Wild Lily (Those Notorious Americans Book 1)(9)
Inside, a slim young man approached Julian and he asked to be shown to the room for the countess’s party. The receptionist was tut-tutting about the accident as Julian followed him down the marbled hall and up the winding staircase. In one of the private viewing rooms on the next floor, upon a plush red velvet chaise longue, the countess sat with her feet up, shoes off. Wiggling her bare toes at the request of Miss Hanniford’s cousin, she appeared happy and quite well.
“I can move my toes, but I’m less confident of my ability to walk.” She took a sip of Monsieur Worth’s dark brandy from a cut glass and made a pitiful pout at Remy. “You were so helpful to me, Monsieur le Duc. Might you assist me home? Ah, here you are, Lord Chelton. What news of the driver and his carriage?”
Interested in her own predicament, Chaumont did not do her duty to introduce him to Miss Hanniford’s companion. From what he gathered, the lady must have already acquainted the others with each other. He would have liked a formal introduction to Lily Hanniford, even if it meant she might learn his family name—and seek to run from the man who was thwarting her father in a business deal.
At the moment, he could best surrender manners and secrecy to sharing information with Chaumont about her carriage. “The driver has asked a boy to fetch him a stable hand. One wagon wheel is precariously balanced. One side of his cab is caved in. He’ll need quite a bit of repair on that hack, I’m sorry to say.”
“Oh, what damage! Will he charge me for it?” Chaumont ran a hand through her brown hair, now totally loose of its pins. “I don’t know if I can afford to pay such a bill.”
Julian went to stand beside Remy. At this vantage, he could look directly down at Miss Hanniford and into those arresting blue eyes. “The driver claims a pet dog ran into the street. Tangled up in the horse’s legs. The person who should pay for the repairs of that hack should be the lady who owns that dog. Don’t you think?”
“I agree,” Remy said.
“Ah, Miss Hanniford, Mrs. Roland, bon jour.” A tall, slim woman in severely cut black serge sailed into the room, her hands clasped in distress. She must be the vendeuse assigned to the two women. “Ah, such a catastrophe. My apologies for my delay. I have heard of your terrible accident in the streets. It is so horrible. I cannot imagine. But I see that Henri has given you brandy. May I offer it to the rest of your party?”
“He did already, Mademoiselle Gerard,” Miss Hanniford said.
“Not for me, Mademoiselle,” Remy replied.
“Nor me. However, you can tell us,” Julian said, “if you have a patron in the house at the moment who owns a small dog.”
The vendeuse’s eyes went wide. Worth’s sales girls did not speak of other clientele. “Ah…er…Monsieur—?”
“Lord Chelton,” he informed her. “Is there such a customer here in house now?”
“It would be indiscreet of me, my lord, to reveal—”
“Gerard, let me be clear. There was a serious accident in the boulevard.” He felt no compunction about addressing her simply by her last name. She was not worthy of niceties if she did not understand the import of his question and the problem created by her careless client. Besides, he had no patience with those who did not see the implications of their actions. “It could have cost Madame le Comtesse her life. Others fled in fear of theirs. A horse was terrified. A driver, too. His carriage damaged. If a runaway dog caused this—and we have statements that this did occur—then the lady who owns the animal must pay the bill.”
“But of course. I understand.” Deferential, eyes cast to the floor, Gerard bowed her way backward. “If you will but wait a few moments, I will inquire.”
“Do that.”
Silence reigned for a tortuous minute.
“Splendid, my lord Chelton.” Chaumont giggled, lifting her glass in honor of Julian and draining the brandy.
Remy chuckled. “Chelton can intimidate the devil. I say you got Gerard’s attention.”
“Indeed. She’ll return with a criminal,” said Miss Hanniford with a grin.
All five of them laughed.
Chaumont pushed herself up amid the cushions. “I am remiss in my duties. Permit me to introduce to you to the ladies, Lord Chelton.”
Julian expected that she had already introduced Remy properly. As Chaumont spoke, he noted how Miss Hanniford settled into her chair, not objecting nor revealing that they had already made their own acquaintance outside. Chaumont went on and he was soon appraised that the blonde lady was Lily Hanniford’s cousin. A married lady, it seemed by her manner of address.
“That’s settled,” said Remy and turned to the two Americans. “Tell me if you will stay for your fitting? I offer my carriage to escort you home.”
“Thank you, Monsieur le Duc,” Lily said, “but no. We must remain. My father expects it. No accident of rain, sleet or frightened dog amid the carriage wheels should prevent it.”
Her cousin quite agreed. “Uncle Killian is a taskmaster.”
Remy was not deterred. “I have my carriage close by, farther down the street, and I’m sure my coachman is attempting to pull forward amid the crowd. I’d be quite happy to offer to take you home. All of you.”
“Merci beaucoup, Remy.” Chaumont was quick to accept. She leaned back, regarding him with hazel eyes misty from her consumption of alcohol. “I must not desert my duties. I am charged with escorting Miss Hanniford and Mrs. Roland through the rigors of a Paris entre.”