Page 10 of Doxy for the Ton (Misfits of the Ton #7)

B y the time the seamstress had gone, armed with measurements and a book full of sketches, the rain had ceased. The sun had traversed the sky, plunging the parlor into shadow, and Mimi moved to the drawing room at the back of the house, which contained a square pianoforte and overlooked the garden—if a stretch of ill-kept grass could be called a garden .

Perhaps she could ask Wheeler to hire a gardener to tidy it, plant a few rosebushes to bring a splash of color.

Then she checked herself. By the time the roses bloomed, she’d be gone.

But she would have the means to purchase her own house—complete with rosebushes—rather than the house procured by the man who now owned her.

The man who had not yet deigned to visit her.

Where is he?

As if in answer, she heard a knock on the front door. She placed herself on the chaise longue by the window and lifted the book of poetry she’d been reading over breakfast.

Footsteps approached, and to her shame, Mimi felt a pulse of longing. She inhaled and counted to five, focusing on the book in her hand. She let her gaze wander over the lines of verse without reading them, then the footsteps paused outside the drawing room door and her heart gave a jolt of anticipation.

The door opened and Charles appeared.

“You have a visitor, ma’am.”

Mimi set the book aside and smoothed down the front of her dress. “Please send him in, Charles.”

“Oh, b-but…” he said as he moved aside to reveal the newcomer.

A lady, dressed in pale lilac silk.

The cut of her gown lacked the ostentation of the women at the modiste’s, but its simplicity reeked of elegance. She wore a plain pearl necklace, each bead a perfectly formed sphere with a subtle sheen of iridescence.

Her features were too unremarkable for her to be described as a beauty, except for the curiously intense expression in her emerald eyes.

“Th-the Duchess of Whitcombe,” Charles stammered.

Mimi’s gut twisted as she rose to her feet.

A duchess —come to look down her nose, perhaps instruct Mimi to leave Town, lest she taint it with her presence.

Mimi wiped her hands on her skirt, then dipped into a curtsey. “Your Grace,” she said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

The duchess frowned. “My husband is a friend of the Duke of Sawbridge. I understand Sawbridge was a friend of your late husband? I brought this for you.”

She held out a package, her hand trembling.

Surely the duchess wasn’t nervous ?

Mimi took the package and opened it. Nestled together among thin sheets of paper were a number of sweets fashioned into flowers, in delicate shades of orange and pink.

“Marzipan,” Mimi whispered.

Her stomach clenched as a distant memory crawled to the surface of her mind—her nine-year-old self creeping down the stairs, drawn to the sound of voices and laughter, her parents’ drawing room filled with bright colors, silken gowns, and the soft music of Bach—and a lady with gray hair and kind eyes who glided across the room to present her with a piece of marzipan, holding her finger to her lips.

She bit her lip to shatter the memory.

“Forgive me,” her guest said. “Do you like marzipan?”

Mimi’s mouth watered at the prospect of tasting the sweets. “It’s been a long time,” she said. “Would you like tea?”

“No thank you.”

“Of course. I’m sorry, I should have realized.”

“Realized what?”

“That you wouldn’t be disposed to”—Mimi gestured about the parlor—“with me, at least. Thank you for the marzipan. Please don’t feel obliged to stay. You’re welcome, of course, but I understand a woman of your rank would—”

The duchess let out a sigh. “Forgive me. I find myself uncomfortable paying calls. I meant no offense earlier. I would like tea, but I’m rather particular about how I take it—with honey and cinnamon.” The duchess lowered her gaze for a moment, before lifting it again, a flicker of pain in her eyes. “My husband always tells me to make clear my preferences, but it seems so uncivil to make such demands.”

“I see no incivility in you, Your Grace,” Mimi said. “Charles, do we have any cinnamon?”

“I don’t know what that is, ma’am,” the footman said. “I can ask Mrs. Brennan.”

The duchess smiled at him. “Thank you, young man,” she said. “It’s a powdered spice—brown in color, with a warm, slightly sweet aroma. But if your cook has none, I’ll be content with just honey.”

The footman bowed, then disappeared. Mimi gestured to a seat, and the duchess took it, her gaze wandering about the room.

“Forgive me if I’m intruding,” she said. “Your… I mean… The duke said you were newly arrived in town. I thought you might want to widen your acquaintance.”

She shifted in her seat, seeming almost as uncomfortable as Mimi.

“Of course, you may have your own friends here, Lady Rex,” she added.

“I have no friends,” Mimi said.

“Do you want to widen your acquaintance?”

Mimi shrugged. “Doesn’t everyone in Society?”

The duchess smiled, a silvery light sparkling in her eyes. “Not necessarily. I am not always fond of company.”

“Yet you’re here, paying me a visit,” Mimi said. “Did Sawbridge send you?”

“Heavens no!” The duchess laughed. “He was most keen that I not come, though he tried to hide it.”

“Then why did you come?”

“Perhaps because of his reluctance. And I’m not fond of mysteries.”

Mimi’s gut twisted in apprehension. Was this woman with the soul-searching eyes going to unearth her secret before her tenure as Lady Rex had even begun?

“I’m not a gossip,” the duchess continued, “but I found myself asking why Sawbridge saw fit to find you a house in London, but disliked the notion of your having visitors. I’m happy to leave you in peace, of course, but I wasn’t about to be dictated to by a profligate such as he. I… Oh! I didn’t mean to impugn him, of course.”

Mimi suppressed a laugh. “I didn’t expect a duchess to be so frank.”

“I’m not what a duchess ought to be. Many ladies will feel themselves obliged to tell you exactly that.”

“Such as the Honorable Sarah Francis,” Mimi said.

The duchess’s eyes widened. “So you do have some acquaintance in London.”

“Not really. I had the misfortune of meeting her this morning.”

“Misfortune indeed,” the duchess said. “Doubly so if she had Elizabeth De Witt with her—those two seem to be permanently joined to each other, always trying to outdo each other with their wardrobes. I swear I’ve never seen Miss Francis wear the same gown twice—such a waste of good silk.”

“To be worn only once?”

“No—to be worn by her,” the duchess said. “Tell me, where did you meet her?”

Mimi averted her gaze. “At a modiste’s.”

“Madame Deliet’s, on St. James? Perhaps you patronize her.” The duchess’s gaze trailed over Mimi’s gown, and she frowned. “Or perhaps not.”

“Why do you think not?” Mimi asked, her voice tight.

“Because Madame Deliet is a frightful snob,” came the reply. “My papa can’t stand her, but he’s obliged to conduct business with her. A man in trade cannot afford to be too choosy when it comes to his clients.”

“Your father’s in trade?”

“He’s a silk merchant. Someone’s bound to tell you that at some point. I’d rather you heard it from me. I trust you’re not offended.”

Mimi frowned. Why was this woman—this stranger—telling her such things? Weren’t ladies supposed to confine the topic of conversation to the weather?

“Forgive me, I see I’m being overly frank. A fault of mine, I’m afraid. My husband, indulgent though he is, often chides me for it.” She gestured toward the pianoforte. “Do you play?”

“I played a little Bach as a child,” Mimi said, “but I lacked the talent. My mother…”

She shook her head, fighting the swell of sorrow that threatened to break through the armor she’d fashioned around her heart.

“It matters not. I have no sheet music with me.”

At that moment, Charles returned with a tray laden with tea things. He set it on a table, then issued a stiff bow.

“Thank you, Charles,” Mimi said, smiling at the young man. “Did Mrs. Brennan have any cinnamon for my guest?”

“Yes, ma’am, it’s just there.” He gestured to a small porcelain dish next to a bowl of glistening honey, then he bowed once more and retreated.

Mimi rose and saw to the tea, pouring the brown liquid into two cups and then, at the duchess’s direction, tipping a spoonful each of cinnamon and honey into her cup, inhaling the exotic scent. She smiled to herself. The aroma reminded her of Christmas, of long nights beside a log fire, of warmth and comfort—of days long gone.

Then she handed the cup to her guest. Her hand shook, and a splash of tea spilled onto the duchess’s gown.

“Oh!” Mimi cried, “I’m so sorry—what must you think of me?”

The duchess took the cup. “I think you’re a very obliging hostess, willing to cater to her guest’s eccentricities.”

“But your gown—I’ve ruined it.”

“Nonsense!” The duchess laughed. “The benefit of having a father who’s a silk merchant is that he knows how to clean a gown better than any lady’s maid—though my Harriet would be most put out if she heard me say so.”

“But it’s such a beautiful silk,” Mimi said. “I’ve never seen anything so…” Her voice trailed off, and she retreated to pour her own tea. What must the duchess think of her—staring at her gown with envious eyes before pouring tea all over it?

The duchess glanced at Mimi’s gown, a thoughtful expression in her eyes. “Who is your modiste?” she asked. “My father supplies a particular silk that would do very well for you. I could have him send her a bolt—or would that be terribly forward of me?”

Mimi averted her gaze to the window. “I have no modiste.” She sipped her tea, wincing as the hot liquid burned her lips, and awaited the condescension of a superior being.

“Oh?”

“The duke instructed me to visit Madame Deliet, but she refused to serve me then evicted me from her premises.”

“Under the spiteful gaze of Sarah Francis and Elizabeth De Witt?”

Mimi nodded, and her teacup clattered against the saucer as her hand trembled.

“You make me quite ashamed,” the duchess said, at length. “If you need a modiste, I can recommend mine. Madame Dupont is less…”

“Less discerning?” Mimi said bitterly.

“Less spiteful .”

“You’re very kind, but I have no wish to visit a modiste’s shop again,” Mimi said. “I’ve engaged a dressmaker who seems capable, and I’d rather patronize someone based on merit than their position in Society.”

“Bravo!” the duchess said. “You must permit me to send her a bolt of silk for your gowns.”

Mimi glanced at the duchess’s gown—the smooth, exquisitely colored silk—fighting to conquer her longing.

“I-I’m sorry, Your Grace,” she said. “I couldn’t accept charity.”

The duchess frowned. “It’s not charity,” she said, and Mimi almost detected a hint of shyness in her voice. “I’d like to think it a gift—from a friend.”

“Y-you consider me a friend?”

“You have endured my company today—a guest uninvited”—she gestured to the dish of cinnamon—“acceded to my demands, and weathered my foibles. Is that not the mark of a friend?”

She leaned forward, fixing her emerald gaze on Mimi.

“I know what it’s like to be an outsider—a misfit.” She made a dismissive gesture. “Oh, I understand that most admire my rank. But my rank belongs to my husband. Any deference is due to him and him alone. But as to my essence—what truly defines me as me —I’m as much an outsider in Society as a…”

“As a doxy masquerading as the widow of a knight?”

The duchess’s eyes narrowed, but to her credit, she gave no sign of disgust. She merely nodded.

“I see no doxy,” she said, “just as I hope you don’t merely see a duchess. I think you and I are capable of looking beneath the facade and appreciating the person inside.” She rose. “Forgive me—I’ve a rather unfortunate habit of talking too much on some subjects, and not at all on others. I’ve trespassed too much on your time already, and will bid you good day. If you are not averse to it, I should like to call on you again—and you are of course welcome to visit me at any time. I’ve left my card in your hallway.”

She offered her hand, and for a moment, Mimi stared at it. Then, trembling, she took it, and the duchess curled her long, lean fingers over Mimi’s.

“Thank you, Duchess,” Mimi said. “I would be delighted.”

The duchess smiled, and her dark gaze filled with light, as if the sun had emerged from behind a thundercloud. Mimi understood what must have captivated the duchess’s husband—she had never seen such intensity of warmth and intelligence in another creature.

“Call me Eleanor,” the duchess said.

“And call me Jemima,” Mimi said, before she could stop herself. Then she caught her breath. “Oh—I-I didn’t mean to say… I mean—nobody calls me Jemima . I’m known as Mimi— he calls me Mimi.”

Eleanor nodded, understanding in her eyes. There was no need to explain who he was.

“You can trust me with your name,” she said. “May I, in turn, give you some advice?”

Mimi nodded.

“Guard your heart, Jemima,” Eleanor said. “I know the pain of loving another with no guarantee of that love being returned. I must respect Sawbridge as my husband’s friend, but—due to an unfortunate incident—his reputation is not favorable.”

“I know,” Mimi said.

“Then I trust you stand to gain as much as he will from your…relationship. I fear that he sees women as disposable commodities.”

“Doesn’t every man?”

“There are a few notable exceptions,” Eleanor said, “but the greatest mistake a woman can make is to assume that a heart lies within the body of the rakehell—only to discover the truth when it’s too late. I only counsel you because when the truth is revealed, it’s the woman who pays the price.”

“I know,” Mimi said, “and it’s a price I have never been willing to pay.”

“Then I wish you success,” Eleanor replied. She let out a soft laugh. “Perhaps now you understand why Sawbridge was reluctant for me to visit you.”

“Nevertheless, I’m very glad you came.”

“So am I.”

Mimi escorted the duchess out. Then, on impulse, she embraced her new friend before Eleanor climbed into the waiting carriage.