dabbing at his brow. “Miss Foster,” he said, belatedly acknowledging her with a slight bow. “That is, Dany. If you would be so kind as to join Clarice in the shop? And possibly talk her out of the reticule? It’s fairly drowning in pearls, you understand.”
“Surely not real pearls.”
“I don’t know,” the baronet told her. “She wants to bite one, to see for certain, but I’ve so far talked her into waiting for you, as I’ve told her you’re an expert on pearls. Please.”
It was good to laugh, and Dany wanted to give Rigby a kiss on the cheek for taking her mind away from all the many dangerous areas it had traveled to in the moments since Coop had turned so suddenly serious.
“I don’t want to be seen just yet. Therefore, having happily encountered Rigby here, you sent your maid to the coach to unburden herself of the bandboxes containing your purchases, while he offered to escort you to meet with your friend Clarice,” Coop told her, nodding his head in the direction of Mrs. Yothers’s establishment. “Are you ready? Time to go.”
“You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?” she asked, not all that happily. Why on earth did she say he could take the reins into his hands? She’d have to correct that at some point, she supposed, although it probably didn’t matter, since they would soon part ways from their sham engagement. Did he already know how he was going to do that? “I could have made up my own fib, you know.”
“Next time,” Coop said. “Perhaps we can take turns.”
“Now you’re being facetious again. Not that I won’t hold you to that suggestion. After all, we may get along, but that doesn’t mean we, well, we get along, if you know what I mean.”
“Unfortunately, Dany, I believe I do. We’re playing at a sort of game, aren’t we? And it’s not always mutually enjoyable. But all games have an end.” He tipped his hat at her, turned and walked off down the flagway, away from the shop.
And now he’s frowning, and probably second-or even third-guessing this ridiculous arrangement, from the ring to the kiss...and beyond. Are you happy now, Dany? she asked herself, and decided that she wasn’t. She could only get back to the game.
She spied Clarice within moments of entering the shop with Rigby, and called out a cheery, “Yoo-hoo,” as she raised one hand and waved wildly, in the manner of her mother when seeing someone she knew (and embarrassing both her daughters in the process).
Clarice waved back and hastened to join them, before commanding Rigby to vacate the premises, as his presence wasn’t necessary.
Rigby made his escape without complaint, most probably to rejoin Coop and the two of them off on the hunt for cigars or some such thing.
Clarice grabbed Dany’s arm and pulled her toward a corner of the shop, even as Mrs. Yothers approached from behind the curtain covering the dressing room Mari and Dani had occupied only a day earlier.
A day? Why did it feel like whole weeks had passed?
“Come on, come on, I’ve a secret to share. That’s why I sent poor Jerry away,” Clarice declared in a less than secretive voice. “I’ve been all but dancing out of my britches, waiting for someone to tell. It’s just the best secret ever.”
Dany smiled. So this was it? She was to allow Clarice to tell her—and Mrs. Yothers—a secret? And then she was to appear summarily impressed by said secret, obviously, which was why Coop hadn’t told her the particulars, so that neither their meeting nor the secret-telling would seem contrived. Very well, she’d act surprised. But first she’d give Mrs. Yothers time to make her way to within earshot. At the moment, she was fussing with some scarves on one of the nearby tables, her back to them, just as if she didn’t know she had customers.
“A secret, Clarice? You mean gossip, don’t you?” Dany shook her head, and tsk-tsked into the bargain. “I’d rather not listen if you don’t mind. I’m afraid I’m not a believer in gossip.”
Clarice’s blue eyes went wide. “But...but everybody loves gossip. You have to love gossip. Oh, wait. You’re only saying that because you’re a lady, and think you should. I understand. But you still want to hear it, don’t you?”
The shopkeeper was closer now.
Dany laughed. “Found me out, did you? Are you suitably impressed with my ladyness?”
Clarice shrugged. “I suppose so. I’m just happy you aren’t all prunes and prisms, whatever that means, or else I’d have to be on my best behavior, whatever that is, because just when I think I am, the duchess informs me I’m not. She’s a dear, the duchess, but I do miss my mis—my good friend Thea,” she said, and then shook her head. “I meant to say, my good friend Miss Dorothea Neville. She’s to marry Mr. Gabriel Sinclair, heir to the dukedom, you understand. But you and Thea both are more friendly than starchy, so you won’t mind if I make the odd misstep or two, will you? It’s so important that I don’t disgrace my sweet Jerry, you understand.”
“I doubt he’s worried about that,” Dany told her, reaching for the small reticule Clarice held tightly in both hands. “My, isn’t that pretty. May I see?”
The reticule was handed over and Dany-the-pearl-expert carefully turned it about in her hands, sniffed dismissingly and placed it on the nearest tabletop. “Yes, pretty enough, but the construction is pitifully shabby. Why, one wrong move and its owner would be scattering paste pearls behind her as she strode into the ballroom. Now, what were you saying?”
Clarice was still looking at the reticule. “I don’t remember. Shabby?”
Knowing Mrs. Yothers most definitely was in earshot by this time, Dany replied, “Oh, yes. These shops mix the bad in with the good, hoping no one will notice. My mother explained that all to me before I came to London.” She leaned forward to whisper none too quietly in Clarice’s ear. “I’d wager you a new lace handkerchief that the sheen would slide right off those pearls if so much as a drop of rain fell on them.”
There, that will fix you for the moment, Mrs. Yothers. Because you’re guilty as sin of something, I just know it!
“Really?” Clarice’s whisper was about as effective as Dany’s. “So if I were to sort of, well, spit on my fingers, and then just happen to rub one of those pearls...?”
“Good afternoon, ladies!” Mrs. Yothers exclaimed brightly, all but tripping over herself as she made her way past another table and approached them. “I beg your forgiveness for not realizing Hilda wasn’t assisting you. Stupid girl, always wandering off. Oh, my, Miss Foster, isn’t it? Yes, of course. And if you’ll pardon me for being so bold as to inquire, how is your sister the countess?”
“Quite well, thank you,” Dany said, trying not to laugh as the clever shopkeeper surreptitiously covered the pearl-laced reticule with a patterned scarf she’d brought with her from the other display table, “and still so delighted with the gowns she chose.”
“How...delightful,” Mrs. Yothers responded, her brow furrowed as if she might be pondering the wisdom of her next statement. “Have you yet found the time to enjoy the book I gave you, miss?”
“Alas, not yet. I’ve been otherwise occupied.”
As you’ll know soon enough, or perhaps already do know, even if you’re not letting on that you do. None too tall, are you, Mrs. Yothers? The sort who might need to step on a stool in order to reach high places? Please be guilty. It would make things so much easier if you were guilty.
“Well, now, isn’t this too lovely and chummy,” Clarice said, her words pleasant, her tone far from it. “I’m certain Miss Foster was raised to be polite, and is willing to stand here while you make nonsense conversation all the afternoon, but I am not. Kindly take yourself off, and take that sorry excuse for a reticule with you. Don’t think I didn’t see you attempt to hide it. Imagine what would happen if I were to tell the duchess! We’ll summon you if we need you.”
For