Heiress in Red Silk by Hunter Madeline

Author:Hunter, Madeline
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Zebra Books
Published: 2021-04-26T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Rosamund looked over the feathers spread out on a table in a back chamber of Monsieur Benoit’s shop. Some of them had been dyed, and she was wondering if the ladies of London would want such brightly colored ostrich plumes come autumn and winter.

Monsieur Benoit, being a smart merchant, kept drifting by. Each time he did, he deposited some other interesting notion on the table. Old, wiry, and wizened, he smiled at her whenever their eyes met. She could tell he anticipated that her desires would overcome her hesitation.

She had found this shop by going to one of the dressmakers that Minerva had recommended and asking where such wares could be purchased. The modiste did not speak English, but they had communicated well enough. Five minutes later, she met Monsieur Benoit who, it turned out, supplied some of the most esteemed milliners in Paris. He also spoke English.

That proved fortunate, because she was on her own today. Kevin left the hotel early, leaving a note saying he had appointments and would call for her at four o’clock to attend the dinner with Monsieur Forestier. She had been relieved that she did not have to face him right away, let alone spend hours with him. She doubted they could keep company that long and pretend last night had not happened.

She still accommodated it in her mind, even while she eyed those plumes. What had she been thinking? There had been no thought to it, only feelings and pleasure. That was what her inner voice said, the inconvenient one that spoke simple truths and did not attempt to make excuses or spin lies.

She had been too long alone, she decided. It had been years with no hands on her except her own. She had been vulnerable to Kevin’s seduction due to being parched and desperate for rain. Not so vulnerable. There have been others before him who you would not have.

It seemed especially bad to have done that when she was going to see Charles soon. After all this time of being good, of saving herself, to have been so wanton just before their reunion seemed disgraceful. And yet you did not think of Charles at all while on that bridge. The guilt only came on the ride back to the hotel.

She forced her thoughts back to the table. She set aside three colored plums. She reached over and fingered a lovely line of trim made up of tiny seed pearls. It would look wonderful on either a hat or a headpiece. She added it to the pile of trims she had already chosen.

Monsieur Benoit approached her again, ambling through from the front chamber carrying a flat box.

“I will take these, Monsieur.”

“They are pretty, yes? Here, see what I have. It arrived yesterday. I normally do not sell fabric, but—” He made a little shrug.

The box contained a length of green silk. She fingered it, amazed at its tight weave and subtle sheen. It was possibly the finest gros de Naples she had ever seen.

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