When I first came down into the shop, I could see why my mother was having trouble paying the bills. One of my regular clients was there to buy a hat for his wife, but he was as indecisive as he was friendly. Mama’s one-word answers had plainly not been sufficient for him, though she had been steering him toward an understated bonnet that looked perfect for his wife.

“Mr. Martin,” I said, greeting the man warmly. “Tell me, how is dear Mrs. Martin? I know that we see little of her in summer, but I do so miss our conversations.”

He looked at me with relief, as if I were about to rescue him from the throes of shopping. “She is well, Mrs. Allen, but I am not. I am wanting a birthday present, and I have only three days.”

I smiled. “Was not my mother suggesting this hat, then? I think that it would make a marvelous present.”

“Yes,” he said, still nervous, then shook his head. “I do not know. Is not the brim a bit thin? My wife is already warm and uncomfortable in the heat, and I fear this would not shade her face enough.”

His wife was the sort of woman who never needed to go out in the heat of the day, but as it would have been impolitic to point this out, I took a different tack. “This is only for the early morning,” I explained. “The colors would suit a simple morning dress perfectly, and they would look well with her complexion. After the sun gets hot, she would either need to change into a different hat or simply come indoors.”

It took him several minutes to consider this, and I smiled to myself thinking of how mama would not have tolerated such a delay. By the time he finally decided to purchase the hat, I had a new customer on my hands.

My smile faded as I looked at her, and at first I could hardly manage to speak.

It was the young lady who had been on Luke Barlow’s arm, and she was demanding to know more about one of my hats.

“I hope this will not fade after the first day in the sun,” she whined. “So many hats only look well for a day, and I am going on a picnic tomorrow week that simply requires a hat with a bit of color.”

“I can assure you,” I promised, “Our hats are not quick to fade.”

“Yes,” she said, heaving a great sigh. “I believe that Lady Smith wore many of your hats.”

I did not know how to answer this. I wondered that she even brought up Lady Smith, tainted as that lady was by scandal and disgrace.

“Lady Smith is the ugliest woman I have ever seen, of course,” she said. “And she does not have decent taste herself. But she had been able to purchase the services of a capable ladies’ maid, at least before she was banished for abusing one of her sister’s children.”

It had been a scandal that rocked all of London, and yet I rarely heard about it. Most people who came to my shop were too well-bred to talk about Lady Smith, a horrid woman whose banishment was more of an inevitability than a surprise.

Apparently, Miss Culpepper was not at all concerned about that sort of thing. “Mrs. Yarrow is also ugly,” she was saying, “But she knows how to wear the latest fashions even better than Lady Smith did. Indeed, I know that I shall certainly outshine all of these ladies if I can only find the right wardrobe to complement my natural beauty.”

It was rather a strange statement, because one could not have said that the young woman was long on natural beauty. Indeed, if anything, her only beauty was that of youth. Her skin was untouched by the sun, her hair still long and fair without a trace of grey. Her face was unlined, and her health appeared excellent. But she was not favored with the kind of features that would have made her stunning. Indeed, I reasoned, Viviana was likely to grow into a much more handsome woman, though the thought of Vivi growing old enough to marry was enough to keep me awake at night. At least, I reasoned, I would be able to turn down any of her suitors. It was only if she turned twenty one without having married that I would have to marry, as she would be legally free to make a match just as rash and unsuitable as her mother’s had been.

The young lady, however, did not seem to be worried about her upcoming marriage to Luke Barlow. More fool her.

“I think this hat should do for summer,” she said. “Of course, when I got to Bath I shall need several more. Lady Washington will be there, and she always has a new hat every day. I could hardly imagine, but as my family is quite ten times as old as hers, I am sure that I may afford to do the same. Lady Washington, after all, is still not received in the best dressing rooms, in spite of her forty hats. Mind you, I am thinking of taking at least ten for my trousseau, and if you are very lucky I might well purchase them all from this shop, provided you can supply both the quality and variety that I am seeking.”

Many years ago, when I had dared to mention that some of the Tory politicians were liars and thieves, a corpulent gentleman within hearing had decided to call me a “nasty woman.” I supposed this to be in contrast to a gentlewoman, but could not help feeling rather proud of that particular epithet. Apparently, this man was so unused to women speaking truth in his presence that he found the very idea of it “nasty.”

This woman, however, was thoroughly nasty, which was rather unfortunate. Because I could tell right away that she was exactly the sort of woman who would see nothing morally wrong with vicious gossip, and yet be smart enough to hold her tongue around anyone she really wished to impress. Did she wish to impress Luke Barlow? Whatever the case was, she had certainly seemed to make an impression.

“Ouch! That hat pin is much too close,” she yelped, glaring at me.

I smiled. “But of course. My apologies.”

She yanked the pin out, looking at the hat. “Very well, then. I shall take it, even if you should have used much more care with the pin.”

I was tempted to take the money from her and throw it to the floor, but I forced myself not to spit as I manufactured a smile and stood tall. “Thank you ever so much. We shall have to give you one of our best boxes.”