Page 44 of A Marquess' Season of Secrets
“Good morning, Your Grace,” Mr Miller greeted, bowing before him. “How may we help you today?”
“I wish to make a few changes to my account, please.”
Worry entered the man’s eyes. “Changes, Your Grace?”
“Nothing serious, Mr Miller,” Nash assured him. “Just standard changes.”
The man nodded and took him to a private area where they discussed Nash’s needs and the bank’s suggestions regarding his account. The conversation took over an hour before Nash was satisfied enough to leave and make his way to his tailor.
Mr Campbell usually made house calls, but Nash didn’t want a reason to stay in the house. He would have called upon Jasper, but the man had left for Cornwall to see his ailing grandmother.
The carriage stopped outside the tailor’s smart-looking shop, but instead of jumping out to see the man, he sat back in the carriage and stared at the scene several paces away from him. The very woman he had left the house to get away from was standing outside a fabric shop and looking into the window. Although her back was facing him, the woman was unmistakeably Isabella.
Nash rubbed the back of his neck, uncertain about what he should do next. It was ridiculous to consider not going into the tailor like he had planned, but he remained sitting. His driver eventually came to his door, his lined face staring into the window.
“Is something the matter, Yer Grace?” the man asked in his broad accent.
“No, not at all,” Nash lied. “I simply wish to sit awhile. Await my next order.”
“Yes, Yer Grace.”
The driver moved away and returned to his seat, where he quietly spoke to the horses. Franklin was fond of doing that and didn’t mind if people believed he was a tad touched in his upperworks. He always stated there were worse things than being told one was crazy.
Nash turned his attention back to the fabric store but found Isabella had moved on. Alarmed, he stuck his head out of the window to look along the street. He found her further down by a clock shop and watched her enter the place.
Nash had been in there several times and knew the clocks did not come cheap. While he was generous with Isabella’s wages, he doubted she had enough to squander on an expensive time-telling device.
Nash was correct because the woman left the shop without an extra bag. She already had three in her hands, so it would be easy to tell if she had added to her parcels.
Isabella’s next store was further down the road, forcing Nash to step outside the carriage. He leaned against the body of his transport, glad that it wasn’t caked with dirt. Isabella entered a sweet shop and came out sooner than he expected.
Whenever Ellie went into any sweet shop, she tended to stay there until she had bought nearly every flavour of everything available in the store. Isabella was carrying a new parcel, but it was much tinier than the others.
I wonder what her favourite sweet is. Perhaps I shall ask her.
Nash immediately shook his head. Buying sweets for a female employer was firmly off-limits unless it was Christmas and he was buying for everyone. He stored the idea away, fully intending to use it.
Nash moved away from the carriage and leaned against a street lamp, pretending to take in the sights when most of his attention was on his maid.
“Good day, Your Grace,” Nash heard Mr Campbell greet. “I did not expect to see you standing outside my shop. What brings you here?”
Nash didn’t want the man to distract him, but it would be rude to ignore him. Pasting on a wide grin, he turned to the man.
“Good day, Mr Campbell. I was on my way to see you, but I’m currently enjoying the sun.”
“I have no qualms standing outside and speaking with you, Your Grace. Simply tell me what it is you need from me. I already have all your measurements.”
“Two black and two dark blue coats,” Nash told him. “I ripped a hole through my best one, and although it was mended, it simply isn’t the same anymore.”
“I know just what you mean, Your Grace. A ripped garment, even when mended, can never be the same again. A man of your distinction should never have to deal with anything but the best.”
Nash wasn’t one for flattery, but Mr Campbell insisted on praising him and telling him how important he was. Perhaps it was the man’s way of keeping his clients. Good quality workmanship was enough to keep customers, in Nash’s opinion.
Nash’s eyes darted towards Isabella, frowning when he couldn’t see her. There was a group of men huddled together and likely blocking his view.
“Are you looking for someone, Your Grace?” the tailor asked.
“No,” Nash lied. “Why do you ask?”
