Page 63 of A Touch of Charm
He paused for the briefest moment, straightening his posture as if to make himself more noticeable, before glancing toward Thea with a look that lingered just a second too long. Andre reached into his inner waistcoat pocket and produced a card elegantly engraved with his name and the address of his practice. He handed it to Madame Duchon, who accepted it with a nod of understanding.
“I trust that you will give Margaret seated work and not cut her wages?” he asked sternly when Madame Duchon grimaced in the poor seamstress’s direction. “Since her injury occurred in your shop,” Andre pressed on until the owner nodded.
But the shop owner tsked just when Andre wanted to turn to Thea and Mary, ready to leave.
“Not so fast!”
*
Thea should haveseen it coming.
She cradled Mary gently in her arms, the little girl clutching her wooden toy cat as if it were a lifeline. The elaborate folds of the ballgown Thea still wore rustled softly as she moved through the shop, starkly contrasting the chaos left in the wake of the accident. She could feel Mary’s small body trembling against her, the child’s wide eyes darting around the room, still filled with fright.
Madame Duchon, the shop owner, surveyed the mess with a cold, calculating gaze. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she took in the overturned fabric rolls, the scattered ribbons, and the broken ladder. They knew that look; it was the look of someone assessing damage, not just to property but also to pride and order.
“Who will be held responsible for this mess?” Madame Duchon’s voice cut through the quiet, sharp and unforgiving.
Before Thea could respond, Mary’s small voice piped up, trembling yet earnest. “It was my toy cat,” she stammered, holding the wooden feline out to offer it up for judgment.
Thea’s heart ached for the girl, who had only been playing moments before the disaster struck. She tightened her hold on Mary, feeling the weight of responsibility settle heavily on her shoulders. Looking at Madame Duchon, she saw the woman’s frown deepen, her eyes narrowing not at the child but at her.
The accusation hung in the air, unspoken but unmistakable. This was not about a toy cat; Madame Duchon was looking for someone to blame, and her gaze had landed squarely on Thea.
“A mother usually pays for her daughter’s expenses. This is going to cost you, Miss… eh…”
Thea squared her shoulders and stepped closer to Andre, shifting Mary into his arms. He took her instantly, and the girl nestled against his strong body.
“She’s not my mother!” Mary said, burying her face in Andre’s shoulder. “Thea’s my governess.”
Madame Duchon raised her chin. “And is he your father?”
Andre’s eyes shot to Thea, and she felt his piercing gaze.
“I’m so sorry about the mess, Madame,” Thea said, calm and measured despite the unease tightening in her chest. “I shall ensure that this will all be paid.”
“No, wait! The ladder didn’t give way unexpectedly. It was already too rotten and shouldn’t have been used, which is why Margaret was injured,” Andre added.
“I can pay for it,” Thea whispered.
“But you shouldn’t have to if you didn’t break it,” Andre said, taking a wide stance.
“So you’re giving me the fault for all this?” Madame Duchon’s frown remained, her tone clipped but losing some of its harsh edge. “This shop is my livelihood. Such chaos cannot be tolerated.”
She walked to the counter, retrieved a piece of paper and a pencil, and started to write something down. “Un, deux, trois… oh!” She scribbled something, then put the end of the pencil in her mouth and assessed Thea from head to toe. “Five rolls of fabric, the gown you’re wearing, at least ten yards of silk ribbon, and the ladder—”
“The ladder was already broken!” Andre seemed annoyed, but his tone was measured. They realized that he was a man who knew all too well how the wealthy were treated, and it was plain to see that Madame Duchon considered Thea and him easy prey. Thea had often been to fine shops in Vienna with her mother, and these in London seemed no different. Once they got a whiff of good-natured people who could pay, they’d multiply the bills several times over.
“Send me the bill at Cloverdale House on Abbottsberry Road,” Thea said. “For the dress, too.” She picked up the front and turned to the door.
“Not the dress, no.” Madame Duchon crossed her arms, creasing the paper she’d written on.
“I beg your pardon?” Thea pursed her lips.
“You’re the doctor’s mistress and have the nerve to come and let him outfit you while the mother likely thinks that you are taking her on a stroll.”
The air felt sharp, cutting into Thea’s chest like the edge of a blade. Her grip tightened on the dress, the fine fabric scrunched beneath her trembling fingers. She saw Andre from the corner of her eye. His jaw twitched, his gaze darkening like a storm brewing on the horizon. Yet she didn’t look to him for rescue.
“How dare you accuse me of that?” she said, her voice low but with a dangerous edge that even she didn’t recognize at first.
