“What do you think of the name Fortuna ware?” she asked Jennie. They had gone back to view the shop in Cheapside. It gave Bianca a happy feeling just to walk inside it. She admitted Max was probably right about the showroom, now that she’d met several London ladies and seen their homes. But this quaint shop appealed to her a great deal, too, and she found herself wanting to agree to the lease and rush back to Marslip to begin designing the new, simpler wares.
And perhaps some porcelain as well, despite how her father scoffed at it. Max’s boundless confidence was a heady thing.
“Fortuna ware? What’s that?” Jennie was opening cupboard doors and inspecting the drawers. Bianca had asked her to look over the shop with a critical working woman’s eye. “It sounds lovely.”
“Yes, doesn’t it?” Bianca stretched her arms in the cozy window embrasure, mentally arranging pieces on a table in her mind. She thought they ought to start with a simple green glaze, since everyone at Perusia was accustomed to that. She imagined a clean white tablecloth with the pale green dishes and candlesticks, painted yellow. A soup tureen was always impressive; yellow as well, she thought, to match the candlesticks. “It might be the name of this shop. Fortuna by Tate and Sons.”
“Selling what?” Jennie came to join her.
“Any kind of household pottery. Dinnerware, butter crocks, rouge pots. Not as fine as Perusia, though still quality.”
The maid’s eyes rounded. “New pottery! At the factory?”
Bianca didn’t actually know where Max intended to produce his new wares. He wanted to employ some of their current potters, though, and presumably glazers and painters as well. It would have to be near Marslip if he wanted to use them. “Somewhere,” she said vaguely. “We’re still refining the plan.”
“Oh. Well, I’m sure it’ll come out well, if you and Mr. St. James are in command.” The girl nodded confidently at Bianca’s startled look. “Aye, between the two of you, not even Mr. Tate would be able to oppose it!”
“Between the two of us,” echoed Bianca slowly. “What do you mean by that?”
Jennie blinked. “O-only that Mr. St. James is a clever one, ma’am, and a right smooth talker. Thérèse, Mrs. Farquhar’s maid, said he could lead an army if he put his mind to it. She used to know him before, I reckon.”
Bianca’s lips parted in astonishment. “What did she say about him?”
“All admiring!” cried Jennie hastily, sensing she’d spoken too freely. “She said Mrs. Farquhar thought him the most charming and daring fellow she knew, and spoke often of him.”
Bianca’s mouth flattened. That sounded innocent enough, but she’d sensed Clara admired Max a little too much at times. “What else?”
“That Mrs. Farquhar thinks you’re a very fortunate woman, to have him for your husband.” Jennie blushed bright pink. “Even Thérèse thinks he’s extremely handsome.”
“Well.” Bianca cleared her throat. Her maid ought not to have gossiped so much, but she was at fault, too, for asking. “He is, obviously. Neither Thérèse nor Mrs. Farquhar is blind.”
Jennie gave a wide grin of relief. “No, ma’am!”
During this conversation Bianca had been staring out the window. Jennie’s revelations had distracted her, but now she realized she’d been looking at a man standing opposite the shop. And—she gave a start—he was looking back at her.
He was tall and lean, his shoulders a bit hunched, making her think he was an older man. His clothes were ordinary, sober colors with no lace, and his hat was tipped very rakishly, shadowing his face. But he was just standing there, leaning on a silver-topped walking stick, looking right at her.
“Jennie,” said Bianca, “do you recognize that man across the street?”
Jennie glanced up. “No, ma’am. Who is he?”
“I don’t know,” she said thoughtfully. The fellow hadn’t moved.
The bell over the door jangled, and Bianca stepped back from the window to see who it was.
Lawrence, Max’s valet, stood there, hat in his hands. He bowed. “Ma’am.”
“Is aught wrong at home?” she asked in surprise.
He shook his head, although with a trace of a shamefaced grin. “Not at all, ma’am. Mr. St. James sent me to make sure all was well with you, and to bid you come straight home when you are done here. I—er—believe he’s eager to share some news with you.”
“Oh?” She couldn’t stop the instinctive smile. “What sort of news?”
“I don’t know, ma’am,” said the valet, “but he was smiling when he sent me.”
Jennie giggled quietly, and Bianca’s smile widened. She knew Max had called at the Duke of Wimbourne’s house that morning, in hopes of seeing Perusia wares grace a ducal table. It would delight Papa to no end, and be a crowning glory to their London visit.
“Very well,” she said. “I’m almost done here.” She turned around to resume measuring the shelves, and caught sight of the man across the street again. And this time she would swear he tipped his hat at her, before turning and strolling off into the crowd.
