“We did receive your note, Madame Moirier. We are excited to see all of the progress you have made.” Lily’s mother followed the young woman to the back of the shop, where they began to coo over boxes of newly crafted hats and embroidered gloves.
Wanting a moment alone, Lily wandered in the opposite direction, running the tips of her fingers over the bolts of fabric. The simple sensations calmed her anxious thoughts a little as she attempted to admire the vibrant colors and patterns.
The time at sea on the ship had given her ample opportunity to try and force her mind in a different direction, yet the scars that had been inflicted by Oliver King still plagued her mind.
What if he was not involved?
Her heart jolted at the thought but stilled again when images of him leaving a courtesan’s lodgings flashed across her mind. It did not matter if he had been involved in the scandal of bribery and the world of spies. He had broken her heart and her trust. There was no redeeming his character after that.
Looking up, she noticed a dark carriage stopping on the other side of the street.
The women who climbed from the carriage were breathtakingly beautiful with flowing black hair that had been pinned in waves to the back of their heads. Yet it was the man who climbed out after them who took her breath away.
He was tall, muscular, and very well-built with broad shoulders and a chiseled jaw. His thick mop of black, curly hair flopped slightly to one side despite the obvious trimming attempts. But it was his eyes that made her breath catch.
Gold?
She felt her chest rising and falling in time to her breaths as she attempted to still them. He was arguably the most beautiful man she had ever seen with intensely deep hazel eyes that reflected the finest of gold in the mid-morning sun.
He was close enough for her to see the intensity, yet not so close that she could make out the finer flecks of details in his irises.
He turned his head to the side as the young woman said something to him and laughed. The strong line of his jaw became even more apparent as he said something back and clenched his teeth.
Who is he?
Lily felt a strange pang of attraction toward him as she wondered who the two women were. They looked closely related, but she was not certain how he fit in. He seemed so mysterious to her, exotic even with his slightly tanned skin.
Her pulse began to race as she looked away and shook her head.
No.
Attraction and feeling were irrelevant when it came to marriage. She would not allow herself to be taken in again by a handsome face.
“Are you done with that bolt of fabric?” A gentle voice drew her attention back to the shop.
Turning her head, Lily came face to face with a smiling young woman of medium height and auburn hair. Her pale skin wassmattered with freckles, and her light green eyes searched Lily’s face curiously.
“I wanted to have a look at that bolt of fabric that you have been admiring so intently,” she said again in a kind voice while pointing to the shelf beside Lily.
Glancing down at the fabric beside her, Lily suddenly realized that she crumpled the lime green satin in her fist. “Oh, goodness, I must apologize. I was lost in thought.” Lily unclenched her fingers and smoothed out the fabric before stepping aside and heading toward the other end of the shop.
Lily had been in London long enough to know that the rest of the young women were not friendly at all. She had been to tea several times with her mother and aunt and had found herself shunned by the rest of the marriageable-aged young women. None of them seemed to have the time for an untitled young heiress whose father had only recently come into his wealth.
“Are you from America?” the young woman asked excitedly, forcing Lily to stop in her tracks.
Cautiously turning back, Lily forced an uncertain smile of politeness. “We are. My mother and I are visiting her sister, Lady Brewster.” She pointed to the other end of the shop where her mother was still fawning over the new hats.
The young woman’s eyes widened with excitement. “I heard that we had guests from Americas in London. I was so hoping to meet you. Although I must say, your accent is not entirely how I had imagined it.” Her words fell over one another in torrents.
Stiffening a little, Lily found herself wondering if she should excuse herself or stay. She had been relentlessly teased about the slight twang in her accent, enduring whispered insults from her London peers.
Falling silent, the young woman raised a white-gloved hand to her lips. “Forgive me, that must have come across as rude. It is just that I imagined an American accent to be distinctly different from ours, but it is almost the same! It is hardly noticeable!”
Lily allowed her shoulders to drop slightly as her body relaxed.
“Forgive me. Mama always says that I forget myself far too often, but my name is Arabella Tremaine. I have wanted to make your acquaintance, Miss Prescott.” Her face beamed with sincerity.
“Thank you, Miss Tremaine. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Lily returned the greeting, feeling a spark of hope in her chest that she would not be entirely alone in London after all.