The next ten days flew by and Jeanine was surprised to find that the marquess was right. In his large home, she saw him but half a dozen times, and then only in passing. He had promised to attend tonight’s party, but still, it was only just after breakfast, and waiting until the evening seemed an interminable amount of time not to see him. He made no appearance and Miss Stone’s efforts to divert her attention were for naught.

“Perhaps we could shop for a fan to match the ivory gown you’re to wear.” Miss Stone finished refilling their teacups, then returned the pot to the tray and lifted her cup from the coffee table. “Mrs. Morgan suggested a fan.”

Jeanine clasped the top edge of the sofa back and rested her cheek against her hand. “Do you think Grey doesn’t like me anymore?”

“Of course, he likes you,” Miss Stone said. “What would make you think otherwise?” She met Jeanine’s gaze and sipped her tea.

“He’s never around,” Jeanine replied.

“He is an important man. I’m sure that business keeps him busy.”

Jeanine sighed. “But it’s almost as if he’s avoiding me.”

“I haven’t noticed anything like that,” Miss Stone said.

“Really? You’re not trying to spare my feelings?”

“No, ma’am. I would never think of being anything less than honest with you.”

Jeanine beamed. “That’s what I like best about you, Miss Stone. You’re not like so many others who only say what benefits them.”

Miss Stone smiled serenely. “I have never been a good liar.”

Jeanine laughed. “You say that as if it is a bad thing.”

“There are times when it is best not to be forthcoming.”

Jeanine grimaced. “You’re right, of course. I often get into trouble by being too honest.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to go shopping? You will want to please his lordship by looking your best.”

Jeanine lifted her head. “You’re right.”

Forty-five minutes later, they entered a small shop that sold only the finest ladies’ fans. Jeanine took no more than ten minutes to choose a plain bone fan with a single hummingbird painted on it.

They left the shop and Jeanine linked arms with Miss Stone. “We are off on a special errand, Miss Stone.”

Miss Stone looked at Jeanine, her expression perfect politeness, and she said, “Indeed, Miss Matheson?”

Jeanine nodded. “Indeed.”

They waited for two passing couples, then started across the walk to their carriage. Their footman, seated next to Mr. Potts, the driver, spotted them and stood from the driver’s seat.  He leapt down and opened the coach door.

Jeanine brought herself and Miss Stone to a stop and shook her head. “We will be walking.” She looked up at the driver. “Mr. Potts, can you tell me where we can find a shop that sells cravats?”

“I beg your pardon, Miss, cravats?”

She nodded.

“You want to go to a men’s shop, Miss?”

“That is where they sell cravats,” she said.

“Are you sure, Miss?”

“Sure that is where they sell men’s cravats?” she asked. “Of course. Where else would I buy a cravat?”

“No, Miss. I mean, are you sure you want to go there? Ladies do not generally shop at a gentleman’s clothing store,” he said.

“How silly,” she said. “If you do not know where a shop is, I’m sure I can get the direction from a passerby.”

“Nae,” he hurriedly replied. “In fact, I know the shop where his lordship gets his cravats.”

“Perfect,’ Jeanine cried. “Where is it?”

He exchanged a look with the footman, who shrugged, then said, “It isn’t far. I will take you and Miss Stone.”

“It’s too beautiful a day to ride. We will walk. Just direct us, please.”

His eyes widened in horror. “I cannae let you walk alone.”

“Don’t be silly,” she said. “Where is the shop?”

He shook his head stubbornly. “His lordship will dismiss me if I let you walk alone—after he beat me, that is.”

“Mr. Potts is right,” Miss Stone said. “If you are set on walking, our footman should accompany us.”

Jeanine smiled. “How clever of you.”

The driver finally gave them directions, but said he would follow with the carriage so that he could take them home from the shop. They reached the shop in ten minutes and entered. To the left, two brown leather chairs resided near the window, separated by a table that held a tray containing a decanter of amber liquid and four glasses. To the right, shelves displayed cravats, hats, and other sundry man’s articles in a multitude of colors.

A tall, wiry man, writing in a ledger, stood behind the long counter at the far end of the shop. He looked up and frowned. “May I help you?”

Jeanine crossed to the counter with Miss Stone alongside, and said, “We are looking for a cravat.”

His frown deepened. “Are you sure you’re in the right shop?”

“You do sell cravats,” Jeanine said. “I see lots there on the shelves.”

The man stiffened. “We sell gentlemen’s cravats.”

“I beg your pardon?” Miss Stone said. “A gentleman’s cravat is exactly what Miss Matheson is looking for. She is shopping for the Marquess of Northington.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “His lordship does buy his cravats here. But I feel certain you have the wrong shop. Ladies who purchase cravats—”

“This lady is Lord Northington’s ward,” Miss Stone cut in.

The man blinked in surprise, then his mouth thinned. “His lordship sends me an order when he desires more cravats. He does not send his ward to purchase them for him.”

“You misunderstand,” Jeanine said. “Gre-er, his lordship did not send me. I am buying him a gift.”

“I believe I understand perfectly well, Miss.”

“I am certain you do not,” Miss Stone said in a chilly voice that startled Jeanine. “His lordship will not be pleased to hear that the man who sells him his cravats was so shockingly rude to his ward.” She looked down her nose at him and waited.

Fifteen minutes later, they left the shop with a lovely ivory cravat, along with a dusky blue cravat, purchased at Miss Stone’s suggestion. She said the color would complement Grey’s dark eyes, and Jeanine was certain she was right. Their carriage sat in front of the shop with Mr. Potts in the driver seat and the footman waiting at the door. He opened the door as they approached, but Jeanine slowed at sight of another shop across the street. A sign over the door read Branby’s Furniture and in the window were displayed chairs and tables.

“There’s a shop across the street I would like to look at,” Jeanine said, and started toward the street.

“Miss,” Mr. Potts cried, “I must object. His lordship would not want you going about the city unescorted.”

“Then we are in no danger of upsetting him.” She waved a dismissive hand. “Miss Stone accompanies me, and you and Mr. McKinnon are only a few steps away.”

Mr. Potts leapt from his perch and hurried to the curb as Jeanine and Miss Stone crossed the street. They reached the shop and entered. The room was nicely furnished with two chairs, a couch, two tables with lamps, and a sideboard that bore a crystal decanter and half a dozen tumblers.

A stalky man emerged from a curtained door behind a counter in the far left-hand corner of the room and halted. “May I help you?”

“I was hoping to purchase a table for Lord Northington,” Jeanine said

The man frowned. “The Marquess of Northington?”

She nodded. “But it seems you don’t have what I want.”

The shopkeeper drew himself up. “My shop carries only the highest quality furniture. Perhaps something on Glenmore Street would be more to your taste.”

“Miss Matheson is the Marquess of Northington’s ward,” Miss Stone said. “She does not shop on Glenmore Street.”

The man frowned. “I hadn’t heard he took a ward.”

“He has,” Miss Stone said in a chilly voice. “In fact, he’s throwing a ball in her honor this very evening.”

The man’s head snapped in Jeanine’s direction.

She nodded enthusiastically. “Perhaps you would like to come.”

His eyes widened.

“I’m not certain his lordship would be pleased,” Miss Stone said.

“He said I could invite guests,” Jeanine said.

“He said you could invite friends from Lady Paddington’s School for Young Ladies,” Miss Stone pointed out.

Jeanine waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, pooh. It makes no difference.” She smiled at the shopkeeper. “Surely, you would like to come? You know where we live, of course.”

The man remained mute, but shook his head.

“Never mind,” she said. “I can write it down for you. Oh, it is a shame you don’t have a game table. You see, he had a game table, but it was broken, and it is my fault because Mrs. McPhee and the deliveryman got into a row.”

“A row?” the man repeated.

She nodded. “Mrs. McPhee was angry with the deliveryman because she was certain he was trying to cheat Grey. I like Mrs. McPhee, but I think it was just a mistake. The deliveryman delivered too many vegetables--according to Mrs. McPhee, you understand. Gr-er, his lordship said he didn’t think they were enough vegetables. They had a terrible disagreement and Mrs. McPhee punched him in the jaw.”

“Punched him in the jaw?” the man mimicked.

“Exactly,” Jeanine said. “Mrs. McPhee uses her right hand to knead dough, which means she is very strong. I think that is very fortunate, for a woman must be able to defend herself. Don’t you agree?” She smiled before he could answer, and added, “Of course you do. When Mrs. McPhee punched the deliveryman, he crashed into the marquess’s game table. So, if not for the fact that he was throwing this party in my honor, the deliveryman would never have come, and he and Mrs. McPhee would never have been fighting, and the table wouldn’t have been broken. That makes it my fault. He didn’t complain—the marquess, I mean—but he wouldn’t, for his manners are too good.” She slanted a glance at Miss Stone. “Isn’t that so, Miss Stone?”

“Indeed, it is,” she replied.

“There you are,” Jeanine said. “The table was a very nice table, so it is only fair I should replace it.” She sighed. “I do wish you had one.”

The shopkeeper blinked. “But I do have one.”

“You do?” she exclaimed. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

The man looked helplessly at Miss Stone, who shrugged. He sighed in obvious resignation and said, “If you will follow me, please,” then turned.

He led them through the curtained door into a large storeroom crammed full of furniture. They weaved through the cramped rows and she spotted the game table beside a hideous green divan. When they reached the table, Jeanine knew it was exactly what she’d been looking for. The black and white checkered marble top was flawless. The dark wood, cherrywood, she guessed, perfectly complemented the marble. A drawer on the left side might hold cards and chess pieces while a lower shelf provided extra storage.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed. “Do you like it, Miss Stone?”

“I believe his lordship will be very pleased,” she said.

Jeanine looked at the shopkeeper. “Can you deliver it today, please?”

“Today? I would have to get a deliveryman.”

Jeanine laughed. “Just be careful to bring only the table, or Mrs. McPhee is liable to punch him.” The man’s eyes widened, and Jeanine added, “No need to worry. I’ll make sure she understands the table is to be delivered. Please say you can do it today. It would be a great favor, as the ball is this evening and I so want to surprise him beforehand. I must give you the address. That way you will know where to come to the party tonight.”

“I am certain the Marquess of Northington would not include me on his guest list,” the shopkeeper said.

“Why not? The party begins at eight. No one arrives at eight, I think—if they want to be fashionable, that is. But, of course, you know that.” She smiled again and wondered why the shopkeeper had gone pale.