Teach Me Under the Mistletoe (20 page)

His valet met him at the door, cradling a tweed tailcoat across his arms almost like he might hold an infant. "The gig is waiting out front," he said, the words thickened just a bit by a hint of Genoa, Italy in his voice.

Phillip glanced down at his man with a smile. "Thank you, Eduard." He smoothed a hand over his clothing, grateful to see he'd managed to keep it in order while he'd painted. Using the blacksmith's apron had proven to be just the trick for keeping the paint off of him. How did master painters manage to remain neat and clean while they painted their portraits? Hmm… maybe such mundanity didn't matter to them.

He slid his arms into the tweed tailcoat and brushed his hand along one sleeve to smooth it. Then he straightened his linen necktie and turned.

Eduard held out a greatcoat, careful as always to keep the garment from dragging on the floor by lifting it high over his head. Phillip accepted the coat and shrugged into it. He smoothed one gray wool sleeve where it bunched at his elbow, his mind already racing ahead to his appointment.

Eduard brushed at the other sleeve and then hopped off the sturdy wooden footstool they kept in the foyer and pushed it to the side with his foot. In a single fluid motion, he lifted a black umbrella from the iron stand next to the door and extended it with a flourish. "The mist is especially heavy today."

****

"Ivy Plumthorne, where have you been? You have a dress fitting with Madame Duroche this afternoon." The regal tones of Chloris Plumthorne echoed throughout the large drawing room. "It is quite difficult to gain an appointment to be fitted by Madame herself. Punctuality is a must."

Scowling at her grandmother was a rather safe activity, since the dowager duchess was as blind as a newborn kitten. She wasn't nearly as helpless, though, so Ivy kept her voice even when she replied, "Grandmama, I was gone but an hour's time. I went to visit with Mr. and Mrs. Merrick."

"Eh? The gamekeeper? Whatever for?" Chloris shifted on the settee and aimed her empty stare at Ivy. Heavy layers of white coated both eyes, obscuring what had once been a sharp blue gaze. Though she knew her grandmother could no longer see her, the old woman had the uncanny ability to discern exactly what Ivy was doing, especially when she was doing something she oughtn't.

And in her grandmother's opinion, much of what Ivy did was that which she oughtn't.

Ivy sighed and tried not to shuffle her feet through the plush red and tan carpet under her feet. "The holidays are approaching, Grandmama, and I'm helping Papa and Mother make certain that the families on the estate have everything they need."

The dowager duchess snorted. "They should be providing for their own. They earn a decent living."

Ivy squeezed her eyes closed and pushed back a sigh, seeking patience she was on the verge of losing. "Yes, Grandmama, but many of them have rather large families, and unexpected expenses sometimes arise."

And ever since Ivy had been a small girl, her mother had taken her around to visit with the land tenants and the estate help at the holidays, making certain everyone had what they needed for a fine celebration.

"We have been blessed with so much that the only right thing to do is share with those less fortunate,"
Helen had always said.

At one time Grandmama had been of the same mind. But the years had taken their toll in the form of tragic losses and ill health, and sometimes she was little more than a sad and bitter old woman.

Tears burned the backs of Ivy's eyelids. How she missed Mother and Papa. Thank goodness they were scheduled to return home two days hence. Whatever business it was that had required her father's presence in Bath so late in the autumn, Ivy hoped it was successful. She wished it would be finished quickly so they could return early. She loved her grandmother but spending her days under the blind, yet somehow all-seeing, eye of the dowager duchess was wearying.

"Did you have an escort at least?" asked Chloris.

Because the saints know a young lady must be escorted everywhere.
Ivy rolled her eyes. "Yes, of course I did, Grandmama. Miss Elise came with me. And the coachmen, too."

"Miss Elise, eh?" Chloris pursed her lips.

While the case clock ticked off the seconds, Ivy shifted her gaze away from her grandmother. The wizened old
pun-sai
tree her father had brought back from China years before stood near the window, where it soaked up the sunlight on bright days. Only about a foot tall, the tree reminded her of red cedar. But rather than tall and splendid, the
pun-sai's
tiny, gray-green branches slanted to one side, as though swept there by the wind, and cascaded over the edge of the dark clay pot like a waterfall. How sad that a tree with the potential to be so majestic would be forced to live its life confined to the tiny pot, its branches deliberately stunted and gnarled at the whim of man instead of spreading upward to embrace the sun.

"Hrmph." The dowager nodded once. "Very well. I suppose you cannot find yourself in too much trouble with that old spinster around."

Standing in the doorway like a sentry, the butler, Harrison, gave a delicate cough. Ivy lifted her gaze heavenward. Spinster indeed. Elise Langton had once been Ivy's governess, and while it was true she'd never married, she was only ten years older than Ivy herself. That hardly left her a spinster.

Ivy untied the ribbon beneath her chin and tugged off her hat, suppressing a curse. If she had been mere moments quicker in getting herself through the door, Grandmama might never have known she had been gone. But her errands had taken longer than she'd expected, and her grandmother had been in the parlor when she'd returned home.

"We stopped off at St. Timothy's, Grandmama." Ivy handed her hat to the maid and turned her attention to her grandmother again. "Vicar Wexley sends his regards."

"Hrmph. The church, eh?" Chloris shifted on the green velvet settee. The movement probably caused her a great deal of pain, but her face never showed a trace of weakness. "Saying a prayer for a good husband, I hope. You're fast growing beyond the time when you will be able to compete with the girls who are newly out."

Curling her hands into fists, Ivy bit back the impulse to snap at her grandmother. She was well aware of her age… and that she'd never married, despite numerous attempts by her parents and grandmother to interest her in a mate. If only her potential suitors had been more… appealing.

But any retort would only start a disagreement Ivy could never win. Particularly on one of Grandmama's bad days. And it had been apparent from the moment Ivy had arrived home that the dowager
was
having one of her bad days. She was only quarrelsome when she was frustrated by the pain and stiffness in her twisted hands.

It was the weather, Ivy decided. Even though Grandmama couldn't see the way the overhead clouds were the same gray of the stone walls that ran alongside the lane, she was probably aware of the dampness. She always felt greater pain when the damp weather rolled in.

As aggravated as she was, Ivy knew it wasn't her elderly grandmother's fault that she was hard to please. Perhaps a diversion would lift the dowager's spirits.

"I'm here now and we still have plenty of time to get to Hampstead. Let's have a nice cup of chocolate together before we leave."

Grandmama heaved a loud sigh that managed to sound exasperated and delicate at the same time. "Very well. Abigail, some chocolate and scones please. And then I shall freshen myself and change for an outing and we will depart."

Oh, as formal as ever, aren't you, Grandmama?
Ivy smiled as she unfastened her pelisse and handed it to one of the upstairs maids. Then she pushed pleasantries into her mind, crossed the room, and sat on the green settee. "It's quite misty and chilly today, Grandmama, so we must bring an extra lap blanket for the carriage." Ivy placed a hand on her grandmother's arm and rubbed gently.

Her grandmother sighed again, softer this time, and seemed to sag into the touch. "Oh, you do take care of me, don't you, my darling? I'm sorry to be so disagreeable."

Ivy leaned over and gave her grandmother a kiss on her soft, wrinkled cheek. "I know you love me, Grandmama."

"I do, my dear, and I only want what's best for you."

****

"It is such a wonderful thing you are doing, Phillip." Monique Duroche's voice was an oasis of soft tones with just a hit of the exotic, owing to her mysterious French ancestry. She patted the coil of black hair neatly twisted at her neck and then turned her attention to the pair of men entering her shop, each burdened beneath a large amount of satin rolled onto several long bolts.

The young man taking up the rear tripped as he crossed the threshold and slammed into his companion in front of him. One of his rolls of fabric tumbled downward, leaving a trail of pale rose satin to drape around both of them like a French wedding veil.

"Watch it!" shouted the young man in the lead, twisting away from the fabric as though it was an adder.

"
Bonté divine
, Michael! Have a care for how you go, Sebastian!" shouted Monique, rapping her cane sharply on the wooden plank floor beneath their feet. "The fabric will be of no value if you trample all over it."

Both men gave her a quick nod and looked away. Monique was a formidable personality, Phillip had to admit. Had she turned that fierce stare in his direction, no doubt he would have quailed also.

He picked up a slip of purple muslin from the pile of tiny folded garments and rubbed it between his thumb and two fingers. "Your work is exquisite as always, Madame. I would be lost without your capable assistance."

Monique waved her hand in a dismissive motion as she lifted the fabric from his hand and shook out a tiny replica of the latest in fine ladies' fashion. "I must confess I have not had so much fun since I was a child playing with dolls myself." She angled a look in Phillip's direction. "Perhaps I should commission a set of your dolls for my shop. That way I can show my customers what their final product will look like."

Phillip chuckled but then stopped and shrugged. "I shall be at your service. After the holidays, of course."

Monique's dark gray eyes grew shiny, and she blinked, appearing suspiciously close to tears. "It truly is a beautiful thing you do for the children," she said in a soft voice. Then she sniffed and straightened her back. As she laid the doll-sized garment back on top of the crate, she brushed her hand along the muslin and smoothed a wrinkle. Then she drew a scrap of plain white muslin over the lot. "Andrew!" she called in a brisk voice with another rap of her cane on the floor. "Please carry this crate to the gig out front."

From his seat on a bench at the back of the shop, a walnut-haired youth, probably no older than his early teen years, leapt to his feet and rushed toward them.

"See that you take care to secure it properly and well out of the mist," admonished Monique as Andrew hefted the crate.

"Yes, Mother." With a cheeky wink, the youth scurried toward the front of the store with his burden resting on his right shoulder.

"So like his father," murmured Monique. She raised her eyes to look beyond Phillip. "Excuse me a moment."

As Monique hurried away, Phillip eyed the bolts of fabric lining the walls of the dressmaker's shop. He liked the colors, especially those that were of a more vibrant nature. Fashion had dictated a trend of whites and pastels over the last few seasons. Hopefully that would end soon. The young ladies who wore those washed out colors often reminded him of bloodless creatures, pale specters wandering balls and dinner parties, seeking their perfect mates. Bolder colors commanded attention, made statements. And it was the vivid colors along the wall that drew his eye. Monique had used such fabric to fashion the perfect dresses for the peg dolls in his workroom. How well she knew his taste.

Andrew entered the shop, his ready smile announcing that he'd secured the parcel as instructed. Phillip tossed him a coin without checking to see what it was. Andrew shot him a wide grin of appreciation as he caught the coin and with only a quick glance pocketed it.

As Phillip was about to depart, Monique appeared at his elbow. "I beg your pardon, Phillip, but one of my customers has requested a gentleman's opinion."

Phillip's head jerked up of its own volition. "Me? I…" He gestured helplessly. "I know nothing about fashion, Madame."

"Nevertheless, you are a gentleman and the only one here at the moment." She strode off, leaving him with the choice of following her or displaying extreme rudeness.

"Please allow me to present her grace, the Dowager Duchess of…" Her introduction ended in a whisper with her head turned away from him.

Phillip strained to hear without being too obvious about it.
What? What was that name?
Blast the
modiste
for her tendency to trail off at important times. Monique glanced over her shoulder at Phillip with the apparent intent of reciprocated introduction.

"Your grace," he said quickly, offering a deep bow. He'd caught
that
part at least. "Phillip Green at your service."

"Green?" The dowager duchess frowned and tilted her head to the side as though making sense of the name. Only when she raised her face in his direction did he become aware of the heavy bluish white coating over both eyes. The dowager was blind.

The young lady seated next to her wasn't as young as he'd first deduced. No young giggling miss, she held herself with the composure of a few years in polite society. He offered another bow in her direction.

"I've never heard of you," announced the dowager with an imperious tone and a shake of her head. "Still, I suppose you'll have to do."

Why, thank you, you grace. Very nice to have your approval for whatever you have in mind.
He held his tongue.

The dowager made an impatient gesture toward the table in front of her. "What do you think, Mr. Green? The sapphire satin trimmed with white?" she asked as he approached. "Or the amethyst and lavender?"

Phillip stiffened. Was the dowager asking his opinion on
fabric?
Whyever for? "I… I'm not certain I understand the question, your grace."