sapphire is involved in your plans?’
‘Bait for a villain, of course. Luckily, the Duchess’s nose is so far in the air she can’t see her husband’s business affairs dissolving right in front of her.’ Lady S.-T. tilted her head, watching as the Duchess nodded to Lady Cannon. She drew her daughter forward and Alexandra looked startled for a moment before her smile was in place again. ‘And that must be the daughter. They say the Wavertons have high hopes for her. She’s very unusual-looking, isn’t she? A bit rabbity and pale, maybe, but nothing the right clothes couldn’t fix in a trice.’
‘Pale and rabbity?’ Malcolm scoffed. ‘Fair, perhaps, but those eyes could never belong to a rabbit.’
Lady S.-T. gave him a long, considering glance. ‘How can anyone see her eyes from here? But now I am most curious. Little debs aren’t usually your style. Come, let’s go greet them.’
Malcolm remembered all too well how his first encounter in the park with Lady Alexandra had ended. She certainly wouldn’t want to see him now. ‘Laura, don’t be daft. No duchess wants to meet a shopkeeper.’
‘You are no mere shopkeeper. You are Malcolm Gordston, one of the richest men in London, keeper of the treasures of Gordston’s Department Store, where even the queen has bought a few things. Even a little rabbit is sure to be intrigued by that. And this party is too dull by half. Come along.’
She took his arm and pulled him along the path, back towards the terrace. He wasn’t entirely reluctant to go with her. Or, if he was honest with himself, as he always was, not reluctant at all. Surely he couldn’t embarrass Lady Alexandra so much when she was surrounded by her family and friends. And he was curious to know how it would feel to touch her hand again. Just for a moment.
* * *
Alexandra smiled at Lady Cannon, half-listening as her mother exchanged pleasantries with their hostess. She studied the garden, the crowd gathered there, arranged like a bright painting of an idyllic day. The Cannons’ annual garden party was famous, for they had what was easily the largest private garden in town, and they always seemed to find the loveliest spring day to