The Fortune Hunter (24 page)

“Hamilton is a man, Annis, not something that I own and can keep or give away.”

“What of his heart?”

Nerissa looked out the window at the shops they were passing. Dozens of people walked along the street, some arm in arm. Love seemed so simple for other people. Mayhap she had inherited the curse her mother had suffered from … falling in love with the wrong man.

“I am beginning to wonder,” she answered quietly, turning back to her friend, “if Hamilton has a heart.”

“Don't be a cabbage-head! Of course, he has a heart.”

“But is there room in it for anything but his yearning for vengeance?”

When Annis stuttered on an answer, Nerissa stared out the window once more. Annis had no answer. Neither did she.

The shop was tiny. The front window and the door filled the whole front. A single chair was set in front of the window, nearly lost in the glare of the sunshine that came through the glass between the diamond mullions. A counter cut the small space in half. It was topped by samples and pieces of lace and flowers that were as brightly dyed as the crimson curtain to the right of the counter.

When a bell over the door tinkled as Nerissa and Annis entered, a short woman pushed through the curtain to give them a broad smile.
Madame
de Ramel was a plump sprite, who chattered nonstop in a delightful, but barely comprehensible, mixture of French and English. Her greying hair rose in a complex style that had been stylish when Nerissa's mother was young.

When Nerissa explained the problem, the milliner gasped, “A missing feather? Oh,
c'est dommage!
”

“Can you repair it?”

“
Mais, oui.
” She laughed brightly. “Of course. I have many feathers of that
couleur
. Come with me into the back, and you may select the one you like,
mademoiselle
. The feathers are in a box on my worktable.”

Annis's eyes shone with excitement as they followed the short woman through the bright splash of curtain. She gasped with delight when they entered a small room that was filled with straw, fabrics, and bright ribbons.

“Look, Nerissa!” she said, picking up a piece of blue silk. “This is the very color of my new gown. What a beautiful turban it would make!”

“And on you,
très belle,
” gushed the milliner. “You must let me make it into a
chapeau
for you.”

Nerissa picked up one of the feathers on the table and held it against her bonnet. The tint was a shade too dark. She was reaching for another as the bell over the front door rang again.

“Do stay,” urged
Madame
de Ramel over her shoulder as she pushed past the curtain, “until you find the perfect feather,
mademoiselle
. I shall be back as soon as I finish with this customer.”

“What do you think?” Annis propped a fake bird over one ear and grinned.

Nerissa started to reply, but motioned her friend to silence when she heard the milliner say, “
Mon seigneur, comment allez-vous?
” They must not disrupt
Madame
's business.

“I am doing well,
Madame,
” came the answer in a voice that stiffened Nerissa's back. She whirled to be certain the drape was in place.

Annis whispered, “Isn't that Hamilton?”

“Yes.” She closed her eyes as she looked for the strength to maintain her composure. Meeting him had been the last thing she had considered when Annis pressured her to come here, for Philip had been fervent that Hamilton despised the idea of entering such a shop.

“What will you do?”

Nerissa ran her fingers along the feather she had selected. “I shall have
Madame
sew this in place.”

“But … about Hamilton … what …?”

With a taut smile, she said, “I shall bid him a good afternoon.”

Ignoring Annis's moan of despair, Nerissa opened the curtain. Neither the milliner nor Hamilton took note of her, for they were looking at a sample book on the counter. She could not keep her gaze from admiring the breadth of his shoulders beneath his riding coat or the way his hair glistened in the bright sunshine. No matter how he vexed her, she longed to hear his laugh and to see his eyes blaze with passion in the moment before his lips touched hers. The shop was so small, that, if she reached out her hand, she could have stroked the firm length of his arm.

“The hat must flatter a woman with light coloring,” Hamilton said, without looking away from the book, “and I would like it done by week's end.”

Nerissa was sure she had forgotten how to breathe. Elinor Howe was a blonde. If Hamilton was purchasing a hat for her, it must mean that … She was not sure what it meant, and she did not want to think of it. All she wished was to be as far away in a place where she could assuage her heart's pain.

Madame
de Ramel answered hesitantly, “That may not be possible with this hat. It is not as simple as the one you purchased previously.”

“It must be this hat. It will suit her perfectly, and it must be done by week's end before we leave for London.”

“I shall try,
mon seigneur.
” She turned to select another book of samples. “If …”

Nerissa met the dismay in the milliner's gaze. When Hamilton turned to see what had disturbed
Madame
de Ramel, his eyes were as devoid of emotion as his face. He said nothing as the flustered milliner ran to Nerissa.

“This feather will be the best match,” Nerissa said tonelessly.

“I shall sew it on
immédiatement, Madamoiselle
Dufresne.” She lowered her eyes and rushed through the curtain to leave Nerissa alone with Hamilton in the small shop.

Hamilton said nothing as she came around the counter. Leaning his elbow on the top, he continued to watch her with his hooded eyes. She heard a rustle behind her, but did not turn. Some sense, she could not name, told her that Annis was watching through the curtain.

“My bonnet needed fixing,” Nerissa said to break the smothering silence.

“So I see.” He flicked the garish bow on the side of her borrowed hat. “This is not as becoming on you as the one I selected.”

His cold tone struck her as viciously as a blow. Her fingers trembled, wanting to reach out to him, but fearing he would brush them away as heartlessly as he had her words. For the past few weeks, he had been there when she needed someone to listen to her concerns and lighten her heart. Now, when her heart was heaviest, she could not open it to him because he was the cause of her misery.

“Philip wishes,” he went on, “to know if you will be joining him and Annis at the theatre this evening.”

“And you?”

His smile was as false as the bird Annis had put in her hair. “I had made no plans to attend. To own the truth, I am busy elsewhere this evening.”

“You may tell Philip that I will be delighted to join him and Annis tonight.”

Astonishment flickered through his eyes, then vanished as he nodded. “I will tell him. He will, no doubt, be pleased.”

Nerissa wondered how long they could go on talking like strangers. Only a few days before, she had found rapture in his arms. Now they were as closed as his face, which concealed every thought.

Madame
de Ramel pushed through the portiere. Her face was certainly not devoid of emotion. Tears bubbled at the corner of her eyes, and her cheeks were spotted with bright pink. Holding out the bonnet, she said nothing.

“Thank you,” Nerissa said. “If you will please send the bill to—”

“Me at Queen Square,” Hamilton interrupted.

“You need not pay for this repair,” Nerissa said.

“It is not my practice to let my gifts create a burden for those who receive them.” He turned back to the milliner. “You may enclose it with the hat I will expect to be ready by week's end.”

“
Oui, mon seigneur,” Madame
de Ramel murmured.

When Hamilton held the door for her and Annis, Nerissa thanked him as quietly as she had the milliner. The sunshine was warm, but it could not touch the iciness in her heart as they stood on the walkway. They were caught in the disquiet that muted even the clatter of carriage wheels and the laughter of children playing among the parked vehicles.

She hid her discomfort while Hamilton handed Annis, then her into her carriage. When she put her hand on the door to pull it closed, he blocked it. She waited for him to speak. He remained silent. Aware of Annis's uneasiness, she knew she should say something, but had no idea what would destroy the wall he had erected between them.

“I trust we shall see you at Sir Delwyn's gathering next week,” she whispered, when she could think of nothing else. Even those simple words ached inside her as she thought of not seeing him until the following week.

“Trust?” he said tautly. “Odd you should use that word, Nerissa, when you have yet to learn that trust must be on both sides.”

“But you don't trust me.” Her laugh was thick with sorrow. “Hamilton, you waited for me to hurt you as she did. You were so sure that I would do that that you decided to prevent it by hurting me first.” She pulled the door closed. “You need worry about it no longer. You succeeded, but you shan't hurt me again.” When she slapped on the side of the carriage, it rolled out among the traffic.

Annis looked back to see Hamilton watching them, the same blank expression on his face. She wanted to shout to him to race after them, to persuade Nerissa to listen to reason, and to give him another chance to bridge the void of pain. She had never guessed that the viscount could be such a ninny.

And Nerissa!
Was she all about in the head to speak so cruelly to a man she loved?

Annis understood none of it, but she was determined to get some answers. She must help them heal their hearts before they destroyed them completely. Before it was too late, she would …

Sobs filled the carriage. She turned to see Nerissa with her face in her hands. As she gathered Nerissa in her arms and held her while she sobbed, she feared it was too late already.

Chapter Fourteen

When a knock sounded on the door of Miss Dufresne's private rooms, Frye opened it to discover Mrs. Carroll on the far side. The housekeeper dampened her lips nervously as she glanced toward the stairs.

“Lord Windham is here, Frye.” Her voice cracked as she wrung her hands in her apron.

“Tell him that Miss Dufresne is out.” She sighed. “At least, it is the truth. I do not think she expected him to continue trying to contact her for so long.” Clenching her hands by her side, she asked, “Why can't he see that she will not answer those letters he has sent her? Finally she has come to her senses on this.”

Mrs. Carroll lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, although no one else stood in the room. “He does not wish to speak to Miss Dufresne. He asks to speak to you, Frye.”

“Me?” The abigail's full face grew long with her baffled frown.

“That is what he said. Smooth as the devil himself, he said, ‘Please tell Miss Frye that I would speak with her at her convenience.' What shall I tell him?”

Frye hesitated. In the five days since the afternoon when Miss Dufresne had returned to her room in tears with Miss Ehrlich following and demanding an explanation, the young woman had refused to be at home for Lord Windham. She had received Mr. Windham when he came to call on her and Miss Ehrlich and had gone riding with them to the theatre or into the country, but only when Miss Dufresne could be certain that Lord Windham would not join them.

Miss Ehrlich had been surprisingly reticent about the rift between the viscount and Miss Dufresne. Whispered tales of the return of Lord Windham's mistress to Bath and her spectacular appearance at the Seely townhouse added to the poker-talk muddling about belowstairs. Even Hadfield could not have augmented the fantastic tale that spread through the city in the aftermath of the
soirée
.

Had Miss Dufresne heard the tales that she had demanded that Lord Windham choose between his prime article and her, and he had selected Miss Howe? Had she seen the smiles hidden behind gloved fingers when she did her errands? Had she been hurt by the hearsay that Miss Dufresne was knapped with the viscount's child and was hiding from Society until its birth?

Frye could not guess whether her lady had taken note of any of the various tales. Outwardly, Miss Dufresne remained serene amid the whispers, and appeared delighted by the growing attraction between Miss Ehrlich and Mr. Windham. Frye had discovered no salt staining Miss Dufresne's pillowcases to suggest that she sobbed herself to sleep each night. Only her uncharacteristically callous refusal to speak to Lord Windham suggested the anguish Frye was sure lurked within her lady.

Squaring her stout shoulders, the maid said, “Tell Lord Windham that I shall be down immediately.”

“Do you think that is wise?” asked the housekeeper. “Miss Dufresne is adamant about not seeing him.”

“
She
is not seeing him, and, Mrs. Carroll,” she added in a gentler voice, “I may be able to obtain some answers that will allow us to help her.”

Frye paused only long enough to be sure that her appearance was fit to greet a viscount. Tugging at her pale brown dress that tended to bunch at her broad hips, she patted her lackluster hair into place. She smiled as she rounded the banister at the top of the stairs. If Lord Windham thought to bamboozle her by coming the blarney over her, he would discover his error in no time.

In spite of her resolve to maintain the upper hand in the discussion, she hesitated as she reached the base of the stairs. Lord Windham turned to her, a provocative smile on his lips, but it was the cold fire in his eyes that halted Frye as she was about to greet him.

Stepping forward, the viscount nodded as he said, “I thank you for seeing me without delay, Miss Frye. Shall I sound too carney if I suggest that Nerissa might have learned her delightful punctuality from you?”