Baxter-Smythe had made more than one attempt to begin a flirtation with him, but she was a widow. Avery had no truck with widows. They usually had brothers or fathers or distant cousins, who would see their role as protectors of virtue. And no matter how merry the widow, they were unlikely to pass up the chance to marry off a single relative to the son of a duke.
Avery bowed. ‘Likewise, I am sure, Mrs Baxter-Smythe.’
The widow turned her gaze on his companion. ‘I understand Lord Fontly is out of town at the moment?’
Elizabeth’s cheekbones coloured. ‘He has gone to the races in Newmarket.’ She sounded a little too defensive.
‘How you must miss him,’ Mrs Baxter-Smythe cooed. ‘And you only recently married.’
‘Lord Fontly has a horse entered in a race,’ Avery put in cheerfully. ‘Not something even a newly wed husband should miss.’
Elizabeth recovered her composure. ‘And he recommended Lord Avery take me shopping, since it is something he hates to do.’
Avery gave her arm a little squeeze of approval. Elizabeth had been hurt by her husband’s departure so soon after their marriage, so he had suggested that a new hat might be just the thing to make her feel better.
He became aware of a pair of grave grey eyes watching the interchange between him and the ladies. It was the sort of considering look one might get from a tutor who realised you were not going to live up to your potential. Her eyes held curiosity along with a dawning understanding.
What did she understand? That he served as an escort when a lady’s husband was absent? Did she think it was more than that? Let her think what she wished. Everyone else did. And naturally his special ladies never discussed him with others. They were married, after all.
‘It seems everyone has discovered this place,’ Mrs Baxter-Smythe said. ‘Does Mrs Greystoke not carry the most beautiful hats you have ever seen?’
‘I have not yet had a chance to look.’ Elizabeth glanced around. ‘But I must say at first sight they appear to be most attractive.’
‘Each and every one is stunning,’ the widow said. ‘And do ask her about the other unique items she has for sale.’ She pinned her eyes on Avery. ‘I am having an open house next Monday. Afternoon tea. I would love to see you there.’ She moved her focus to Elizabeth. ‘If you are free, I would love you to come also, Lady Fontly.’ The afterthought was a deliberate snub.
Mrs Baxter-Smythe was a denizen of the ton. For Elizabeth not to accept would put her on the fringes of society. Flirting with him was one thing, but declining to attend one of Mrs Baxter-Smythe’s at homes was quite another.’
‘I shall be delighted to escort you,’ Avery said, smiling at Elizabeth, who dipped a little curtsy. ‘If Lord Fontly is not back in time.’
‘Oh, but of course,’ the widow said. ‘Your husband is welcome also, should he be home, if he does not think it a terrible bore.’ She gave them a sickly sweet smile, squeezed past him and Elizabeth and left the shop with her maid trailing behind her.
A young woman he recognised as the wife of a prominent banker appeared from behind the curtain. Her eyes were dancing and her cheeks were bright pink.
A shop assistant appeared right behind her with a tissue-wrapped package.
At the counter, Mrs Greystoke smiled calmly and wrote up a bill.
Avery frowned. Why on earth would anyone go behind a curtain to try on a hat?
Mrs Greystoke gave Elizabeth a cool smile. ‘How may I help you, madam? Is there something you would like to try on?’
‘Elizabeth, may I introduce Mrs Greystoke, the owner of this establishment. Lady Fontly is looking for a bonnet.’
Lizzie pursed her lips. ‘I am looking for a something summery. Something to wear on a picnic.’ The picnic she’d planned for her husband’s return. Avery had suggested it as a way to engage the twit’s attention. The man had to be an idiot if he left such a pretty wife at a loose end during the Season.
‘What about this one?’ Mrs Greystoke lifted down a becoming wide-brimmed straw bonnet trimmed with strawberry leaves, flowers and berries. ‘It is our latest arrival. It will see a lady through the hottest part of the summer and is ideal for both town and country.’ She tilted one side of the brim upwards. ‘It can be worn one of two ways and comes with three different colours of ribbon.’
Liz hesitated. ‘It is lovely.’
Why the hesitation? ‘Try it on,’ he urged.
Mrs Greystoke tilted her head on one side and looked at her shrewdly. ‘Or perhaps you were seeking something a little more intimate?’
Elizabeth blushed.
Lady Fontley was not as sophisticated as some of the other ladies he had taken under his wing, those like Mimi Luttrell whose husband had arrived home more than a week ago and made it plain his wife no longer needed an escort, much to Mimi’s satisfaction.
He took Elizabeth’s hand and raised it to his lips. ‘What is it, Pet?’ he asked in a low voice. ‘I thought we wanted something that would make your husband look at you anew? Is the bonnet not to your liking?’
‘It is beautiful, but—’
‘I think Lady Fontly would like to inspect our other wares.’ Mrs Greystoke gestured to the counter.
The last time Avery had looked at the items on display there had been neatly ordered fans and gloves and handkerchiefs. Now there were froths of lace and silk.
‘Tansy, fetch his lordship a cup of tea,’ Mrs Greystoke said. ‘Unless you would prefer something stronger?’
Another change. An assistant. He found he did not like it for some reason he could not name.
‘Nothing for me, thank you.’
Mrs Greystoke went back behind her counter and brought forth a flimsy robe of scarlet, edged in lace. ‘This is a very popular style of robe de chambre, my lady.’
When she spread the garment out on the counter and put her hand between the layers of fabric, Avery almost swallowed his tongue. The robe was so sheer as to be almost invisible and there were strategically placed openings that were revealed as the lace trim fell to one side.
What the devil was Mrs Greystoke doing, showing garments like that to a respectable woman? All right, so Elizabeth had accepted his offer of escort in a fit of pique when her husband left town to go on yet another spree with his friends for the fourth time in a month. The poor dear was feeling neglected, but she was still a modestly brought up girl—
‘What do you think, Lord Avery. Will Roger like it?’ she whispered in his ear.
A man would have to be dying, or at the very least dead from the waist down, not to like the idea of the curvy Lady Fontly in such a shockingly revealing negligee. Unfortunately, all Avery could think about was seeing Mrs Greystoke in the gown. She was so lusciously tall, it would look far better on her than the petite Lady Fontly.
‘Yes,’
