Page 34 of The Rebellious Lady and the Phantom Lord
She paused in front of a jeweler’s shop, where a pair of twin sapphires were displayed in the window. In one light they flashed blue fire, in another glinted as cold as shards of ice-exactly like Armande’s eyes.
“Does my lady wish to go into this shop?” Lucy asked hopefully.
“No.” Phaedra moved farther along the street. She paused in front of a peruke-maker’s establishment, frowning at the white bagwig displayed there, with its elaborate sausage-roll curls. Armande was far more attractive when he abandoned his wigand powder. She could not help remembering the sweep of sable hair waving back from his brow, the hard-muscled flesh he kept concealed beneath his satins and lace. A man of frustrating contradictions, he seemed a different person when he set aside all the accoutrements of the elegant aristocrat.
Every puzzling thing she had ever noted about Armande crowded into Phaedra’s brain. His inexplicable position as a guest of her grandfather, the painful flash of memory in his eyes occasioned by the gray wool cloak, the way he had tensed at Danby’s seeming foolishness, his refusal to be thanked for saving Weylin’s life, the violent aversion to questions about his past that had led him to try to ruin her. Thinking about Armande was like trying to piece together shattered fragments of a mirror.
She rubbed her temples. It was no good. She had come to Oxford Street to escape, for a time, Armande’s all-pervasive presence. Yet everything seemed to remind her of him. Only a few yards away, a group of ballad singers burst into a chorus of bawdy songs, so loud she could scarcely hear herself think. She glanced about her, suddenly wondering why she had come here. Why had she never noticed before how dirty Oxford Street was? The shop displays were garish, and the people thronging past her were loud-mouthed and vulgar. And the noise she had oft thought so delightful was enough to split one’s head!
Phaedra started at a touch upon her sleeve. She had all but forgotten Lucy’s presence. Her maid said, “Maybe milady could find something in that shop to please your friend.”
Phaedra turned toward the shop front that Lucy so shyly indicated. Her gaze flicked over some indifferent pieces of china and a silver tea service.
“No, I think not—” Phaedra began, preparing to continue on her way, when she was arrested by the sight of something almost lost in the shadow of the tea urn. She peered closer, pressing near the glass. It was naught but a pair of candlesticks-and yet there was something in the delicate artistry of the china that reminded her strikingly of the shepherdess she had found in the attic. Of course, there was nothing remarkable in the fact that the same artisan should have fashioned other pieces than her figurine. But Phaedra’s curiosity was aroused enough to slip inside the shop, with Lucy following at her heels.
The interior was quiet, appearing not to enjoy much trade. She was the only customer-perhaps the only one in some time, Phaedra thought, eyeing the layering of dust on the shelves. They were stuffed with an odd assortment of jewelry, buckles, snuffboxes, ladies’ fans, and trinkets.
The shopkeeper who bustled forward to serve her struck Phaedra as being something of a trinket himself. He barely came up to her shoulder. Both his smile and his black hair looked painted on, as much as if he had been a wooden toy soldier.
“Good afternoon, milady,” he trilled. “Such a fine day. So perfect for your outing.”
Phaedra suspected he would have greeted her in the same fashion even if it had been pouring rain.
“And how may I have the honor of serving your ladyship?”
“Well, I did wish to inquire about?—”
But before she could finish, the little man rushed on.”An enameled sand box for dusting dry the ink upon your letters? Wonderful charming.”
“No, I believe not. I would like to examine?—”
“Or some Egyptian pebble teeth for your grandmama, perchance? Mayhap a new fan. I have an excellent assortment.”
“No!” Phaedra said. “I merely wanted a closer look at the candlesticks in the window.”
The shopkeeper raised himself up on his tiptoes and preened.
“Ah, the candlesticks! Your ladyship has the most excellent taste.”
He scurried toward the window display and in another moment he was blowing the dust off the candlesticks and setting them upon the counter with a flourish.
“Treasures. Wonderful charming.” He beamed.
Phaedra stripped of her gloves the better to examine the china. She lifted one of the candlesticks. A maiden, molded of blue and white jasper and garbed in flowing Grecian robes, held aloft a petal stem on which the taper was to be mounted.
Although Phaedra did not possess Armande’s expert knowledge of china, she had a fine eye for detail. The similarities in style to her shepherdess were remarkable.
“I know this sounds foolish,” she said hesitantly. “But I believe. I already possess a figurine made by the same artisan.”
“Indeed, milady?” Lethington china is extremely rare.”
Lethington. The name stirred some chord of memory in Phaedra, but she could not place it.
“The piece I have is a shepherdess,” she said, and went on to describe it for the shopkeeper. He permitted a rather doubting frown to disturb the surface of his too smooth politeness.
“W-e-ell, ‘tis a popular subject for china manufacturers, but I suppose you might have acquired one of a famous set. A shepherd and shepherdess were commissioned for the Emperor Franz Joseph of Austria and his sister, the French Queen Marie Antoinette; but unfortunately the figurines were never delivered. “
Phaedra tore her eyes away from the entrancing candlestick long enough to inquire. “Oh? Why not?”
