The Trouble With Seduction by Victoria Hanlen

Author:Victoria Hanlen [Hanlen, Victoria]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781474049641
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2016-05-20T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 18

The next day, Sarah alighted from her carriage onto busy Bond Street with the bright sun flashing off store windows. Overnight the world had changed. Colors were more vibrant, food more succulent, and music sweeter. The strange limbo she’d been in since Edward’s death had dissipated and in its place were the beginnings of deep affection for Mr Ravenhill.

His leaving had disappointed at the time. Now she saw that it was for the best. He’d made the correct decision, and she adored him all the more for it.

Gracie huffed as she scampered down the carriage steps to her side. “My lady, I know it’s somewhat of a bother, but do you think we have time to look for a bit of lace for your black silk gown?”

“I’ve decided to put away my mourning clothes, Gracie.”

“Truly, my lady?”

“I’m glad Eliza dragged me to her modiste when she did. Later, we’ll pick up one of the new gowns.”

Gracie’s eyes widened in surprise. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

Carriages pulled around theirs to the jingle of harnesses and sharp whistles. Sarah turned to her driver, grinning happily. “I will meet you at this corner in an hour.”

As he pulled away, Sarah gazed about the street. Customers strode up and down the sidewalks. Colorful signs advertised shops and businesses. How lovely they all looked, how inviting.

She strode down the street as if on a cloud and finally spotted the sign for René’s Perfumery, a shop Amelia told her made signature perfumes.

Sarah picked her way through the oncoming shoppers and pushed open the door. Bells tinkled overhead and a parade of fragrances skirted past her as she and Gracie entered. Several women already stood at the counter.

While she waited her turn, she marveled at the crystal perfume bottles lining one shelf.

“Aren’t those lovely, my lady,” Gracie cooed.

The bells above the door tinkled again and Lady Portsmithe entered with a footman loaded down with boxes.

Sarah groaned under her breath, ducked behind a shelf of perfumed soaps, and pretended to gaze at the window display. The stout matron never missed a chance to give her the cut direct. She’d held a grudge against her since Sarah married Lord Hardington.

At the time, Lady P’s unmarried older sister had been sure of his imminent proposal. When Sarah suddenly married him, the cantankerous old loudmouth started a rumor that Lord Hardington had been made a fool of.

While Sarah pretended to gaze at the colorful boxes, outside the window a woman in a black gown, black hat and heavy black veil strolled by and entered the cobbler’s shop next door. She’d never seen anyone so completely hidden in widow’s attire.

“Mr René!” Lady Portsmithe announced in a voice that would carry a city block.

The heretofore-absent proprietor soon shuffled through the curtain, completely disregarding the two women who’d been waiting at the counter. “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting, my lady. Both my assistants are ill, and I’m all alone in the shop today. What may I do for you?”

“The perfume you mixed for me yesterday has gone bad,” she declared.

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