Page 9 of Doxy for the Ton (Misfits of the Ton #7)

T he carriage that had followed Mimi and Charles into Grosvenor Square was enormous, bearing an ornate crest. Two men in red livery sat at the front holding the reins, seemingly oblivious to the rain, while another two clung to the back.

So many men, and horses, to convey a handful of people too idle to walk.

A woman’s face appeared at the carriage window, blurred by the rain—another Society lady to look down on her.

Then a second face appeared—the Duke of Sawbridge.

Mimi turned her back and followed Charles up the steps, where the door opened to reveal the butler.

He stepped aside to admit her, looking over her soaked form, then his gaze settled on the water dripping onto the floor, already pooling at her feet.

“Charles and I were caught in the rain, Wheeler,” she said.

“So I see.”

Why did his face bear a permanent expression of disdain? Or was it merely when he looked at her?

“Charles!” he snapped. “Don’t just stand there.”

“Yes, Mr. Wheeler. Sorry, Mr. Wheeler.” Trembling, the footman took Mimi’s cloak.

“Ma’am, I suggest you change your gown,” the butler said. “Do you have another?”

Mimi nodded, feeling like a wayward child admonished by a schoolmaster.

“Good. Do you require assistance?”

“No.”

“In which case, would you oblige me with an audience once you’ve changed? I’ll await you in the study. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need a word with Charles.” He bowed and began to retreat.

“Which room is the study?” Mimi asked.

He gestured to a door on the right. “In there, ma’am.”

“Very good, Wheeler—you’re dismissed.”

He arched an eyebrow at her attempt at authority, then bowed and retreated, his footsteps clicking on the floor. Once he was out of sight, Mimi sprinted up the stairs to the sanctuary of her bedchamber.

*

After changing into another of Sawbridge’s housekeeper’s old gowns, Mimi made her way to the study, where she found the butler seated beside a squat dark wooden desk.

He rose and gestured toward the chair at the head of the desk, waiting until she’d taken it before resuming his seat.

“Why have you summoned me?” she asked.

He arched an eyebrow. “If I recall right, I merely requested an audience, Lady Rex.”

“It didn’t sound like a request.”

“Perhaps not to one unused to how a Society townhouse is run.”

“I see you’re not sparing me your frankness,” Mimi said.

“I merely feel obliged to warn you of the inappropriateness of your behavior today.”

“ My behavior? Is it your place to admonish me over my behavior, or for me to admonish you over yours?”

“It’s my duty to ensure that propriety is observed at all times,” he said, “both below stairs—and above.”

“Very well, Wheeler,” she said. “Let me bestow upon you equal frankness. We both know that I’m not who I appear to be.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but she raised her hand.

“Permit me to finish. While you may have formed certain conclusions about me, you know nothing of my history. Neither does the Duke of Sawbridge. However, His Grace has instructed you to behave as if I am the mistress of this house—a respectable widow. You may lack respect for me—and believe me, I’m used to dealing with the contempt of others—but out of respect for your employer, I expect you to carry out your duties without complaint.”

His eyebrow twitched—most likely the only expression of emotion he would display.

“All you, and anyone else, needs to know,” Mimi continued, “is that I am Lady Rex .”

“Then, ma’am, it behooves me to advise you to behave as Lady Rex ought.”

She leaned back in the chair and sighed. “Wheeler, where is the fault in my behavior?”

“For one thing, walking in the rain without an umbrella,” he said. “Though I hold Charles responsible, for which he has already been admonished.”

“And?”

“And,” he said, his nose wrinkling, “it’s not done for a lady residing in Grosvenor Square to wander about Mayfair dressed like”—he gestured to her gown—“the housekeeper’s grandmother.”

“This is the best gown I have!”

He frowned. “I understood His Grace was to take you to a modiste. At the very least you should refrain from venturing out of doors until properly attired. Living in Grosvenor Square is a privilege.”

Anger burst within her at his pomposity, and she slammed her fist on the desk.

“It’s a punishment , rather than a privilege to live here,” she snarled. “For your information, I was at a modiste! With Charles—because nobody else cared to accompany me. Yet you punished him for it!”

“He wasn’t punished for accompanying you, ma’am. But even he should recognize the impropriety of venturing outside, dressed as you are.”

“How do you suggest I improve my state of dress, when they refused to serve me?”

“Who refused to serve you?”

“The modiste,” she said. “That woman with the fake French accent—Deliet, she calls herself—who tossed me out of the street to the amusement of her customers, as if I were a pile of horseshit.”

This time he raised both eyebrows, and she braced herself for a lecture on her vocabulary.

But it never came.

“She threw you out?”

“Yes!” Mimi cried. “And you know why? Because she’s just like you—she judges by appearance and looks down her nose at anyone she considers beneath her.”

“Ma’am, I’m not—”

“You are ,” Mimi interrupted. “Why else would you punish that poor boy merely for showing me kindness? Do you think I minded getting caught in the rain? No—I found it infinitely preferable to being stuck inside a stuffy townhouse with people like you. In fact, Mr. Wheeler, I’d rather roll in horseshit than suffer your company.”

She heard a muffled cry and looked up to see Mrs. Hodge in the doorway.

The housekeeper placed her hands on her hips. “Well! I’ve never heard anything the like!” she said. “You ought to be ashamed. Why the duke thought you fit to be here, I’ll never know.”

“Let me remedy that at once, Mrs. Hodge,” Mimi said, rising, but the housekeeper lifted her hand.

“I was speaking to you , Mr. Wheeler,” she said. “What right have you to speak to the mistress with such disrespect? And to shepherd her into the study as if she were your subordinate without even offering her tea—what will the duke think of you?”

“Mrs. Hodge, even you must understand the need for propriety,” the butler retorted.

“Yes, but there’s no need further the cause with such a heavy hand.” Mrs. Hodge turned to Mimi. “My nephew tells me your visit to the modiste was not a success.”

“It seems as if I’m not the type of customer Madame Deliet wishes to serve,” Mimi said.

“I feared as much. The duke ought to have accompanied you himself instead of gallivanting about town. Men! They know nothing .” Mrs. Hodge glared at the butler, who remained stoic apart from a faint reddening of his cheeks. “Go and see to the wine cellar,” she said.

Wheeler bowed and exited the study, and the housekeeper took the seat he’d vacated.

“What am I to do?” Mimi asked. “The duke insisted on my having new gowns.”

“Then he should have accompanied you,” the housekeeper said gently. “Would you like me to ask him?”

“And have him know that Madame Deliet doesn’t think me good enough for her establishment? No, I couldn’t bear that. He might not want to keep—”

Mimi broke off, the unfinished sentence hanging in the air.

He might not want to keep me.

A warm hand took hers. “He’s gone to a lot of trouble to settle you here, my dear, and he’ll want you looking your best. I might have a solution.”

“I cannot go back there,” Mimi said. “If he accompanies me, it’ll only make it worse, for they’ll know I’m his…”

“Do not speak it,” Mrs. Hodge said. “We should never allow ourselves to be defined by what we’re compelled to do for a living.”

Mimi’s cheeks heated under the housekeeper’s scrutiny. “I-I know I must dress appropriately.”

“Might I suggest a solution?”

“Please—anything.”

“My cousin Peg’s a seamstress—a dressmaker, really, though she has yet to have an establishment of her own. But she’s so talented. See this?” Mrs. Hodge gestured to the lacework on her neckline. “Made with her own fingers, that was—I couldn’t afford to buy lace this fine.”

Mimi glanced at the lace tuck, the intricate floral pattern, and caught her breath at the memory of another lace tuck—a gift from a man from another period in her life, the finest lace from Flanders. A gift she had long since lost, along with everything else. She blinked and wiped away the tears that threatened to fall.

“Give Peg a chance, ma’am,” Mrs. Hodge said.

“Would the duke approve?”

“He’d approve of the cost—my Peg would give you three gowns at half the price of one of Madame Deliet’s. And she’ll come to you. I could send Charles for her today, if you like.”

“Wouldn’t she object to making gowns for a…”

“For the widow of a knight?” Mrs. Hodge shook her head. “My Peg’s not one to judge another by their rank. She judges a person by their deeds.”

“Then,” Mimi said, “if it’s not too much trouble, perhaps you could send for her. I find myself in need of the company of those who do not think less of me for what I am.”

The housekeeper rose and approached the door, then she turned and smiled.

“You’ll be the prettiest widow in town,” she said. “If he doesn’t fall in love with you, then he’s a fool. Now—how about that tea? I’ll have it brought to the parlor.”

Mimi nodded, and the housekeeper exited the study.

If he doesn’t fall in love with you, then he’s a fool.

She let out a bitter laugh.

“Mrs. Hodge, you’re the biggest fool of all if you believe him capable of falling in love,” she said to the empty room.

The question is—how much of a fool am I ?