The Girl in the Clockwork Collar (Steampunk Chronicles #2)(79)

He was.

When Finley asked Emily what had happened to Griffin’s clothing during their visit with Tesla, she got the story in vivid detail—to the point where her throat went dry at the thought of Griffin running into that Aether … monster again. She still hadn’t recovered from how badly he’d been hurt the last time.

Emily, however, seemed totally oblivious to her distress as she perused the selection of ready-to-wear gowns the little shop they were in had to offer. “The fool was more concerned about his waistcoat than he was about anything else.”

Part of Finley thought perhaps Emily was trying to make her feel better. Another part thought she might be telling the truth, as well. “Well, he and I have done a good job at losing our clothes here in New York.”

Laughing blue eyes locked with hers over the display. “Oh, is that so? Is there something you want to tell me?”

Blushing, Finley made a face at her. “You know what I mean. So does he have any idea what the thing is?” She shouldn’t have to ask Emily for this information, but Griffin hadn’t volunteered it when she’d asked back at the hotel. He probably had some absurd notion that he was protecting her by not telling her. Maybe he thought she’d worry. Of course she was going to worry about him, the lunatic.

“Not really, but the prevailing theory is that it might be an angry ghost tethered to Tesla’s rooms or the hotel in general. Provided Tesla doesn’t go into the Aether again, everything should be fine—including Griff.”

A sigh broke free from Finley’s lips. That was the best news she’d heard in a while.

Emily held up a golden-colored gown. “What do you think of this one?”

“Perfect,” Finley replied. “You’ll look gorgeous. Sam will slip in his own drool.”

The smaller girl’s nose wrinkled. “That’s an attractive picture to put in a girl’s head.”

Laughing, Finley found a gown for herself—it was a rich purple-colored silk. “I think this is one of the most beautiful dresses I’ve ever seen.”

“Perfect choice,” Emily agreed. “What else do you need to get?”

Their gowns chosen, they then went about finding a few items for Finley, to do her until she could get the clothes she had at the hotel laundered. Right now, she was wearing more of Griffin’s things but with one of her own corsets to add a feminine touch. No doubt he would be glad when she stopped wearing his clothes, given that he had lost some of his, as well.

They didn’t talk about Dalton or any of their plans as they shopped. Both of them were too paranoid to talk in public— plus they knew better. One never knew who might be listening. So instead they talked a little about Sam and Griffin and a little about poor Jasper, for whom both of their hearts ached.

Finally their shopping done, they stood patiently while seamstresses pinned them in each garment for alterations. The shop was equipped with sewing automatons, and many of their selections would be ready the next morning, if not this evening.

“Please, send the bill to the Duke of Greythorne care of the Waldorf-Astoria,” Finley instructed the shopgirl.

“Don’t you dare,” Miss AstorPrynn interjected before Finley could tell her that she could also have the clothing delivered to the same address. “This girl is a scam artist.”

The skin of Finley’s neck and cheeks warmed with embarrassment. Everyone was looking at her, perhaps finding this nasty baggage’s words easy to believe. “You don’t know me at all,” she said in a calm, even voice. “You don’t know Griffin, either.”

The other girl bristled. “You brazen slattern, calling him by his Christian name! Of all the arrogance. I don’t know how you managed to escape arrest, but you won’t be so fortunate next time.”

Finley turned to Emily, whose face was beet-red, and whispered, “If I punched her in the mouth, do you think she’d shut up?”

Emily smiled, but it was obvious she was furious on Finley’s behalf.

“I’m sorry,” the shopgirl said sincerely, “but I’m afraid given Miss AstorPrynn’s accusations, I’m going to need proof that you are in the duke’s traveling party.”

Finley’s narrow gaze went back to the righteous slag responsible for this. To think that she had thought this was the kind of girl Griffin would prefer to her. No one could prefer this nasty bag of bones.

The door opened behind her, the little bell tinkling, but Finley ignored it. She took a step closer to the girl who, at the moment, was making her life difficult. “What do you think he’s going to do? Propose? Take you back to England? He’s eighteen. No gentleman ever gets married so young.”

“Lengthy engagements aren’t unheard of,” Miss AstorPrynn argued. A cruel smile twisted her lips. “What do you think will happen when he tires of you and your—” she raked Finley with a blatantly insulting gaze “—talents?”

“I cannot imagine that ever happening” came a voice from behind them.

Finley’s fingers uncurled, releasing the fist she’d been about to drive into the witch’s face. She noted how the blood drained from that once smug face before turning her own toward her savior.

“Your Grace,” she said happily. “I’m so glad you’re here. Miss AstorPrynn has doubts as to whether or not Emily and I are part of your entourage. Would you kindly disabuse her of such thoughts so that we can return to the hotel with our purchases?”