Leonora shortly. “I shall join her there after I have seen my bank manager.”
“Ah! Money!” sighed Lady O’Brien. “How it rules our lives!” She did not appear to study Leonora’s dress but was moved to say, “You must allow me to recommend my excellent modiste, Madame Fleur—so clever, so reasonable! Her establishment is in New Bond Street—you may have passed it?”
“I believe we did, my lady. I thank you for your interest. I shall, of course, be renewing my wardrobe now I have the means at my disposal.”
“There is a fine emporium for gloves and other accessories further down. Shopping in Milsom Street is vastly rewarding.”
“So I suppose. I look forward to investigating at my leisure.”
“I will leave my card,” promised her ladyship, preparing to move on. “You must call on me, I am at home on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I look forward to meeting you again. And now, Blaise, we must take our leave of your friend, for I have an appointment at my milliner’s—another excellent creature, Miss Vincent, her place is next door to the dressmaker—and I must not be late.”
Blaise. Blaise Dancer. So that was his name. And the woman who had erroneously called her his friend was looking up at him in a way that suggested to Leonora that they were rather more intimate than that, more intimate than the lady’s husband might wish.
He was returning the look. Leonora became hot under her collar despite the chilly wind. She bent her knee in farewell and hurried on.
The encounter disturbed her. She had imagined Kelsey safely caged in his Club but, of course, he had a manager. He could come and go as he wished. She could never count on not meeting him when out and about in Bath. She would feel better able to cope with chance meetings after she had been to the modiste.
She was in two minds as to whether to patronise Lady O’Brien’s dressmaker but had to admit that her ladyship had been tastefully gowned in the height of fashion. Whatever her morals, she possessed stunning good looks, knew what suited her—the sable furs had emphasised the spun-gold of her hair and the fairness of her skin—and looked every inch a lady. No wonder Kelsey had fallen victim to her lures.
But in all probability she had purchased her clothes in London. Her recommendation may not have been kindly meant.
She forgot Kelsey and his mistress while with the bank manager, emerging from his presence with a cheque book, a pouch of golden guineas and a wad of Bank of England notes complete with the recently introduced serial numbers. She had never felt so rich.
She sailed out of the bank, walked to the library with a spring in her step, discovered Clarissa engrossed in a book by Mrs Radcliffe, paid her own subscription out of the haul from the bank and took out a novel by a writer more to her own taste, Mansfield Park by Miss Austen.
“Come with me to the dressmaker,” she invited Clarissa as they left the library. “I met Lord Kelsey on my way to the bank, and he had a lady with him—a Lady O’Brien. She has recommended me to visit Madame Fleur. I shall go, but am not perfectly persuaded that she will suit.”
“I shall be most interested. Papa gave me some money before I left,” Clarissa told her. “I must have a new gown if we are to visit the Assembly Rooms.”
“Then perhaps we may both be suited.”
Leonora did not mind Clarissa patronising the same modiste if she could afford it. A well-dressed companion would add to her own consequence, which she had already decided to enhance in every way within her power. No one knew the exact extent of her inheritance. There could be no harm in her aim to persuade Bath society that it must be much larger than it was. To instil such a belief remained an essential element in her campaign.
As they arrived at Madame Fleur’s, Lord Kelsey was leaving the milliner’ next door.
“Ladies,” he murmured, raising his hat.
“Lord Kelsey. We meet again,” said Leonora, stifling a desire to scream. “You have abandoned Lady O’Brien?”
“She understands that I have urgent business to attend to, Miss Vincent. During your inspection yesterday I noticed that the carpet in the Dining Room is showing signs of wear. I must arrange for it to be replaced. I am about to drive to Bristol to visit an excellent warehouse I know of there. Should you desire to renew any of your own carpets, I can strongly recommend it.”
“Thank you,” said Leonora icily.
He went on, quite unperturbed by her tone. “My oddjob man is already attending to the faulty paintwork. Do you have a mason in mind who will attend to the rear wall?”
The desire to scream increased. “Whom did my uncle intend to consult?” asked Leonora grimly, torn between independence and ignorance. The last thing she wanted to do was receive help from the Earl.
“A man called Black, I believe. He has a yard on the outskirts of the town.” He smiled engagingly but the dark eyes taunted. “Shall I send a boy with a message asking him to call?”
“Thank you, but no. If you will supply the direction, I shall send a note myself.”
“With pleasure, Miss Vincent. I shall see that the information is provided without delay.” He bowed. “Miss Vincent. Miss Worth. I bid you good day.”
Clarissa, blushing, returned his smile. Leonora merely inclined her head. Both ladies watched his retreating figure. He strode along, his stick swinging, as though he had not a care in the world.
Leonora indulged her desire. “Ar-r-gh!” she uttered.
Clarissa eyed her warily. “You dislike the Earl?” she asked diffidently.
“He sets my teeth on edge,” said Leonora grimly. Her teeth were not the only parts of her anatomy he put on edge. “There can be no place for his business on my property.”
“I cannot see that his Club is so very objectionable,” said Clarissa. “And I find him pleasant enough.”
She was blushing again. Leonora glared. “Of course he has a pleasant manner! That is all part of his despicable character!”
“You cannot know that his character is despicable!” protested Clarissa with unusual heat.
Everyone thought her unwarrantably prejudiced, irrational, even obsessed by her opposition to gambling for high stakes. But the discovery of a gambling club on her own property had shaken her badly. Even to herself she would not admit that her main battle now was against herself and her reaction to Lord Kelsey.
For however much her body might wish otherwise, her mind insisted that he was a rogue, a rake, and not a suitable gentleman of means to be lured into the bonds of matrimony.
Madame Fleur, petite and voluble, had an impressive variety of made-up gowns on display.
Her assistants fluttered in the background as she explained, that madame could have any of the finished garments altered to fit. Her English was almost faultless.
“Or I can make up any of the designs in another material and to your exact measurements. Or, if madame prefers, I could suggest some slight alterations to any pattern, or create something exclusively for you.”
Her
