Page 37 of Doxy for the Ton
“Mybehavior? Is it your place to admonish me over my behavior, or for me to admonish you over yours?”
“It’s my duty to ensure that propriety is observed at all times,” he said, “both below stairs—and above.”
“Very well, Wheeler,” she said. “Let me bestow upon you equal frankness. We both know that I’m not who I appear to be.”
He opened his mouth to reply, but she raised her hand.
“Permit me to finish. While you may have formed certain conclusions about me, you know nothing of my history. Neither does the Duke of Sawbridge. However, His Grace has instructed you to behave as if I am the mistress of this house—a respectable widow. You may lack respect for me—and believe me, I’m used to dealing with the contempt of others—but out of respect for your employer, I expect you to carry out your duties without complaint.”
His eyebrow twitched—most likely the only expression of emotion he would display.
“All you, and anyone else, needs to know,” Mimi continued, “is that I amLady Rex.”
“Then, ma’am, it behooves me to advise you to behave as Lady Rex ought.”
She leaned back in the chair and sighed. “Wheeler, where is the fault in my behavior?”
“For one thing, walking in the rain without an umbrella,” he said. “Though I hold Charles responsible, for which he has already been admonished.”
“And?”
“And,” he said, his nose wrinkling, “it’s not done for a lady residing in Grosvenor Square to wander about Mayfair dressed like”—he gestured to her gown—“the housekeeper’s grandmother.”
“This is the best gown I have!”
He frowned. “I understood His Grace was to take you to a modiste. At the very least you should refrain from venturing out of doors until properly attired. Living in Grosvenor Square is a privilege.”
Anger burst within her at his pomposity, and she slammed her fist on the desk.
“It’s apunishment, rather than a privilege to live here,” she snarled. “For your information, I was at a modiste! With Charles—because nobody else cared to accompany me. Yet you punished him for it!”
“He wasn’t punished for accompanying you, ma’am. But even he should recognize the impropriety of venturing outside, dressed as you are.”
“How do you suggest I improve my state of dress, when they refused to serve me?”
“Who refused to serve you?”
“The modiste,” she said. “That woman with the fake French accent—Deliet, she calls herself—who tossed me out of the street to the amusement of her customers, as if I were a pile of horseshit.”
This time he raised both eyebrows, and she braced herself for a lecture on her vocabulary.
But it never came.
“She threw you out?”
“Yes!” Mimi cried. “And you know why? Because she’s just like you—she judges by appearance and looks down her nose at anyone she considers beneath her.”
“Ma’am, I’m not—”
“Youare,” Mimi interrupted. “Why else would you punish that poor boy merely for showing me kindness? Do you think I minded getting caught in the rain? No—I found it infinitely preferable to being stuck inside a stuffy townhouse with people like you. In fact, Mr. Wheeler, I’d rather roll in horseshit than suffer your company.”
She heard a muffled cry and looked up to see Mrs. Hodge in the doorway.
The housekeeper placed her hands on her hips. “Well! I’ve never heard anything the like!” she said. “You ought to be ashamed. Why the duke thought you fit to be here, I’ll never know.”
“Let me remedy that at once, Mrs. Hodge,” Mimi said, rising, but the housekeeper lifted her hand.
“I was speaking toyou, Mr. Wheeler,” she said. “What right have you to speak to the mistress with such disrespect? And to shepherd her into the study as if she were your subordinate without even offering her tea—what will the duke think of you?”
