women, yet seem utterly out of place with people like the Taylors. It baffled him, but he enjoyed it, her friendly attitude a refreshing change from rigid London ways.
When they finally reached the milliner shop, James held open the door, then followed her inside. ‘Do you come to the village often?’
‘Yes, it seems I am always purchasing necessities for Knollwood.’
Miss Taylor ignored them in favour of the shopkeeper who hustled to help the London girl spend her blunt. Miss Howard did not shop, but loitered with him near the front window, as out of place here as Miss Taylor would be among estate labourers.
‘You have no interest in lace?’ James asked.
‘I’ve come to town in my riding habit. I assure you, I have no interest in lace.’
He noted the older cut of the habit with its lower waist and fitted bodice. The style skimmed her flat stomach and accentuated her curved hips. He preferred the form-flattering shape to the high-waisted style dominating Rotten Row. ‘I like your dress.’
‘Do you?’
He heard disbelief in the question, but also a note of hope. ‘I do.’
She played with a small piece of ribbon dangling off the table next to her, then nodded at Miss Taylor, who stood at the counter negotiating with the shopkeeper over the price. ‘She certainly drives a hard bargain. I’m amazed she bothers to be so economical.’
‘Perhaps her situation is not what it seems.’
Miss Howard’s puzzled face indicated her ignorance of the London rumours regarding the Taylors. However, before she could respond, a round matron followed by a blonde young lady with similar full features entered the store.
‘Miss Howard,’ the older woman called out, crossing to where they stood. ‘What a pleasure to see you in here. I didn’t think you one for the milliner’s shop.’
Miss Howard’s lips drew tight and James’s ire rose at the belittling way the matron’s eyes swept over Miss Howard, making her flush with embarrassment.
‘Mrs Johnson, may I introduce Captain Covington.’ Miss Howard motioned to him. ‘He is a friend of my uncle and staying with us. Captain Covington, this is Mrs Johnson and her daughter, Miss Caroline Johnson.’
The two ladies curtsied to James, sizing up his value as a potential husband.
He bowed, unwilling to remain here or give this woman another chance to insult Miss Howard. ‘If you’ll excuse us, we were just about to step outside and leave you lovely women to your shopping.’
He offered Miss Howard his arm. She slipped her hand in the crook of his elbow and flashed the disbelieving Mrs and Miss Johnson a wide smile as he escorted her out of the shop.
‘I see some mamas are as rude here as they are in London,’ James fumed once they were outside. ‘What did she hope to gain by being condescending to you?’
‘I don’t know, but please pay it no mind. I’m quite used to it.’ Miss Howard withdrew her hand and placed a respectable distance between them. He brushed his fingers over the spot where she’d held his arm, missing the soft weight of her touch.
‘You should make a habit of responding to rude people,’ James suggested.
‘Why? Emily and Charles would only hear of it, then chastise me for being ill mannered. It seems I must be civil to everyone while everyone may speak to me as they please.’
‘There are many ways to appear courteous, yet still strike a cutting blow.’
‘Then you must teach me some for I’m tired of putting up with such nonsense.’ She laughed, the charming sound carrying over the noisy rattle of equipage in the street.
‘It would be my pleasure. What sort of remark would you like to learn first?’
‘James Covington,’ the long-forgotten but familiar female voice called out from behind them, slicing through him like a sword and shattering his jovial mood. ‘I can hardly believe it.’
He turned, watching Melinda Knight saunter up the street, a wicked smile decorating her full lips. A low-cut gown showed off her ample white bosom, much to the appreciation of the passing village men. Many paused to admire her, elbowing one another as their lecherous eyes enjoyed the well-displayed assets. They obviously deemed her a beauty, but James, who’d known her in his youth, saw the toll London indulgence had taken. Her dark-brown eyes seemed tired and dull while her once slender form had grown more stout, filling out her face and keeping away, for a few more years at least, the lines forming about her eyes and the corners of her lips.
‘Miss Knight,’ he greeted through clenched teeth.
‘I’m Mrs Wilkins now, or have you forgotten?’
James’s lip curled in loathing. ‘So you married him?’
‘Is that any way to greet an old friend?’ Her seductive voice had once heated his blood; now it left him icy with disgust.
‘I would hardly call us friends.’
She wedged herself between him and Miss Howard, her bosom brushing his chest. ‘At one time you called me a great deal more.’
‘That was a long time ago.’ He stepped back, fighting the urge to push her away. The reaction unnerved him. He thought he’d forgotten her treachery years ago. Taking control of his surging emotions, he turned to Miss Howard, noting her stunned expression. ‘May I introduce Miss Howard of Knollwood.’
Melinda faced Julia, taking her in and dismissing her all at once. ‘We already know one another. My husband owns Cable Grange. My, what a pretty riding habit. Did you ride here?’
‘No,’ Miss Howard retorted, her dislike of Melinda palpable.
‘Must be the new fashion. I find it so hard to keep up. You country girls have such different tastes.’
Melinda laid a gloved hand on James’s arm and he pulled away, leaving her fingers hanging like talons before she lowered them. Far from being embarrassed, she seemed to take pleasure in his revulsion. ‘You should come and visit us, James. I know Rowan would love to see you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must be going.’
She swept off down the street, collecting more appreciative stares as she went.
‘You know her?’ Miss Howard gasped.
‘I knew her once, a long time ago. It’s of no importance.’ He wondered how best to correct whatever false impression his acquaintance with Melinda left. He refused to be judged by a past mistake, but no proper explanation came to mind.
‘Here comes George.’ James motioned over her shoulder, thankful for the distraction.
George rushed along the road, the light of delicious news in his eyes.
‘I can tell by the way he’s hurrying, he’s heard gossip,’ Julia observed. ‘He enjoys a story more than any old matron in Daringford.’
James laughed at the candid and accurate description.
