Tea and Scandal by Joan Smith

Author:Joan Smith [Smith, Joan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Regency Romance
Publisher: Belgrave House
Published: 1996-08-28T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

“Which way shall we go?” Jane asked, looking around. On an impulse she said, “I should like to buy a new bonnet while we’re here.” Then she added artlessly, “My aunt is paying me a shocking salary for doing nothing but enjoying myself.” He looked a question at her. “Two hundred pounds per annum,” she announced, her eyes large with pleasure, verging on disbelief at her good fortune. “I feel a very bandit taking it from her.”

Fenwick felt a pang at the modest sum mentioned. He spent more than that on his boots. And she spoke of this simple jaunt as “a wonderful outing.” Lord, he was fortunate. Never had to work a day in his life, and had more money than one man could wisely spend. Free to come and go as he wished, while other, no doubt more worthy, folks toiled their lives away under the thumb of petty tyrants such as Miss Prism.

“I love helping ladies choose their bonnets,” he said. “I, being nothing else but a fashionable fribble, shall advise you on all the latest London modes, and you shall help me choose some marchpane for Mrs. Swann.”

“I recommend the one with nuts and cherries. It’s lovely! Harriet—she’s my friend at Bath—bought me some for my birthday.”

“It won’t do for Mrs. Swann. She has difficulty in chewing,” he said discreetly, for it seemed rude to say she was missing half her teeth.

“Then you already know what you must buy. You don’t need my help.”

“I didn’t invite you to come with me because I need help, Miss Lonsdale, but because I enjoy your company,” he said, and tucking her hand under his arm, they set off down the High Street.

They stopped at the first milliner’s shop they came to and looked in the window.

“That one is rather pretty,” Jane said, admiring a navy glazed straw bonnet with a low poke.

Fenwick shook his head. “You’re out of the classroom now, ma’am. Let us go for something a little more dashing. This is a shop for older ladies. Why, it doesn’t even have a French name,” he said, pointing to the sign that read Miss Daly, Purveyor of Millinery to the Quality. “All the better milliners pretend they’re French, you must know.”

“Yes, and charge twice the price for the honor of being able to say the bonnet came from Mademoiselle Dubois, instead of Miss Wood.”

“But one is also allowed to call the bonnet a chapeau. That is worth something. A bonnet is like perfume. One pays for more than the actual product. It should make you feel feminine and alluring. What price can be put on that?”

“About a guinea, I should think. Bonnets are double the price in those pseudo-French shops. I like value for my hard-earned money.”

“Actually, that was a rhetorical question. I see I must watch my words with you. You are literal minded. I meant that no price is too high to pay for the satisfaction of knowing you look your best, being in style. You have two hundred pounds in your hot little hands.

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