10. November, 1826

10

NOVEMBER, 1826

NO. 4 GROSVENOR ST., LONDON

N ovember, 1826

No. 4 Grosvenor St., London

Lily circled her parlor and approached Madame Clarot who was enjoying a pot of tea with some of Cook's biscuits. Bolts of fabric like precious jewels and gardens of exquisite flowers were piled behind her on Lily's sideboard which had been cleared of her collection of tiny cat porcelains.

Serving the mistresses discreetly at their establishments was a double win for Madame Clarot. That way, she didn't have to deal with the ruffled feathers of her high-in-the-instep clients when the eccentric earl's mistresses descended on her Albemarle Street shop to order their gowns. She also enjoyed the delicacies from the kitchen the Earl of Framlingwood provided all of his mistresses on Grosvenor Street. Cook's biscuits were so rich and buttery, they melted in one's mouth.

She was in Lily Venable's parlor enjoying several of said biscuits when the three remaining unwed mistresses joined her to peruse the fabrics she'd brought whilst she finished her tea. She'd recently been called in on an emergency basis to outfit two of the infamous earl's five mistresses with wedding trousseaus, paid for by the self-same earl.

Madame Clarot, ever careful and discreet, never questioned or commented on the oddness of his domestic arrangements. However, one could scarcely be blamed for occasionally let slip a cryptic on dit , which might eventually appear in one of the several gossip sheets circulated in London. But no one could ever say the story had slipped from her lips. It wasn't as if the whole of the ton didn't speculate on the eccentric earl's domestic situation.

Lily, Margot, and Saida sat across from her on one of the parlor's cozy settees. All of them sipped thoughtfully on their tea for a few minutes before setting down their cups nearly in unison.

Margot spoke first and took the lead of the questioning that followed. "So, tell us, Madame, do you have many customers on Berkley Square?"

Madame Clarot sniffed and set down her cup as well. "Of course. Some of the wealthiest wives in England have homes there. Their wardrobes must be updated constantly."

Lily eyed her above the steam rising from her cup. "What about Georgina Throckmorton?"

The seamstress gave a start, as if she'd swallowed something unpleasant. "Of course. Her husband is one of the Regent's bankers. She has to have a full set of new dresses each season. She's warned me she simply cannot be seen in the same design twice because of all the events she's expected to sponsor or attend. And woe be to any dressmaker who would dare give her a gown of a design similar to that of another woman of the ton."

Saida gave the seamstress a sly look. "Where does she like to go to, um, enjoy herself without her dull husband at her side?"

Madame Clarot's cheeks flushed crimson. "Why would you ask such a question?"

"Because we admire her beauty and sense of style so much, we'd like to follow whatever she does to maintain her youthful looks and remain desirable."

Saida leaned close to the seamstress and gave her a conspiratorial wink. "Does she have a younger lover?"

Madame pulled a delicate crystal bottle of smelling salts from her reticule, sniffed deeply, and leaned back against the generously tufted cushions of the other settee.

Lily rose and leaned against the fireplace mantel, surveying the room. "We know that with access to her husband's money and all the time she has on her own, she has to be doing something naughty…couldn't you give us a hint, just among us girls?"

"You do realize that I have a duty to protect the privacy of all my clients?"

"Of course," Lily assured their modiste. She swept her hands around the room. "We all appreciate your discretion in, um, all things."

All of the other women nodded in understanding.

"Which is why," Margot interrupted, "we will make sure we keep coming to you for all of our gowns as long as you continue to protect our interests."

The startled look in Madame Clarot's eyes said it all. She understood the barely veiled threat in Margot's comment. After faltering for a moment, her stern gaze cracked. "Well, there is that gorgeous Highlander physician everyone wants in their bed…"

When Saida choked on her last swallow of tea, Margo poked her in the ribs with her elbow.

The elegant modiste cupped a gloved hand to the side of her mouth as if an outsider might hear what she had to say. "And of course, I do help her create the costumes she wears to the Cyprians' masque balls."

"She's attended more than one?" Lily tried to contain her excitement and keep her tone neutral.

"Oh, yes, and she's planning on attending the one at the Argyll rooms Monday next."

After that revelation, it was all Lily could do to keep from making an excuse to shoo away Madame Clarot. However, from the look of avarice in the woman's eyes, she read the woman's unspoken demand.

Lily chose three new gowns from the latest Ackermann's fashion book, Saida chose two, and Margot splurged on five. Each of the mistresses received a generous wardrobe allowance, but Lily feared even Derek would be appalled at the amount of the bill from the modiste for this day's work.

Later, after the woman left, Lily sank back onto a chair close to the fire, pulled off her slippers and rested her feet on a low stool. She looked around at her two co-conspirators. "You know what this means."

"No. What?" Saida had gone to the corner to pull the bell for Quick Rutherford to replenish their pot of tea.

"We're all going to get tickets to the Cyprians' Ball…and make our own costumes."

"Why?" Margot was indignant.

"Because," Lily explained carefully as if she were addressing toddlers, "if we engage Madame Clorot to make our costumes, she's going to gossip about what we're wearing to Georgina."

"Humpf," Margot grunted. "I suppose there's no honor amongst those of the demi-monde. Can't trust anyone anymore."

"The last thing we want is for her to see us coming. She'll never know what hit her." Lily picked up her kitten and stroked the small fluffy creature's head, whilst holding her away from Aji's beak and giving the cockatoo an evil look.

He strutted out of her reach and burbled, "hedge whore."

Saida sighed and retrieved the bird to its favorite perch on her shoulder. "Sometimes I think you say such awful things just to get my attention," she scolded.

"Oh, Hamish," the bird belted out in a louder, lilting voice, much like a lover.

Margot and Lily laughed at his sneaky tactic, but Saida shook her finger at him whilst heading back to No. 3 to tuck her naughty pet away in his cage. "I'll be back" floated over her shoulder. Don't plot anymore mayhem without me."

The elderly woman's long, silvery hair was neatly plaited into a braid and hung over one of her shoulders. One of the women C.B. employed to help with patients had cleaned her up and washed and braided her hair.

She stared vacantly out a window of a long, narrow room in C.B.'s clinic for the poor of Seven Dials. Hamish had found her lying in Neale's Street Passage after he'd been alerted by Dickey Jones that one of the hundreds of poor women fruit vendors had collapsed.

She'd been shoved aside into an alley so as not to get in the way of the rest of the fruit-vendors. Life was for the living, and if the other denizens of that corner were going to stay that way, they had to keep purveying their fruits to passersby on their way to Covent Garden. A dead woman lying in the middle of the street was not good for business.

She was one of the many who was near the end of her life, a life accelerated toward death by the harshness of the streets, not to mention the ubiquitous cheap alcohol that destroyed a person from the inside out.

Hamish had revived the woman and then turned her over to one of the matrons to make her comfortable for however many days she had left. Considering the blood she'd been coughing up, he didn't hold out much hope for a good outcome.

She turned from staring out the window and gazed directly at him. Bright, inquisitive blue eyes were unexpected in her gaunt, pale face. "You're a good man, Dr. Douglas. You've done everything you can for me." She laid a hand over his and said, "You should be at home with your wife and children."

He patted her hand and admitted, "I have no one waiting for me."

She tilted her head just so in the waning light, giving him an assessing look, before laughing softly. "You will, and much sooner than you think. Now go home and forget about me."

Hamish paused a moment, taken aback. "I don't think I'm going to forget about you, Mrs. Walsh. You're a hard woman for a man to put out of his mind." He leaned low over the bed and put his ear close to her chest, listening for whether the congestion was clearing.

She smiled down at him. "It's easy. Plenty of men have forgotten me, but you're different. Remember what I told you, though. I meant it. You have to let someone love you…and soon."

With her last words, a spider-like sensation crawled up the middle of his back. He had no idea why, and he, of all people, was never given to silly flights of imagination. But he knew he had to get back to No. 3 Grosvenor Street. Immediately.