A Kiss To Remember | Herophine

Chapter Twenty Two - The Gift

Josephine

I hope you'll spoil her as I wish I could have spoiled you....

The Devil of Deansbrook had taken a bride.

By early afternoon, when Mercy and Josephine began to make the rounds of the Oxford Street and Bond Street shops, all of London was abuzz with the news. It was difficult to say who was more heartbroken-the besotted girls or the ambitious mamas who had hoped to land one of the most wealthy and eligible bachelors of the haut ton for their little darlings.

As Mercy ushered Josephine into an exclusive linen-draper's shop festooned with a dazzling array of silks and muslins and thronged with female shoppers waiting to place their own orders, the flurry of conversation died to a pronounced hush. Josephine received several pointed looks, a few of them openly hostile.

One of the mercers rushed over, tutting and clucking in dismay over the pale yellow muslin gown that had seemed perfectly serviceable when Josephine had donned it that morning. Before Josephine could explain that she didn't speak Italian, the tiny, dark-haired woman swept her away to a curtained alcove to be poked and measured and prodded with a ruthlessness Maggie would have admired.

After several minutes spent enduring the indignity of having two strangers argue over the dubious merits of her bosom in fluent Italian, Josephine was left to her own devices while the mercers went in search of a fresh paper of pins with which to torture her. She was standing on a low stool, shivering in her shift, when she became aware of two women conversing on the other side of the curtain. They, unfortunately, were speaking English. The first voice was soft but ripe with venom.

"Can you believe he married some penniless country chick with no dowry and no title? Rumour even has it that she's a ..." Josephine leaned closer to the curtain, straining to hear the woman's sibilant whisper.

"No! You can't be serious! A rector's daughter?" The second woman's titter of laughter would have been no more disbelieving had Hero wed a charwoman.

"Is there any chance it could have been a love match?" The first woman sniffed.

"None whatsoever. I heard they were caught in a compromising situation and he was forced to marry her against his will." Josephine closed her eyes, the woman's words striking a raw nerve.

"From what I hear, he's not the sort of man who can be forced to do anything he doesn't truly want to do."

"That may be so in most circumstances, but when a man's honour is at stake, he will go to any lengths to defend it, even marry beneath him."

"Perhaps the girl just requires a bit of polish."

"He can polish all he wants, but he'll still end up with a lump of coal, not a diamond of the first water." The woman's voice deepened to a throaty purr. "She hasn't a hope of satisfying him. Have you forgotten that I know firsthand just how demanding he can be in bed? He'll tire of the silly little commoner soon enough if he hasn't already. And when he does, I'll be there. She may have won his name, but she'll never win his heart." Josephine was an outraged breath away from charging through the curtain and showing the treacherous vixen just how common she could be when there was a sudden rustling of skirts in the next alcove.

"Why, Lady Mercy," crooned the woman who had been scheming to bed Josephine's husband. "I didn't realize you frequented this shop. It's such a pleasure to finally meet you. Your cousin and I are very dear friends."

"Indeed?" Josephine didn't have to imagine the icy look Mercy raked over the two women. The temperature in her own alcove dropped with such haste she half expected to see her breath. "He's never spoken of you. Although I do seem to recall a fond mention of your husband. And how is Lord Thompson these days? In full vigour, I hope." The fawning tone disappeared from the woman's voice, leaving it as frosty as Mercy's.