Regency Surrender: Passion And Rebellion. Louise Allen

desperate was he for work. Even the testimonials he provided were so fulsome they made me a bit suspicious.’

      ‘So why, then, did you take him on?’

      ‘Because he was desperate for the job, of course. I thought if he would say anything to land the job, then he was likely to work harder to ensure he kept it. And so far, my instincts have not failed me. He has worked hard.’

      ‘Then you do not...’ Fenella placed her cup carefully back on to its saucer ‘...dislike him as much as you did to start with?’

      ‘I do not need to like the man to appreciate he is good at his job. So far he has proved to be an efficient and capable courier. And though his manners put my back up they have a remarkable effect on waiters on both sides of the Channel. He always manages to secure a good table and prompt service. I attribute that,’ she said, digging into her own plate of eggs and toast, ‘to that sneer of his.’

      ‘Oh, dear, is that all you can say? Is that really...fair?’

      Amethyst raised her brows, but that was not enough to deter Fenella. ‘You did make a good choice when you employed him,’ she said stoutly. ‘He is...’ She floundered.

      ‘Arrogant, opinionated and overbearing,’ said Amethyst. ‘But then he is a man, so I suppose he cannot help that. However,’ she added more gently, noting from the way Fenella was turning her cup round and round in its saucer that her companion was getting upset, ‘I am sure you need have no worries that he may take his dislike of me out on you. What man could possibly object to the way you ask for his advice? For that is what you do, isn’t it? You don’t challenge his dominance by giving him direct orders, the way I do, so he has no need to try to put you in your place. You just flutter your eyelashes at him and he does whatever you want, believing the whole time that it was all entirely his own idea.’

      To her astonishment, Fenella flushed bright pink.

      ‘I am sorry if that unsettles you. I meant it as a compliment. You handle him with such aplomb...’

      Fenella got to her feet so quickly her chair rocked back and almost toppled over. ‘Please, I...’ She held up her hand, went an even hotter shade of pink and fled the room.

      Amethyst was left with a forkful of eggs poised halfway to her mouth, wondering what on earth she had said to put such a guilty look on Fenella’s face.

      * * *

      It took Amethyst less than an hour to run her eyes over the latest figures and tally them in her mind with the projected profits. At home, in Stanton Basset, she had always started her day by doing exactly this, and before she’d set out she had seen no reason why she shouldn’t keep up with the latest developments as assiduously as ever.

      But she’d never felt so relieved to have got through the columns of figures and the dry reports that went with them. She couldn’t wait to put on her hat and coat, and get outside and start exploring Paris again.

      She’d never enjoyed being in business for its own sake, the way Aunt Georgie had. It had always been more about repaying her aunt’s faith in her by making her proud. And as for coming to France to expand the business...

      The truth was that the end of the war had come at just the right time for her. Everyone with means was flocking to Paris. It was the perfect time to break away from Stanton Basset and all its petty restrictions. To do something different. Something that was nothing to do with anyone’s expectations.

      So why had she justified her decision to travel, by telling Jobbings her motive for coming here was to expand the business she’d inherited? Why was she still making excuses for doing what she wanted? Whose approval did she need to win now her aunt had gone? Not Jobbings’. He worked for her.

      Was she somehow trying to appease the ghost of her aunt? She’d thought that coming somewhere different would jolt her out of the rigid routine into which she’d fallen and stuck after her aunt had died. But it wasn’t proving as easy to cast off the chains of habit as she’d thought it would be. She was still looking over her shoulder to see if her aunt would approve.

      She eyed her bonnet in the mirror with dislike as she tied the frayed brown ribbons under her chin. It did nothing for her. She rather thought it wouldn’t do anything for anyone.

      Well, while she was in Paris, she was going to treat herself to a new one. No woman visiting Paris could fail to come back with just one or two items that were a little brighter and more fashionable than she was used to wearing, would she? It wouldn’t exactly be advertising her wealth, would it?

      And what was the point of having money, if all you ever did was hoard it?

      ‘I hope,’ she therefore said upon reaching the communal hall, where the others were waiting for her, ‘that we will be visiting some shops today. Or if not today,’ she amended, realising that she had not asked Fenella to make shopping a part of their itinerary, ‘tomorrow. I have decided that we should all have new bonnets.’

      Fenella flushed and pressed her hand to her throat, but Sophie cheered.

      ‘Monsieur Le Brun has already said he is going to take us to the Palais Royale,’ she said, bouncing up to her with a smile. ‘He says it is full of shops. Toyshops and bookshops, and cafés like the one where we bought the water ice yesterday. I expect you could buy bonnets, too,’ she added generously.

      The Palais Royale. Oh, dear. Well, at least she’d already come up with the notion of buying bonnets for all three of them. The prospect of getting something new to wear was bound to help take Fenella’s mind off returning to the scene of her downfall.

      Though when she took another look at Fenella, it was to find that she still looked rather pink and more than a little uncomfortable.

      ‘A new bonnet,’ said Fenella. ‘Really, Miss Dalby, that is too kind of you. I don’t deserve—’

      ‘Fustian,’ she barked as she marched out of the front door. ‘You have both been ill. You deserve a reward for putting up so heroically with me dragging you and poor Sophie all the way out here.’

      Fenella trotted behind her, twittering and protesting for several yards that the last thing she deserved was a reward.

      * * *

      When they finally reached the Palais Royale and caught sight of the shops by daylight, however, her final protest dwindled away to nothing.

      The people thronging the gravelled courtyard were all so exquisitely dressed. It made their own plain, provincial garb look positively shabby.

      And the shops were full of such beautiful things.

      It occurred to her that Fenella didn’t often have new clothes. She couldn’t outshine her own employer, after all. But now Amethyst wondered how much she minded dressing so plainly, when she spent so many hours poring over fashion plates in the ladies’ magazines.

      ‘Oh, just look at that silk,’ sighed Fenella, over a length of beautiful fabric draped seductively across the display in a shop window. ‘I declare, it...it glows.’

      ‘Then you must have a gown made up from it,’ declared Amethyst. Before Fenella could come up with a dutiful protest, she interjected, ‘It is ridiculous to go about looking like dowds when I have the means for both of us to dress stylishly.’

      ‘Oh, but—’

      ‘Neither of us have had anything new for an age. And nor has Sophie. You have to admit, that shade of blue would suit you both admirably.’

      ‘Well...’ Fenella bit her lower lip, which was trembling with the strain of knowing quite the right thing to do in this particular circumstance.

      ‘I have made up my mind, so it is no use arguing. Both you and Sophie are going to return to Stanton Basset in matching silk gowns.’

      Sophie’s face fell, predictably. She knew that visiting a modiste meant hours of standing about being measured and dodging pins.

      ‘But first,