Page 47 of Doxy for the Ton
He shook his head. “I don’t want to take tea with you, Mimi. I want you towantto take tea with me—to take pleasure from it.”
Sadness gleamed in her eyes. “Then you should have stipulated that in our agreement, Your Grace. My pleasure is not for sale.”
Unable to think of a reply that didn’t expose himself as even more of a cad, he nodded and withdrew from the chamber. As he descended the stairs, he almost collided with the young footman.
“Charles, isn’t it?” Alexander asked.
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“I’m leaving now, but your mistress might appreciate a bath.”
The footman nodded, flushing scarlet as he glanced at Alexander’s crumpled breeches, before showing him outside. Once on the pavement, Alexander turned back toward the building, his gaze settling on the upper-floor window with its curtains still drawn.
Everything in this house belongs to you.
“No, Mimi,” he whispered. “Not everything.”
Hunching his shoulders against the wind, he crossed the square and returned to his townhouse. How many times had he slipped out of the home of a mistress, or a paramour, after a session of glorious rutting, having patted her on the rump and tipped a coin in a dish as payment, returning home to congratulate himself on his prowess?
What made this time so different? Why did he, for the first time, feel nothing but shame?
Chapter Twelve
“Oh, Jemima, thatcolor on you is glorious!”
Mimi turned one way, then another, admiring how the colors in her skirts rippled in the light. She glanced across the parlor at her guest. “Your Grace, I—”
“Eleanor, please.”
“Eleanor, I cannot thank you enough,” Mimi said, “and you, Peg, of course.”
The seamstress looked up from stitching the hem. “My pleasure, Lady Rex. I’ve never worked with such fine material. I hope I’ve been able to do right by it.”
“Of course you have,” Eleanor said. “I doubt even my modiste could produce something so fine—the quality of your stitching, and that bead work… I do hope you haven’t strained your eyes.”
“No, Your Grace, that’s very kind of you to ask,” Peg said, reaching for a pair of scissors. She snipped the thread, then stood back to survey her handiwork. “There! That’s all done.”
Mimi’s wardrobe was now complete—three day dresses with matching redingotes and reticules, two evening gowns, and a fur-trimmed cloak. It was almost enough to make her believe she could be a lady again.
Wouldhelike them—or would he be disappointed that they hadn’t been fashioned by the modiste who catered to all his other women?
The seamstress helped Mimi out of her gown, then folded it and set it aside.
“I must settle your account, Peg,” Mimi said as she pulled the bell cord by the fireplace.
“It’s already done,” came the reply. “Mr. Wheeler settled it yesterday.”
Or rather, the Duke of Sawbridge had settled it yesterday.
“I’d best get going,” Peg said. “I mustn’t take up any more of your time.”
“You can take tea with your cousin if you wish,” Mimi suggested.
“May I?”
The door opened and the young footman appeared.
“Charles,” Mimi said, “could you bring the duchess and I some tea? And tell Mrs. Hodge she can take her tea with Peg—you can join them if you wish. Ask the cook to set aside some of that delicious fruitcake—if you’ve not already finished it yourself, of course.”
