hastily. ‘But seductive, memorable. Definitively unique.’
He nodded, apparently unsurprised by her requests, which seemed to her contradictory. ‘Now, which family? That is our first question. Florals as a main group are insufficiently memorable, and besides, will not last well on your type of skin. The woody, leather and fougère groups are too heavy and perhaps too masculine.’ He jotted another note and frowned. ‘Chypre or amber?’ It was apparently a rhetorical question, as he shook his head in thought. ‘Chypre. Mystery, warmth, natural depth. Floral undertones rather than moss, perhaps? Yes, I see it clearly now. I will prepare something in a parfum, an eau de toilette and a very light dilution for scenting linen.’
Jessica, who had been expecting to be offered samples to sniff and choose between, found herself being escorted to the workroom door, a decision made without the slightest involvement on her part. It was a relief, she decided, buttoning her glove again; how she would have recognised a suitable scent she had no idea, although it would have been amusing to have sniffed her way along the array of intriguing bottles.
Maude was perched on a stool in front of the counter, a predictably large stack of packages in front of her. The assistant was folding white paper crisply around what appeared to be the final box, although Maude’s gaze was roving the shadowed interior with all the concentration of a huntress in search of prey.
The assistant knotted string and reached for the sealing wax as she saw Jessica. ‘Well? Mr Todmorton, have you found just the thing?’
‘I will create just the thing,’ he corrected in gentle reproof. ‘If you and madam return in three days, Lady Maude, I will have the first bottles ready.’
‘Oh, look at these lovely little things!’ Maude jumped down and went to rummage in a basin of miniature, fine-grained sponges.
‘From Corfu, my lady.’ The assistant knew his trade, Jessica thought, amused. ‘Young girls dive for them; each is selected with great care to be perfect for cleansing the face…’
‘We must have some, see how fine they are. Catch!’ Maude tossed one to Jessica across the width of the little shop. A featherlight ball, it wavered in the air and she reached for it just as the door opened.
The sponge bounced off the broad chest of the gentleman who entered and he reached up and caught it one handed.
‘Gar—’ No, it was not Gareth, it was quite another man altogether, Jessica realised, puzzled why she had made the mistake. This man was as tall and as broad, but he was far darker, both in hair and eyes, but also in skin tone as though some Mediterranean blood flowed in his veins. She was spending too much time with Gareth, that was the trouble. Thinking about him too much led to seeing him everywhere.
Frowning over why that should be such a very bad thing, it took Jessica a moment to recall the people around her, then she saw Maude’s face. There was a faint rose flush on her cheekbones, her lovely lips were parted as though she had just gasped and her eyes were wide. The gentleman, apparently impervious to this vision of loveliness, turned the sponge over in his fingers for a moment, then handed it to Jessica, his eyes sliding over her veiled face with polite indifference.
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘Not at all.’ He inclined his head, unsmiling, giving her an opportunity to observe a nose that would have done credit to a Grecian statue, dark brown eyes and severe, well-formed lips.
There was nothing further to be said. Jessica stepped forward and placed the sponge on the counter. Maude was still standing to one side clutching an over-spilling double handful of tiny globes. ‘Here, let me.’ She removed them and dropped them back into the basin, her back firmly to the gentleman. ‘How many do you want?’
Maude blinked at her, a frown of irritation between her arched brows. ‘Move,’ she hissed.
‘What?’ Jessica hissed back. She could almost feel the three men staring at them. ‘More, did you say?’ she added in a clear voice. ‘Shall we take six?’ She stepped to one side before Maude could physically shove her aside as she appeared about to do, and began to select another five sponges, delving amongst them to find the ones of the finest grain. ‘Please,’ she half turned and spoke to the assistant, ‘do serve the gentleman, we may be some time.’
‘Thank you.’ Again, that polite, chilly, inclination of the head. Beside her Jessica heard Maude moan faintly. What on earth is the matter with her?
‘The order for the Unicorn, Mr Hurst?’ Unicorn?
‘Indeed. And two dozen of those small sponges, if you please—send them round later. I will take the main order, madame awaits it.’
‘Certainly.’ The assistant retrieved a package from under the counter and handed it over with reverent care. ‘If you will just keep it this way up, Mr Hurst.’
‘Thank you. Good day.’ He nodded to Mr Todmorton and the assistant and raised his hand to the brim of his hat as he passed the ladies.
The door closed behind him, the bell jangling into silence. Jessica frowned at Maude, who appeared to have been struck dumb. ‘Maude, we need to pay.’
‘What? Oh, put it all on my account, Mr Todmorton. Who was that gentleman?’
‘Mr Hurst, Lady Maude. He owns a number of theatres, including the Unicorn.’
Jessica scooped up their shopping and took Maude firmly by the elbow before she could make any more outrageous enquiries about a strange man. ‘Thank you, Mr Todmorton, I look forward to my new scent. Good day.’
It seemed she had not lost her touch with recalcitrant pupils. Maude was outside on the pavement before she could protest, her mouth open indignantly.
‘Jessica! I wanted to find out more.’
‘You cannot interrogate shopkeepers about gentlemen, Maude, it just is not done.’ She broke off as the footman jumped down from the carriage and hurried to take the parcel. ‘Thank you. We will walk a little. Hyde Park is that way, is it not?’
‘Yes, ma’am, just along there, left into Piccadilly and a short walk and you’ll be there.’
‘How am I going to find out about him if I do not ask?’ Maude said with crushing reasonableness.
‘But why should you want to?’ Jessica snuggled her gloved hands into her wide sleeves and wished she had a large muff like Maude’s. The day was chill and a touch misty, but they could hardly have this conversation in the carriage for the servants to overhear.
‘Why?’ Maude sounded incredulous. ‘Did you not think him the most attractive man you have ever seen?’
‘He was very good looking, if you like icebergs,’ Jessica agreed. ‘But I would hardly call him the most attractive man I have seen. Although when he first walked in, I thought for a moment he was Gareth.’
‘Gareth is a very well-looking man, but nothing to compare with Mr Hurst,’ Maude pronounced reverently. ‘But the name is an odd coincidence, do you not think?’
‘What do you mean?’ Jessica side-stepped to avoid a snapping pug being led along by a liveried footman with his nose in the air.
‘Well, Gareth is a Ravenhurst—at least, his mother is. He and Eva’s husband and Bel, and goodness knows how many others—I lose count, some of them are abroad—are grandchildren of the Duke of Allington. Hurst—Ravenhurst. Perhaps he is a connection.’
‘Hurst is a very common name, especially in the North, I believe,’ Jessica said repressively, rather spoiling the aloof effect by adding, ‘That cock won’t fight, Maude—you are not going to be able to get to know him on account of him being some sort of distant relative of your Ravenhurst friends. And besides, your papa is not going to want you speaking to a theatre owner, however well off.’
‘His clothes were very superior, were they not?’ Maude sighed, walking straight past a shop window