“Which means,” Margery put in as she eased between Evie and the duke, “it’s far too early for a gentleman to be paying a call on a young lady.”
“Forgive me, madam,” the duke said at once. “I saw you through the window conversing with Miss Harlow, and I concluded the shop was open.” He turned to Evie. “I can return later, if you prefer?”
“Oh, no,” Evie said at once. “I wouldn’t dream of asking a duke to do such a thing.”
The moment those words were out of her mouth, she cursed her mistake.
“Duke?” Margery echoed, her lovely, vapid face lighting with curiosity, an unmistakable gleam coming into her doll-like eyes, reminding Evie that her cousin’s self-absorption was only exceeded by her social ambition. Still, the damage was done, and she had little choice but to perform introductions.
“Your Grace, may I present my cousin, Mrs. Symmington? Margery, His Grace, the Duke of Westbourne. As for your concern for the proprieties, dear Cousin, you need have none. The duke is here on a matter of business.”
“I am,” Westbourne confirmed at once, turning to Margery. “Please allow me to assure you, Mrs. Symmington, that I would never pay a social call upon a young lady when she is unchaperoned. I am here merely as a customer.”
“And I really must assist him,” Evie put in briskly. “Before other customers begin arriving.”
A frown marred Margery’s forehead at having this golden opportunity to converse with a duke cut short. “But, Evie,” she protested, “we’ve had barely any time for our visit.”
“I know,” Evie said, donning her best expression of heartfelt regret. “Such a shame.”
The duke, however, almost ruined all her efforts. “As I said, I can return later. It would be no trouble. Or,” he added, gesturing to the two wing chairs in the bay window near the front of the shop, “I’d be happy to select a book and wait my turn.”
Evie watched in dismay as he picked up the book Rory had given her earlier, bowed, and started to turn away as if abandoning her to her cousin.
Margery, however, didn’t like that possibility any more than she did. “Oh, no, Your Grace,” she protested, laughing. “I can’t allow you to go sit alone in the corner. Please do join us. Evie might even make us some tea?”
“Sorry, Cousin,” she was quick to reply before the duke could agree to such an awful prospect. “I’ve no tea to offer. I ran out last night. And besides, the duke did come on a matter of business.” She shot a pointed glance at him. “Urgentbusiness.”
His mouth quirked, showing that though he might be as irritating as a burr under a saddle, he was also quick on the uptake. “Very urgent, I confess it.”
“You see?” Evie turned, tucked her arm through Margery’s, and began propelling her toward the door. “It’s just as I feared. We shall have to leave our little visit for another day.”
“Oh, very well, but you must promise to think about my offer. I mean it sincerely. When you’re ready to give all this up, we have a nice little room in the attic all ready and waiting for you. It has a window overlooking the kitchen garden. And there’s a servant’s staircase straight down to the nursery, which will be most convenient for you.”
“I’m sure it’s lovely.” She opened the door and nudged Margery across the threshold. “And I’m so very grateful. Your kindness and generosity know no bounds, dear Cousin.”
Behind her, the duke gave a chuckle, making her fear she’d overdone it, but when she glanced over her shoulder, she found that his attention had been diverted. He was lounging against the counter, the book Rory had given her open in his hands, a grin on his face.
She couldn’t imagine what he found amusing to read in a political tract, but she didn’t have time to speculate on it. “Good day, dearest,” she said, turning to Margery and moving to close the door. “Do come again next time you’re down from Hampstead.”
Amid a flurry of farewells, Evie closed the doorand watched, waiting until the other woman had safely turned the corner before she leaned forward to press her forehead against the glass with a heartfelt sigh of relief.
“My arrival seems to have been most opportune,” Westbourne commented behind her, causing Evie to straighten away from the window with a jerk, and when she turned around, she found to her dismay that he had set aside the book, but he was still smiling. It was a knowing smile, making her realize that despite the book, his attention had never been diverted at all.
“Impeccable timing on your part,” she was forced to agree. “At least for me. Not for you, though, I’m sorry to say. I’ve not progressed much further on that information I promised Delia.”
To his credit, the duke didn’t seem put out by this admission. And thankfully, he made no references to Rory being the reason for her distraction. “I see. Might I at least review what you do have? Monsieur Escoffier needs to begin making preparations, and I’d like to discuss with him at least some of the ideas you’ve been working on.”
“Of course.” She began walking toward the back of the shop, beckoning him to follow her. “Let’s go into my office.”
She led him through the pantry and past the stairs to the storage room. Averting her gaze from the dirty dishes still waiting to be taken up to her flat, Evie picked her way through the maze of scattered chairs to her desk, which Rory had pushed into the very back corner facing the wall.
“Forgive the mess,” she muttered, well aware he knew the reason for the chaos. But there was nothing she could do about it, so she sank into the swivel chair of her battered oak desk, shoved aside stacks of account books and unpaid bills, and pulled out the file containing her notes for Delia’s party arrangements.
“No need to apologize. May I?” He gestured to the closest chair, and when she nodded, he drew it forward, positioning it beside her own. “You look tired, Miss Harlow,” he remarked as he sat down and set aside his hat.
Evie sat up straighter in her chair at once. “I’m perfectly well,” she lied. “Just very busy these days.”
Turning, he faced her, propping one elbow on the back of his chair. His eyes, she realized, were not black, but blue—the blue of midnight, and as they scanned her face, she feared they saw far more than they ought. “You work too hard, if I may say so.”
