How To Marry A Werewolf (Claw & Courtship, #1)(12)

There was a vast hat selection. Faith was utterly overwhelmed by options. Always, before, her mother had chosen what was respectable and appropriate. For Faith to forage for herself was both a luxury and a burden. She would’ve looked to Teddy for help, except that her new friend was busy about her own desires. Besides, they clearly did not share a taste in hats. Teddy was attracted to extravagant, risky ventures that suited her round, rosy face and dark, defined features, but that would do nothing for Faith’s more insipid coloring.

Mrs Iftercast seemed similarly minded to let Faith wander on her own, undisturbed. Or it was possible she had forgotten about her. Mrs Iftercast was overcome by enthusiastic adoration for a recent shipment of Italian straw. Faith ended up adrift in the sea of hats, helplessly drowning, as they all swayed around her at once.

Fortunately, she was rescued.

A young man approached. He was beautiful rather than handsome, with a smooth fairy quality to him that Faith would have guessed made him a dance instructor or an artist of some note.

“You look lost, miss. May I offer my assistance as navigator?”

“Sailing the sea of hats?”

“Indeed. I am Mr Rabiffano.” He gave a tiny bow. “At your service.”

He was an impossibly stylish gentleman – not a hair out of place. In addition to being impeccably well groomed, he wore a suit that was tailored perfectly to his lithe body. He had a milk-white complexion that would be the envy of young ladies, and pleasing contrasting dark brown hair and sympathetic blue eyes.

Faith thought at first he was brother or companion to one of the other shoppers, but as he showed her around, his consummate familiarity with the stock indicated he actually worked there. Surely, not merely a shop boy? Maybe the proprietor himself? Whatever the case, Faith was honored by his attention.

His taste was exquisite. He guided her towards small perches (It would be a shame to cover those golden tresses, he said). Faith settled on a beautiful straw confection with hawk feathers out the back and an apple-green velvet bow at the front. Mr Rabiffano (Call me Biffy, do, everyone does) said the color was perfection against her skin. He bypassed the season’s more exaggerated offerings, all bows and ruffles and lace (Too fussy for such a pretty face as yours) and suggested simpler hats instead. He would set one upon her hair, sink into a trance-like reverie, and then shake his head without allowing her near a mirror. Finally, he stood and simply considered her (without a hat) thoughtfully.

“I wonder,” he said.

Faith tilted her bare head at him. “Yes, sir?”

“You are, I think, an American?”

“What gave it away?” Faith joked, well aware that her accent left no one in any doubt.

“I wonder if I might persuade you to be rather daring.”

“I have a feeling,” said Faith without rancor, “that you might persuade me of pretty much anything, Mr Rabiffano.”

“Biffy, please.”

“Should I confess that I’m in possession of several bicycle ensembles and that I enjoy wearing split skirts and wide trousers on the regular?”

Biffy gleamed. “You are not afraid of risk! Most excellent.” His blue eyes twinkling with glee, he led her towards a mirror near the back and seated her before it. “Wait here. I shall return in a moment.”

Faith waited.

Teddy drifted over, dimples in evidence, wearing a monstrous orange peaked number with brown ribbon and yellow flowers all up one side. Faith thought it would look horrible on her, but Teddy carried it off, and it gave her some height. It would look better with that velvet dress from yesterday than the turban she had been wearing. Feeling they were on intimate enough terms for fashion honesty, Faith said as much. Teddy agreed.

“And how are you doing, cousin? I see his lordship has taken you in hand. You are lucky.”

Faith quavered, “His lordship? You mean Biffy?”

Teddy nodded. “He is wonderful, isn’t he?”

“Quite,” said Faith, imitating her cousin’s posh accent.

“Taken, though, or so the rumors go.”

Faith was not crushed by this information. She had felt the young gentleman was being kind to her, but no more than kind. He was clearly not romantically intrigued. Besides, the man was prettier than she was.

“He’s good with hats, then?”

Teddy pursed her lips. “The best. Only, I don’t know what he is bringing to you now…” She trailed off.

Biffy returned, looking a little shifty, hands (and hat) tucked carefully behind his back.

He nodded to Teddy. “Miss Iftercast, is it not?”

“You remember, my lord!”

“I never forget a pretty face.”

Teddy dimpled at him. “Or one who takes such risks as I do with hats? So you said. Do you see this one I have on?” She moved her head around coquettishly.

“It suits you admirably.”

Teddy glowed with this approbation from the master. He turned to exchange glances with Faith in the mirror.

“Ready to be daring, Miss Wigglesworth?”

“I am strong and able.” Faith smiled up at him.

“Close your eyes.”

She felt the light weight of a hat upon her head.

“Open them.”

She saw his grin in the mirror first; it was a wondrous thing, his approval warm and undemanding. Almost parental, which felt odd as he looked younger than she was. Then her eyes were drawn to the boater atop her head – a gentleman’s boater. One of those flat, wide-brimmed straw numbers sported by young men rowing around a lake or on a picnic or watching cricket.