Scandalous Regency Secrets Collection. Кэрол Мортимер

turned it about in her hands, sniffed dismissingly and placed it on the nearest tabletop. “Yes, pretty enough, but the construction is pitifully shabby. Why, one wrong move and its owner would be scattering paste pearls behind her as she strode into the ballroom. Now, what were you saying?”

      Clarice was still looking at the reticule. “I don’t remember. Shabby?”

      Knowing Mrs. Yothers most definitely was in earshot by this time, Dany replied, “Oh, yes. These shops mix the bad in with the good, hoping no one will notice. My mother explained that all to me before I came to London.” She leaned forward to whisper none too quietly in Clarice’s ear. “I’d wager you a new lace handkerchief that the sheen would slide right off those pearls if so much as a drop of rain fell on them.”

      There, that will fix you for the moment, Mrs. Yothers. Because you’re guilty as sin of something, I just know it!

      “Really?” Clarice’s whisper was about as effective as Dany’s. “So if I were to sort of, well, spit on my fingers, and then just happen to rub one of those pearls...?”

      “Good afternoon, ladies!” Mrs. Yothers exclaimed brightly, all but tripping over herself as she made her way past another table and approached them. “I beg your forgiveness for not realizing Hilda wasn’t assisting you. Stupid girl, always wandering off. Oh, my, Miss Foster, isn’t it? Yes, of course. And if you’ll pardon me for being so bold as to inquire, how is your sister the countess?”

      “Quite well, thank you,” Dany said, trying not to laugh as the clever shopkeeper surreptitiously covered the pearl-laced reticule with a patterned scarf she’d brought with her from the other display table, “and still so delighted with the gowns she chose.”

      “How...delightful,” Mrs. Yothers responded, her brow furrowed as if she might be pondering the wisdom of her next statement. “Have you yet found the time to enjoy the book I gave you, miss?”

      “Alas, not yet. I’ve been otherwise occupied.”

      As you’ll know soon enough, or perhaps already do know, even if you’re not letting on that you do. None too tall, are you, Mrs. Yothers? The sort who might need to step on a stool in order to reach high places? Please be guilty. It would make things so much easier if you were guilty.

      “Well, now, isn’t this too lovely and chummy,” Clarice said, her words pleasant, her tone far from it. “I’m certain Miss Foster was raised to be polite, and is willing to stand here while you make nonsense conversation all the afternoon, but I am not. Kindly take yourself off, and take that sorry excuse for a reticule with you. Don’t think I didn’t see you attempt to hide it. Imagine what would happen if I were to tell the duchess! We’ll summon you if we need you.”

      For a moment Mrs. Yothers appeared ready to remind her customer that she was not about to be dismissed from her own shop, but then apparently thought better of it.

      She curtsied, first to Clarice, then to Dany, mumbled something about finishing up Hilda’s neglected chore of refolding the scarves and took herself off.

      Dany took hold of Clarice’s arm and walked the two of them a few steps closer to the corner. “You’re probably going to rule Society, you do know that, don’t you?” she told her new friend. “I don’t believe there’s a soul alive, chimney sweep to king, who doesn’t tread warily around those who might open their mouths at any moment to say just what they think.”

      “Jerry doesn’t believe that. He’d rather I just smiled and curtsied for some space of time yet, perhaps until the spring Season. As it is, he can’t wait to get me out of London, the dear thing. As if I’d go. Oh! I remember now why I was so happy to see you. Jerry told me something yesterday, something truly extraordinary and impossible and, even worse, true. But I’m not supposed to repeat what he told me. Naturally, I’m bursting at the seams to do so. Please let me tell you.”

      Sensing Mrs. Yothers hovering even though she’d turned her back to the woman, Dany said, “If it’s true, then I suppose it wouldn’t be gossip, would it?”

      “That’s the spirit!” Clarice rubbed her palms together and bent her head close. “You’ve met Darby, haven’t you? I’m sure Jerry told me you did. Darby Travers, Viscount Nailbourne? He has that patch over his eye and all? Handsome devil, if a bit too amused, if you take my meaning. Gabe—Thea’s fiancé—is a happy soul, and up to most any mischief, and Coop is so upright and commonsensible, while my Jerry is very nearly their pet, bless him, and I’d never say such a thing to him. Such good friends, for such a long time. But this?” She shook her head. “Even Jerry is appalled. You’re really going to let me tell you?”

      Dany wondered which one of them, Mrs. Yothers or herself, would be the first to grab Clarice Goodfellow by the throat and choke this supposed secret out of her.

      But she managed to retain an outward calm as she nodded. “If only to ease your mind, Clarice. Yes, I’ll hear your secret.”

      “Damned well about time,” the young woman whispered, this time so that Mrs. Yothers couldn’t hear her. Dany barely heard her, but she was fairly certain she knew what Clarice was saying.

      Now the girl took a deep breath, held it for some moments and finally said: “He owns a brothel. Him. The viscount of Nailbourne.”

      Dany gave a quick shake of her head, as if she hadn’t quite understood what she’d just heard. In truth, she was having some difficulty believing this was the secret Mrs. Yothers was to hear. “Pardon me? You couldn’t possibly have that right. Could you?”

      Clarice gave a rather haughty push at her blond curls. “My Jerry doesn’t lie.”

      “No, no, of course not. I wouldn’t imply any such thing. But this is terrible, Clarice. Very nearly as scandalous as if he’d gone into trade. My parents have been most clear on that point. Rather a privateer than a coal merchant. But this is worse, isn’t it?”

      “Jerry thinks so. He said the brothel is right here in Mayfair, and that would mean that the viscount is rubbing shoulders with the men who pay to use his services. I mean, not his services. But the services he provides. Is that what I mean?”

      “I’m sure I have no idea,” Dany lied, wishing she hadn’t listened so well to her brother when he was telling her things she shouldn’t know. “Clarice, Rigby was wrong to tell you. I understand you must have been bursting to tell someone, but now you can’t tell anyone else. Not a single soul. The viscount would be ruined. Disgraced. Forced to leave Society.”

      Was that enough, or should she add a few more hints?

      Clarice was vigorously nodding her agreement, so Dany decided she had made herself clear.

      “Good. Now we’ll not speak of this again. Truly, it’s something we shouldn’t know, should we? Although I wonder if Coop knows. I may just tell him. But only him, and nobody else. This is our secret now, Clarice. And a terrible one it is. Why, it’s put me quite out of countenance. I don’t think I could look at a single thing in the shop today, even as I’d returned specifically to select materials for a few gowns my sister promised me. Shall we leave now, and hope you haven’t chased Rigby too far?”

      They hadn’t. As soon as Dany stepped outside the shop she saw Rigby nervously pacing the flagway.

      “There you are!” he exclaimed while Clarice held out her hands to him, as if they were meeting after an intolerably long separation. “Did you do it? Did she hear you? Where are your packages? Don’t say you didn’t buy anything. That would be too suspicious.”

      “I’m not such a sad looby,” Clarice scolded as she slipped her arm through his and Dany joined them for what appeared to be a walk to the corner. “The bonnets will be sent to Grosvenor Square, but I allowed Dany to talk me out of the reticule, just as you wanted.”

      “Ah, caught out, am I?” Dany said, laughing. “What gave me away?”

      “Nothing,” Clarice told her as she winked. “I was merely guessing. Shame on you,