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CHAPTER THREE

Desdemona sat in the small lounging area at the rear of the shop pouring tea for her mother and His Grace, the Duke of Clearfield, when the bell at the front door rang.

Excusing herself, she left for the main shop, wondering who it could be.

They didn’t have any appointments, as it was a day when they opened later, so it must have been a new client.

Looking through the glass, she was surprised to see Lord Silvers tapping.

She quickly unlatched the door and opened it a crack.

“Good morning, my lord,” she said politely. Noting the box in his hands, she asked, “She didn’t like it?” She then opened the door, allowing him entrance before locking it again.

He handed her the box, noting her disappointment. “Actually, we parted ways before I could give it to her, so I thought I would give it back to you.”

“Of course,” she murmured. “If you’ll give me a minute, I’ll get you your money,” she started.

“No, no,” he insisted. “I thought you could keep it, either for yourself or as a sample to show to your clients. You said it was one of your designs.” He gave her a charming smile.

Her cheeks colored a bit, “Yes, it is.” She took the box and slid it under the counter. “Thank you, my lord.” Clearing her throat, she asked, “Since you’ve parted ways, I suppose I should ask about her orders?”

“Cancel the lot,” he replied, then added, “But you must let me offer you some compensation for your troubles.” He pulled his billfold from his coat and began to pull out bills.

“Dizzy,” a deep voice called out as His Grace entered the shop. “Ah, there you are,” he said lightly, glancing over at Ambrose. “Your Linden’s son, aren’t you?”

Ambrose bowed quickly, “Yes, Your Grace, Ambrose Silvers, his second son.” He glanced at Desdemona, then back at the duke. “I’m intruding. My apologies, your Grace, Miss Oldstone.” He started heading back to the door.

“Not at all, Silvers,” the Duke said. “We were just sitting down for tea.” He gestured towards the back room. “Please, join us.”

Ambrose faced the older man first, who gave Miss Oldstone a kind look, then to the young woman herself, who colored prettily under His Grace’s attention.

Ah, so that’s the way it is he thought. Being a Duke’s mistress must have its advantages he supposed.

His smile didn’t reach his eyes when he responded, “I couldn’t impose… ”

“I insist,” His Grace replied. He gestured again toward the rear of the shop where Des had already gone.

Ambrose knew he was caught. “Thank you, Your Grace,” he said stiffly, walking in front of the older man. “I meant no disrespect to Miss Oldstone,” he started, “I only wanted to return a garment she finished for me.”

“Understood,” Clearfield replied. “She is quite talented with her needle.”

“Quite,” Ambrose muttered. “I… ah… that is… I do not want you to think that I wish to intrude on any… arrangement you have with Miss Oldstone, Your Grace.”

Clearfield cocked an eyebrow. “Arrangement, you say,” he prodded.

“Yes, Your Grace.” He cleared his throat as they walked down the hallway to the back room.

“You fancy Miss Oldstone?” Clearfield asked. “Fancy her for an arrangement?”

“She is quite lovely,” Ambrose stammered. “But I would never… that is she… ah…”

“Timothy, leave the poor boy alone,” a feminine voice teased.

Ambrose entered the backroom and saw Madame Viellepierre seated with Miss Oldstone, her smile barely disguising her mirth.

Gone was her thick french accent, replaced by a soft, husky country lilt.

“Come in, Lord Silvers, join us for tea.” She patted the chair next to her then turned to Miss Oldstone. “Dizzy, love, fetch another cup.”

“Dizzy,” Ambrose repeated, taking his seat. Clearfield took a seat next to the older lady when it struck him. “She’s your daughter,” he said to Madame.

“And mine,” Clearfield added. “Desdemona has recently returned from the continent after completing her apprenticeships and boarding school.”

“So she said,” Ambrose replied absently. Then at the older man’s interested look, he added, “When I picked up the garment last night, she invited me to stay for tea.”

“Last night you say?” Clearfield repeated, turning his attention back to his daughter. “Was this why you said you were finishing up projects instead of attending the dinner Her Grace and I were hosting?”

“Father, please,” she whispered. “Lord Silvers offered significant compensation if I finished the garment in question. I stayed to finish the ones I’d delayed to complete his order.”

“What kind of compensation,” Madame asked, as the humor slowly faded from Clearfield’s eyes.

“Twice the cost for the rush,” she answered, looking down at her hands.

“Indeed!” Then to Ambrose, “That is quite generous especially for a garment you’ve returned.”

“I offered to refund his money, but he refused.”

Ambrose accepted the tea cup with a nod. “You put several projects on hold to rush this for me. I insist you keep the payment.”

“But you returned the garment,” Des noted.

“You can keep it, or resell it, if you prefer.” Ambrose took a sip of tea, trying to ignore the three sets of inquiring eyes. “I no longer have a need for it, but it is lovely. Surely you could keep it as a sample of your very talented work.”

“Very generous, Silvers,” Clearfield said. He studied the younger man. Ambrose had enough experience with protective fathers to understand the look. After a few moments, he looked at Desdemona. “Where is the garment? I think I should like to see it.”

“It is in the shop, Father. I had thought to put it on display.”

Madame nodded. “We have two appointments this afternoon. We can decide how best to show your work.”

Clearfield watched both Ambrose and Desdemona, as if he were planning.

Meeting Ambrose’s gaze, he finished his tea.

“Ladies, I must take my leave of you.” He kissed Desdemona’s cheek, then raised Madame to her feet and kissed her gently on the lips.

“Silvers, shall we? I can drop you off wherever you wish.”

Ambrose finished his tea quickly then got to his feet. “Thank you, Your Grace.” He bowed to the ladies, first to Madame. “Thank you kindly for your company.” He then bowed to Desdemona, “Miss Oldstone, again, a pleasure.”

She smiled widely at him as she dipped into a quick curtsey.

Clearfield followed the younger man out of the back room and into the shop itself, the ladies following behind.

Des retrieved her father’s coat and hat and helped him into them.

She bid His Grace good day, then gave another smile to Ambrose.

He returned the smile with a wink and followed the duke outside.

The waiting footman opened the carriage door.

Once seated, Clearfield gave Ambrose’s direction to the driver then studied Ambrose a bit longer.

Then he said, “My daughter is a lovely young woman.” Ambrose nodded, waiting for him to continue.

“She is talented, has a sweet nature, and a good heart.”

“I have only known her a short time, but would have to agree with you,” Ambrose replied.

“Even though she isn’t my legitimate daughter, I love her very much. And her half-siblings are quite fond of her.”

“Is this conversation leading somewhere, Your Grace?” Ambrose asked.

“My daughter is dear to me.” Clearfield looked at Ambrose directly.

“I hope to arrange an advantageous marriage for her. I will settle a generous dowry on her when she chooses to marry. What I do not wish for her,” he said cocking an eyebrow at the younger man, “is to be used and discarded. Her mother and I have an arrangement, but we both want more for Desdemona. And if I feel anyone is abusing her kind and trusting nature, I would not hesitate to use my power and influence to address the issue. Am I making myself clear?”

“As crystal, your grace.” Ambrose leaned back against the squabs. “I truly only returned to the shop to return the garment. I have nothing but respect and admiration for your daughter.”

“Nevertheless, unless you wish to pursue her for a respectable association, I would prefer you turn your admiration elsewhere.” The duke watched Ambrose, waiting for an acknowledgement.

“Understood, your grace.” The carriage slowed to a stop and the footman opened the door for Ambrose to exit. “Thank you for the ride and the conversation.” He exited the carriage, tipped his hat, then backed away, waiting for the duke to depart.

He had been considering approaching Miss Oldstone to be his mistress.

That would no longer be an option, he thought, not without a bit of disappointment.

He had enjoyed their conversation; he felt quite comfortable speaking with her.

She was lovely, and seemed very clever. Were he looking for a bride, she, with her very powerful connections, might not be an unsuitable choice for a second son.

She was gently bred, her manners were flawless and her father would be generous to her and whomever she chose to marry.

As a second son, the beloved daughter of a duke, even born on the wrong side of the blanket, could possibly be an acceptable candidate.

It was a shame he wasn’t looking for bride.