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

T his is not like the last time.

Mimi stood on the pavement and stared at the building before her. The white facade of number 16 Grosvenor Square gleamed in the sunlight, and she lifted her hands to shield her eyes from the glare.

A tier of steps led to the front door—dark wood with a polished brass handle, surrounded by an elaborate architrave and flanked by two white columns that reminded her of the Grecian temples she’d seen in books.

She tilted her head up, casting her gaze over three stories, the first two with huge bay windows that reflected the sunlight, the upper story with flat windows where the new housekeeper had already taken residence.

Or so he said, her…

Her what? What was the Duke of Sawbridge? Her lover, protector, employer?

No—he was her business partner.

A ripple of apprehension threaded through her as she continued to stare at the building.

This was not like before. Her situation with Sawbridge was a soulless business relationship—with a definitive termination date, and payment at the end. After which they’d part company.

Just as she wanted. No expectations, no hopes.

And definitely no love .

The building before her wasn’t her home. It was merely a place to stay while she earned her two thousand guineas.

The door opened to reveal a smartly dressed man in black, with close-clipped gray hair, a weathered face, and deep-set dark brown eyes.

He gave a stiff bow. “Lady Rex,” he said.

“And you are?”

“Wheeler,” he said. “Welcome. If it would please you to come inside?”

His demeanor was stiff and formal, but at least it lacked the contempt she’d expected. He cast his gaze over her badly fitting gown and the threadbare valise in her hand, both courtesy of Sawbridge’s housekeeper.

“Have you any other belongings with you, ma’am?” he asked.

“I’m afraid not.”

“Perhaps they’re at the duke’s townhouse?”

Her cheeks flaming, she shook her head.

“Well, that can’t be helped,” he said. “Come inside, and I’ll send for Mrs. Hodge. She’ll know what to do with you.”

He stepped aside, and Mimi entered the building.

The hallway was elegant in its simplicity. Light filled the space, refracting off the crystals from the chandelier, casting myriad colors on the polished marble floor. Tall plants flanked the walls, their frond-like leaves spread out like giant fans.

At the end was a wide staircase with a banister—intricate iron uprights, topped with a polished wooden handrail. The staircase ascended straight ahead, to a turn, guarded by another palm, then it curved to the left before ascending to the upper floor. A row of paintings, landscapes in clean, bright colors, adorned the wall, following the line of the stairs, drawing the eye upward.

Mimi approached the staircase, her footsteps echoing on the floor, and reached out to the banister, tracing the curved ironwork of the uprights with her fingertips, before placing her hand on the handrail.

“I trust you find it to your satisfaction,” the butler said.

“Yes, thank you, Wheeler.”

“I understand you’ve brought no maid with you.”

Mimi felt her cheeks warm at the disdain in his tone. Sawbridge might have promised the staff would treat her with respect, but a woman such as her would be viewed with contempt by even the lowliest servant. Merely surviving in this house would prove to be a battle.

“I have no need of a personal maid,” she said.

“Very good, ma’am. I’ll have Charles escort you to your chamber. Then I suggest tea in the parlor at eleven o’clock.”

His tone implied that refusal was not an option. He arched a brow, and she nodded. “Thank you.”

He reached for a bell on the side table and rang it. Moments later, a thin-faced youth in blue livery arrived.

“Ah, Charles,” the butler said. “Please escort”—he hesitated—“Lady Rex to her chamber. Then show her to the parlor at eleven.” He glanced at Mimi’s valise. “And help her with her…luggage.”

Her cheeks flaming, Mimi handed the valise over, then she turned to the butler.

“I prefer to take tea at half past eleven,” she said.

“But…”

“Mr. Wheeler, I trust I do not have to repeat myself.”

“No, ma’am.”

The butler issued a stiff bow, then Mimi followed the footman upstairs.

She had survived the opening salvo, but the battle had just begun.

*

As a clock struck half past the hour, Mimi followed the footman across the hallway floor. He pushed open a door, then gave a shy smile.

At least some of the household treated her with courtesy, though doubtless Charles’s civility was due to his youth—red spots marked his forehead and cheeks, and his voice bore the hoarseness of a boy on the cusp of adulthood. He was too innocent to understand who and what she was.

The parlor was already occupied. A woman sat on a chaise longue by the window, her dark hair fashioned into a tidy style, and wearing a dark-blue gown trimmed with lace. She rose as Mimi entered.

“Lady Rex, I presume.” She dipped into a curtsey.

So this was the housekeeper. She should have waited downstairs until summoned. If not even the staff could hide their contempt, how would Mimi survive among Sawbridge’s acquaintance?

“You must be Mrs. Hodge,” Mimi said, keeping her voice even, though she was aware of her cheeks heating. She glanced about the parlor—elegantly furnished in blue and yellow, with two chairs beside the fireplace that matched the chaise longue and a table in the center laden with a tea tray.

Mimi approached the table and lifted the teapot. “It was most kind of you to join me for tea, Mrs. Hodge.”

“I thought it wise, given the circumstances.”

Mimi’s hand faltered as she poured tea into a cup, and a splash of brown liquid fell onto the table.

“Circumstances?” she said, aware of the tightness in her voice.

“I understand from the duke that you’ve not taken a house in London before,” the housekeeper said. “I therefore thought it prudent to instruct you in any matters you might want assistance with.”

Prettily put, but Mimi could hardly expect the woman to say outright that she didn’t want a whore disrupting her establishment. Did she perhaps expect to find a row of lust-fueled men lining up outside her bedchamber each night?

Mimi continued to pour her tea, and followed it with a splash of milk, then she took a seat at one end of the chaise longue.

The housekeeper remained standing.

“Please continue, Mrs. Hodge.”

“A house such as this requires a certain degree of order to run,” the housekeeper said. “The staff each have their roles and know how to undertake them. Each occupant—both above and below stairs—must understand their role.”

“Even those who reside above stairs but whom others believe are better suited to life below?”

The housekeeper’s eyes widened.

“You may find it hard to believe, Mrs. Hodge,” Mimi said, “but I’ve been mistress of a household before, albeit five years ago. Assuming the roles and traditions you speak of have not changed materially since then, I’m confident I’ll do nothing to bring this household into disrepute.”

To her credit, the housekeeper blushed. “Forgive me, Lady Rex—I meant no offense. I was merely—”

“You were merely offering your assistance in case I was unsure of my role in this household,” Mimi said. “Rest assured, Mrs. Hodge, that I fully understand my position. I will carry out my duties—all of them—to the best of my ability.”

Her voice wavered, and she lifted her teacup to her lips and took a sip.

A flicker of understanding shone in the other woman’s eyes.

“Please, help yourself to tea, Mrs. Hodge,” Mimi said. “We’ve much to discuss.”

The housekeeper poured a cup, then glanced at the chaise longue. Mimi patted the seat.

“Sit with me if you please, Mrs. Hodge.”

The housekeeper smiled and sat. “May I say, Lady Rex, you’re not what I expected.”

“That’s kind of you to phrase it so politely,” Mimi said, “but, like it or not, I’m mistress of his house.”

The housekeeper placed a light hand on Mimi’s arm.

“That you are, ma’am. And my duty is to help you, to make sure your life here is as comfortable as possible for as long as you require it.”

“It’s only for six months, Mrs. Hodge. We can both be thankful for that , at least.”

The housekeeper smiled. “Life takes a turn for the unexpected sometimes. Nothing is certain.”

“I know that better than most,” Mimi replied. “The unexpected is often where life takes a turn for the worse.”

“Perhaps, my dear, the unexpected may bring about an improvement in your life. Contentment can be found in the most unlikely of situations.”

Mimi took another sip. “I’d gladly settle for contentment.”

“And happiness?”

“Happiness is a dream,” Mimi said. “And while I’d advocate indulging in dreams on occasion, it does no good to place any faith in their realization.”

“It’s a sorry creature who lacks faith, Lady Rex.”

“A rational creature, also,” Mimi said. “Faith can be very dangerous—more than hope, for at least hope carries with it an understanding of the risk of disappointment. We can recover from having our hopes dashed. But faith?” She shook her head. “Better to have no faith at all than to have lost it.”

The housekeeper stared, and Mimi averted her gaze. What had possessed her to lower her defenses to a stranger merely because she showed a little kindness?

She reached toward the table to set her teacup down. The cup rattled against the saucer as her hand shook, then two hands clasped hers, and the rattling stopped.

“I can manage, Mrs. Hodge,” Mimi said.

“I’m sure you can, my dear, but that shouldn’t prevent me from helping you where I can.” She plucked the teacup and saucer from Mimi’s hand and placed it on the table. “We’re here to make your life comfortable, Lady Rex.” Mimi met her gaze, and the housekeeper smiled, her eyes crinkling at the edges. “Even Mr. Wheeler. He’s a little fastidious, but he’ll undertake his duties appropriately.”

“And the rest of the staff, will they…”

Will they look down on me like everyone else?

“They’ll give you the respect you command as their mistress, Lady Rex. Mr. Wheeler and I will see to that.” Mrs. Hodge gave a soft smile of indulgence. “Young Charles is a little inexperienced, but he’s a fast learner, though I say it myself—he’s my nephew, you see. The duke was kind enough to let me engage him. Will you be wanting a lady’s maid?”

Mimi shook her head.

“We can arrange for one later if you wish—there’s no need to decide just now. And, of course, we have a cook, Mrs. Brennan. You must tell me your favorite dishes and I can have her cook them for you. If you wish to meet the staff yourself, I can arrange it.”

“Perhaps later.”

“Of course, my dear, I understand. You must be tired. Perhaps after luncheon I can take you to the kitchen and introduce you.”

The housekeeper smiled and nodded, and Mimi caught the unspoken words in her eyes.

You have nothing to fear.

Perhaps not in this house. But out in Society, the realm of predators of a very different nature—Mimi had everything to fear.

As if Fate had read her thoughts, a knock came on the front door. Mimi startled and rose to her feet. The housekeeper placed a steadying hand on her arm.

“I’ll see to it, Lady Rex.”

Mrs. Hodge approached the door, which opened to reveal the young footman. She gave him a smile of affection.

“What is it, Charles?”

He held out a silver salver. “Message for the mistress.”

“Take it over to her, then.”

“Yes, Aunt…I mean, yes, Mrs. Hodge.”

The boy colored, the spots on his face seeming to glow, as he approached Mimi, his hand trembling.

She gave him a smile and plucked the note from the salver.

“Thank you, Charles,” she said. “You’re very kind.”

He glanced up at her and his blush deepened.

“Charles?” Mrs. Hodge said.

The young footman issued a bow, then scuttled out of the parlor.

Mimi tore open the note and read it.

Madame Deliet, 55a St. James.

Give my name as a friend of the late Sir John Rex, and she’ll tend to you.

A.F.

“A.F.” She handed the note to Mrs. Hodge. “Who’s that?”

The housekeeper took it, a flicker of sympathy in her eyes. “That’s the duke.”

“I-I thought his name was Sawbridge.”

“That’s right. Alexander Ffortescue, fifth Duke of Sawbridge. And Madame Deliet is…”

“A modiste, I know,” Mimi said.

The housekeeper let out a huff. “It’s not my place, I know, but I confess I’m disappointed.”

“That a woman like me should be going to a modiste?”

“Bless you, no! I’m disappointed in him , expecting you to go alone, and you unused to London! He usually accompanies all his other…” Her voice trailed off and she colored.

“You know him well?” Mimi asked.

“By reputation, though perhaps…” Mrs. Hodge glanced at the note again. “Perhaps he views you differently. Six months is a long time.”

Perhaps too long.

Focus on the prize, Mimi—the pot of gold at the end with which you can purchase your freedom.

“I’ll ask Wheeler to send the duke a message,” the housekeeper said.

Mimi shook her head. “Please don’t, Mrs. Hodge. The one lesson I’ve learned is the futility of asking a man to do anything he doesn’t wish to. As you say, he views me differently to the other women he’s…” She hesitated, her cheeks burning with shame.

“I know, my dear,” the housekeeper said. “I was going to ask that he give you the use of his carriage if he cannot accompany you himself.”

“I’d rather walk,” Mimi said. “I’ve no wish to grow dependent on his…generosity. Besides”—she glanced toward the window through which the winter sun shone—“a walk will give me a chance to familiarize myself with the area.”

The housekeeper nodded. “You’re a sensible young woman, and clever, I’ll warrant. Though we live in a world where intelligence in a female is to be criticized rather than applauded, I suspect it’s enabled you to survive. But I wouldn’t dream of your wandering about London unaccompanied. It’s not the done thing for a respectable widow of a knight. The late Sir John Rex would turn in his grave if he were to know I let you wander the streets alone. Charles can accompany you. He knows the way, and can carry any purchases you make.”

“Mrs. Hodge, I think we both know that Sir John was not…I mean, is not—”

“No sense in getting yourself upset, Lady Rex. I’m sure Sir John, wherever he may be in the world beyond, would want you taken care of, would he not?”

Mimi met her gaze, and her heart softened at the understanding in the older woman’s eyes.

Then the housekeeper opened the door and called out, “Charles?”

After a heartbeat, the young footman appeared. “Yes, Mrs. Hodge?”

“Would you accompany your mistress to St. James? Here’s the direction.” She handed him the note, then glanced toward the window. “And fetch my cloak—the wind has a bite this time of year. That is, if you don’t object, Lady Rex? I don’t want your catching cold in that thin gown on your first day in London.”

Blinking back tears at the housekeeper’s kindness, Mimi nodded. “I’d be obliged, thank you.”

“Well?” Mrs. Hodge demanded. “Don’t stand there staring, lad—you don’t want to keep the mistress waiting.”

“No, ma’am,” Charles mumbled, then scuttled off.

The housekeeper followed him with her gaze, an affectionate smile on her lips.

“He’ll take care of you, Lady Rex,” she said. “Now, I ought to be getting on—I’ve a host of young girls to interview about the remaining positions, if you’ll excuse me?”

“Of course,” Mimi said. “Thank you for your kindness, Mrs. Hodge. I didn’t expect it.”

“I’m sure you didn’t my dear,” the housekeeper said, taking her hand. “And I hope, with all my heart, that you’ll be happy here.”

She placed her hand on Mimi’s cheek.

“Not just content,” she said, “but happy .”

*

“Here we are, ma’am.”

Charles gestured to the white-fronted building with a paneled window that bowed outward, through which Mimi could see an elaborate display of flowers set against a backdrop of cream-colored silk.

“It looks like a florist’s,” she said. Then she glanced upward to the sign over the door, displaying the word modiste in large black letters, and to the side, in a cursive hand, the inscription Mme. Deliet .

Mimi approached the window, her stomach churning at the display—roses and orchids of every conceivable color. It exuded wealth and ostentation. Not a single petal was out of place, and each one looked as fresh as the day of first blooming.

By comparison, her gown and cloak—a housekeeper’s hand-me-downs—looked shabby and worn.

How the devil could she even begin to belong here?

“Ma’am? Shall I accompany you inside?”

“Thank you, Charles,” Mimi said, “that would be most kind.”

He pushed open the door, a bell tinkling overhead, and Mimi followed.

The interior was even more ostentatious than the window display. Row upon row of silks lined one wall, and a display of ribbons, trays of buttons, beads, and jewels adorned another. The shop was larger than it appeared from the outside, stretching toward the back, where two ladies stood, deep in conversation. They turned to face Mimi as she entered.

The taller of the two, with a cascade of blonde curls and eyes the color of ice, drew in a sharp breath, while the other, with pale-red hair and acrid green eyes, wrinkled her nose.

“Tradesmen enter at the back,” she said in a sharp, brittle voice.

“I’m here to see Madame Deliet,” Mimi began.

“Well of course you are!” The blonde woman turned to her companion. “Do you hear that? She’s here to see Madame Deliet!”

“Which of you is she?” Mimi asked.

“Sweet heaven—what sort of riffraff is Madame having to deal with these days?” the second exclaimed.

“Are neither of you Madame Deliet?”

The blonde woman rolled her eyes and let out a sharp huff. “Do we look like tradespeople? I’m the Honorable Sarah Francis.”

“Now, Sarah,” the redhead said, “you mustn’t be too hard on this…” She cast her gaze over Mimi’s form, the contempt in her eyes eliciting more shame in Mimi’s heart than she’d felt when standing naked before Sawbridge’s valet. “This— person ,” the redhead said, at length. “Given her apparel, one can hardly expect her to discern the difference between a modiste and a baron’s daughter.”

I am a baron’s daughter.

“Perhaps, my dear,” the Honorable Sarah said, “you had better return another time.”

“Or not at all,” her companion added.

“Now, Elizabeth, we mustn’t be uncharitable. This poor creature lacks understanding, given that she brought a footman into the shop.”

Blushing, Charles sidled toward the door.

“Stay where you are, Charles,” Mimi said. “We’re going nowhere. I’m here to see Madame Deliet, as a customer.”

“Really? And you are?”

“Lady Rex.”

“Lady Rex? And your husband is…?”

“ Was . Sir John Rex.”

“A knight, I presume, not a baronet.”

Mimi nodded.

“Yes, I see,” the redhead said. “The regent’s a little more discerning when giving out baronetcies. But it seems that anyone is given a knighthood these days.”

“Exactly, Elizabeth. Look at Sir Leonard Howard—parading about the place with his upstart daughters whom we must treat as our equals merely because they married above their station. I mean, that Eleanor is quite the dimwit, yet because she’s a duchess now, we must treat her as our equal.”

“I doubt this Eleanor—whomever she may be—could be considered your equal,” Mimi couldn’t help saying.

“Exactly.” Both women nodded, and Mimi suppressed a smile as they missed her meaning.

“At least you appreciate our station, if not your own,” Sarah said. “Madame is rather discerning when it comes to her clientele—and you wouldn’t want any unpleasantness, would you? You should try elsewhere.”

“But—”

“We’re thinking of your best interests. I’m sure you’d much rather leave this establishment of your own accord.”

“Well, I…” Mimi began, then the curtain at the back of the shop was swept back and a petite woman appeared, dressed in white, her hair an abundance of dark curls.

She held up an array of yellow ribbons.

“Here we are, mes amis !” she cried. “I ’ave found the perfect ribbons for your gowns. You’ll be the belles of all the balls, no? In fact, I said to my niece, only yesterday, that—” She broke off as she spotted Mimi in the doorway. Then she dropped her gaze to Mimi’s feet, and slowly raised it, taking in the thick boots with the scuffed toes, the frayed hem of her gown with the dusting of dirt, the creased skirt, the plain brown woolen cloak, and Mimi’s neck, which lacked any adornment—unlike the other two ladies, whose jeweled necklaces twinkled in the sunlight.

“Who might you be?” the modiste said, her accent slipping, and Mimi detected an undercurrent of the flat vowels she’d grown used to during the past five years.

“This is Mrs.…” Sarah began, then shook her head. “Do forgive me—this woman, apparently, is Lady Rex.”

“Is she, now?”

“I understand you’re expecting me?” Mimi said.

The modiste wrinkled her nose. “I’ve never heard of you.”

“I’m here to purchase a gown,” Mimi said.

“One doesn’t purchase a gown in my establishment, Mademoiselle…”

“ Lady Rex,” Mimi said. “My late husband was a friend of—”

The modiste raised her hand. “Pay me the courtesy of letting me finish.”

The redhead leaned toward her companion. “Such incivility to interrupt one’s betters!”

“Quite so, Lady Elizabeth,” the modiste said. “Now, Lady Rex, my clientele do not simply purchase their gowns.” She gestured about the shop. “Do you see any gowns here?”

Mimi shook her head.

“No, madame , you don’t. And do you know why? It’s because the ladies who frequent my establishment purchase my expertise—my services. Each gown I make is created by hand, after establishing a relationship with the lady. And”—she curled her lip in a sneer—“each gown is—what do you English say?—très expensive.”

“ Chaque robe est très cher, ” Mimi said.

Confusion clouded the modiste’s expression. Then she shook her head.

Madame Deliet, you’re a fraudster.

“I doubt you could afford anything in my establishment,” she said. “I’d advise you to look elsewhere. There’s plenty of establishments where you can purchase a gown.”

“Charitable establishments,” the blonde said.

Her companion let out a giggle. “Sarah, we mustn’t be unkind, I’m sure my maid has donated some of her old gowns to such places—those she doesn’t cut into rags and give to the butler to polish the silverware with.”

Their laughter filled the air.

“I have money,” Mimi said. “My late husband’s friend, he—”

The modiste strode to the door. The bell overhead tinkled angrily as she yanked it open.

“Please leave,” she said, her voice cold and hard, with no trace of a French accent. “Do not attempt to enter my establishment again.”

She pushed Charles toward the exit and faced Mimi, contempt in her eyes. Then she called over her shoulder, “Evelina!”

“Yes, Madame?” a thin voice called in the distance.

“Bring my cologne—there’s a nasty odor I must see to.”

Mimi retreated through the door, and the modiste slammed it shut.

Mimi turned from the shop, blinking back the moisture in her eyes. She’d be damned if she’d give them the satisfaction of seeing her tears.

“Charles, take me home.”

“Ma’am, it’s raining.”

Mimi stepped out from beneath the awning and tipped her head toward the sky, letting droplets splash onto her face.

“I care not,” she said. “I’d rather be out here in the rain than inside with those creatures—with any of their kind.”

“So would I, ma’am,” Charles said, then his color deepened. “Forgive me. My aunt’s always sayin’ I shouldn’t speak out of turn. In fact, she says I shouldn’t speak at all most times—certainly not in front of my betters.”

“On the contrary,” Mimi said. “You have shown me that you’re a better person than those…” She gestured toward the shop.

“Ladies?” he asked.

“Oh, I think we can do better than that,” she said.

He hesitated. “Nasty ladies?”

“How about vipers?”

He let out a nervous laugh. “What about cheesers?”

“ Cheesers ?” she asked. “As in lumps of cheese?”

He lowered his voice. “It means… It’s when you…” He gestured to his behind and waved his hand to and fro. “When you do a particularly potent one. If it stinks, it’s called a cheeser.” Mimi bit her lip to suppress her laughter, and his eyes widened. “Beg pardon, ma’am, I didn’t mean to offend!”

“And you didn’t, Charles,” she said. “In fact, I think my life will be the better for having you in it. You’re a credit to your aunt, and I’ll tell her as much when we return. Now, shall we?”

He nodded, then led the way as they retraced their steps to Grosvenor Square and the rain began to fall more steadily.

Perhaps she might survive six months in this hostile environment if she had allies—even if those allies were just a housekeeper and her adolescent nephew.