Page 87 of The Duke's Inconvenient Bride
“I adore your dress,” Violet said. “Did you get it locally?”
“Lord, no.” Miss Snowe waved her hand dismissively. “I ordered it when I was last in London.”
“Do you go there often?” Violet asked.
“As often as I can,” Miss Snowe said. “That being said, the milliner here is adequate for anything basic. I was about to visit. Would you like to join me?”
“Oh, yes, please.”
Just like that, Emma was stuck with Miss Snowe. Of course, she could have objected, but that would have been impolite, and given what she’d learned of the Snowes’ position in local society, everyone would soon have heard of the duchess who thought herself above them.
“This way.” Miss Snowe gave Emma a tight-lipped smile and proceeded to ignore her as she led Violet to the Beecham Milliner two doors down.
The shop had broad windows that displayed a range of fabrics. Emma paused to look through the window before entering. The fabrics arranged in the window were predominantly cotton and linen with little in the way of silk or velvet, but that was to be expected, considering the milliner’s local clientele.
Emma doubted there was much reason to wear silk in rural Norfolk.
A bell tinkled as she crossed over the threshold, and a plump woman around her mother’s age greeted them. When she discovered Emma’s identity, she practically fell over herself to assist them, and Emma bought a great many ribbons, and a pretty bonnet, even though she didn’t really need any of it.
She wanted to make a favorable impression.
Miss Snowe and Violet thankfully seemed content to discuss fashion without much input from Emma. Violet purchased a hair ribbon but nothing else, explaining that it would be too difficult to ship an order to her new residence. Miss Snowe ordered a cotton day dress.
By the time they were finished, Emma was parched.
“Is that a tea room?” she asked, squinting at the building across the road.
“It is,” Miss Snow said. “The proprietress, Mrs. Duncan, makes very nice tea.”
“Shall we stop for a cup?” Emma asked.
When the others agreed, they made their way across the road and into the narrow two-storey building.
Emma inhaled the mouthwatering aroma of freshly baked scones as soon as they set foot inside. A moment later, her stomach grumbled. Violet shot a look at her, but Emma shrugged. She’d only had a light luncheon, so of course she was hungry.
“Miss Snowe,” a woman said, her nose flaring slightly as if she’d encountered an unpleasant odor. She dipped into a curtsy. “A pleasure, as always. Who are your friends?”
“The Duchess of Ashford,” Miss Snowe said, gesturing to Emma. “And her sister, Mrs. Mayhew.”
The woman’s eyes widened, and she swept into another, deeper curtsy.
“Your Grace,” she breathed, keeping her eyes down respectfully.
“This is Mrs. Smith, the proprietress,” Miss Snowe said.
“It’s lovely to meet you,” Emma said, her tone warm. She got the impression she would like Mrs. Smith.
Mrs. Smith straightened and nodded at Violet. “Mrs. Mayhew.”
“We would like some tea,” Miss Snowe said, lifting her chin haughtily.
“I’ll brew it momentarily,” Mrs. Smith said. “Is there anything else?”
“Could I trouble you for one of whatever is responsible for that wonderful smell?” Emma asked.
Mrs. Smith brightened. “A scone—would you like jam and clotted cream with it?”
Emma’s stomach growled again. “Yes, please.”
