Unmasking the Duke's Mistress (Gentlemen of Disrepute #1)(35)

Mrs Tatton laughed. And when Archie copied her, even though he did not understand what his grandmother was laughing about, Arabella could not help but join in.

The bell rang as they entered through the door, making the women who were standing in the middle of the shop floor beside a display of glass bottles glance round and notice Arabella and her family. The bottles which the women were inspecting were the same expensive Parisian perfumes as displayed in the shop’s window. On seeing that Arabella was no one that they knew, the ladies ignored her and went back to choosing their perfume. Arabella watched them taking great pains over sniffing the scents that the shop assistant had touched to their hands using a variety of thin glass wands.

Two of the women were older; Arabella would guess of an age similar to her own mother’s. But they were as haughty as Mrs Tatton was not. One look at their faces and Arabella could not help but draw a less-than-flattering conclusion as to their characters. The third woman was much younger, barely more than a girl. In contrast to the older women, one of whom Arabella was sure was the girl’s mother due to a faint family resemblance, the girl seemed very quiet and eager to please.


‘What do you mean, you like the sandalwood, Marianne?’ demanded one of the formidable matrons. ‘It is quite unsuitable for a young lady. Whatever would Sarah say were she to receive that as her birthday gift?’ The matron looked quickly to her companion. ‘Forgive Marianne, Lady Fothergill, she can be such a silly goose at times. I am quite certain that she will admit that the rose fragrance is quite the most appropriate scent for her friend, albeit one of the most expensive choices.’

Arabella felt a pang of compassion for the girl. Life with a mother like that could not be easy, she thought as she turned her attention back to the apothecary who had arrived at the counter to serve them.

In the background she could hear the drone of the women’s conversation, but Arabella was not listening. Rather she was concentrating on showing the apothecary her mother’s hands and explaining about her mother’s lungs. He suggested a warming liniment for Mrs Tatton’s joints and a restorative tonic for her lungs, and disappeared off into the back of the shop to prepare them.

Mrs Tatton fitted her gloves back on while they waited and Arabella looked down at Archie. He was crouched by her side making his little wooden horse, Charlie, gallop around his feet and clicking quiet horsy noises to himself. Arabella smiled at the look of absorption upon his face. It was then that she heard the name ‘Arlesford’ spoken as clear as a bell. She tensed and could not help but listen in to the women’s conversation.

‘Close your ears, Lady Marianne, this is not talk for you,’ one of the women was saying.

‘Yes, Lady Fothergill,’ said the girl, and Arabella resisted the urge to turn around and see if Lady Marianne had actually put her hands over her own ears. Then in lower quieter tones as if it were the greatest secret, Lady Fothergill continued, ‘I am afraid I have to tell you the latest word, my poor dear, but they say that he has a mistress, and not just any mistress, one he bought from a bordello. Can you imagine?’

Arabella felt her blood run cold. She tried to keep her face clear and unaffected. The apothecary returned carrying a dark blue bottle and a small brown jar and placed them both down upon the counter.

‘Might we also view your perfumed soaps, the ones that you have displayed in the front window?’ she managed, and the smile fixed upon her face was broad and false.

‘This is such a treat, Arabella,’ said her mother.

‘Yes.’ Arabella nodded, still smiling, but almost the whole of her attention was focused on the conversation taking place behind her.

The other woman’s voice stiffened with a defensive tone. ‘Lady Fothergill, gentlemen will have their little foibles, but Arlesford is a duke and he knows his duty. I am sure that he will make a good husband.’

Arabella saw her mother’s ears prick up at the mention again of Dominic’s name and her stomach clenched all the tighter. She felt Mrs Tatton nudge her arm in a not altogether subtle way, and then her mother gestured with her eyes in the direction of the women behind them.

Arabella gave a tiny nod of acknowledgement to show that she understood the message.

‘So is he still interested in Lady Marianne, Lady Misbourne?’

Arabella felt her blood run cold. Misbourne? An image of the masked bearded man from Vauxhall garden flashed in her mind, and she remembered the anger that had simmered within Dominic at their meeting, and his glib reply when she had asked who Misbourne was. No wonder he was so put out; meeting one’s prospective father-in-law with your mistress on your arm was hardly the done thing.

The apothecary returned with the soaps, but Arabella and her mother were still listening intently. Arabella heard Mrs Tatton ask him to unwrap each soap that they might compare the smells, but Arabella could not move. She was frozen, holding her breath while she strained to hear Lady Misbourne’s answer.

‘Let us just say,’ said Lady Misbourne, her voice less friendly than it had been at the start of her conversation with Lady Fothergill, ‘that we are expecting an offer in the not-too-distant future. But that little piece of news is for your ears only, Lady Fothergill,’

‘Of course,’ said Lady Fothergill and there was something in the silky way that she said it that Arabella knew Lady Misbourne’s news concerning Dominic and her daughter would be all around London by tomorrow. ‘I think I shall choose the jasmine, Lady Misbourne. It is so exotic and so very expensive.’