The Harmless Deception

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CHAPTER ONE

Grace Whitton was changing the display of goods in the bowed window of her shop, Graceful Millinery, when first she saw them. A man and a young woman, standing on the pavement edging Felling Street.

She could not think why the pair attracted her attention. They were unremarkable, though handsome enough in a countrified way. They were staring about at the busy street in a bemused fashion, obviously unused to city ways. Rustics on their first visit to London, she decided with practiced ease, underfunded and uncertain. She hoped they would not decide to enter her establishment.

Grace attempted to cultivate a sophisticated trade, even though the ambition presented her with challenges. Situated as it was on the wrong--east--side of Charing Cross on one of the side streets fringing The Strand, her shop catered to the wives and daughters of City men, barristers and solicitors, successful merchants and seafarers, bankers and manufacturers, and the like. The lower classes did patronize her as well, and they all were improved by visits to her shop, but they were not encouraged. Graceful Millinery did not presume to attract the beau monde, but it provided elegant fripperies and costume enhancements of impeccable taste, as well as bonnets and hats in the latest modes to those desiring to be thought fashionable.

She placed two peacock feathers to a nicety beside a pair of palest blue elbow-length gloves. While avoiding the appearance of looking at the pair staring toward her window, she continued to observe them. They looked cold in the blustery late March afternoon. A nasty wind was blowing little whirls of grit and refuse down the busy street, and the sun was shining without a hint of spring warmth.

The couple moved as she replaced the mulberry velvet toque on the hat stand with a plaited-straw bonnet bound and be-ribboned in blue and willow green and decorated by an array of silk flowers tumbling about its narrow brim. She turned her head a trifle, and she could still see them from the corner of her eye.

The man was tall; his loosely-tailored coat, comfortably fitted breeches and dusty boots could not conceal powerful shoulders, a broad, deep chest, and muscular legs. His strong features were illumined by alert, moss green eyes, and his auburn hair was gathered back in an old-fashioned queue under a broad-brimmed hat. He could not have more clearly proclaimed his country origins.

His companion was at least ten years his junior, a pretty girl of medium height, at the moment apparently consumed by melancholy. Her untrimmed silk bonnet and dark blue cloak were of good quality fabric but sadly out-of-date styling. The brown hair visible inside her bonnet--surrounding a piquant face that looked more suited to merriment than misery--held a tinge of auburn, and her hazel eyes more than a hint of green. A lively country girl, Grace decided.

Surely they would pass by. They hesitated, held a brief discussion, turned away, then turned back. No, they were opening the door, coming in.

Grace backed out of the window, and shook out her jaconet muslin skirts without haste. She gave them a polite greeting, and as she always did with new customers, left them to orient themselves.

She liked to give visitors an opportunity to examine the wares she had artfully displayed. She was proud of her shop; it was tastefully fashioned as a drawing room with one or two good pictures hanging between the shelves on walls distempered in a pale mastic colour to reflect light into every corner. Oil lamps augmented the illumination provided by the wide window, and a handsome carpet quieted footsteps on the wooden floorboards. A small closed stove of the newest design gave a comforting heat on the back wall, and the muffled voices of her staff in the workroom offered a pleasant background hum.

Bonnets, hats, turbans and caps, some exotic feathers, spangled scarves, myriad gloves and expensive silk flowers lay upon the shelves and tables, and peeped from open stock drawers, splashing colour and texture across the subdued setting. The man appeared unmoved by the display of beauty around him, but the girl's eyes rounded and her small mouth pursed in an 'O' of delight.

Grace was weary; it had been a busy day, although the country pair currently were the only visitors. She longed for them to leave so that she might put up her closed sign and go upstairs to her parlour and rest. But her mother had taught her to never turn away custom, so with resolve she set aside her weariness.

Her sales assistant, Nancy, crossed the shop and paused for a brief word about her next day's work. Grace bade her good-night, and decided she had given her new customers enough time to look around. It was time to gently urge them to a purchase or from the store. She summoned a smile, and took a step towards the pair.

The young lady met her aloof, polite gaze, gulped hastily and burst into tears.

Grace's smile faltered and failed; she hesitated in her progress across the shop. She was appalled by the girl's lack of restraint and at the same time touched by her obvious distress.

The man regarded his companion worriedly, patting her shoulder in a hearty way. Stifle your greeting, Tans. 'Tis better saved for home, private like. Come now. He fished a snowy handkerchief from his pocket and passed it to the young woman.

The girl accepted the linen square, sniffed and said, Home? Home is hundreds of miles away!

Grace deemed it time to intervene, before another customer entered on the off-putting scene. She was moved by the girl's misery, but if these people were purse-pinched and prone to drama, it could do her custom no good.

She summoned her smile again. May I be of assistance, sir, miss? Is anything amiss? I do hope my wares have not upset the young lady so. Her mild attempt at humour was greeted with fleeting looks of incomprehension. The man was watching her with a wariness she misliked, while the girl gulped back her distress.

She sighed inwardly. These were rustics indeed. Were you interested in hats, or perhaps gloves, miss? she asked, deeming it best to ignore the tears that the girl was wiping away. She had found a direct inquiry often disarmed difficult patrons and caused casual callers to be on their way.

The man challenged her slightly disdainful air with a direct look and a coldly polite answer. We were looking for a bonnet, a nice fashionable one, for my sister, ma'am. His voice was deep, and husky as if with disuse, but his speech was more cultured than she had expected, given his previous words.

Offended by his cold unresponsiveness, Grace lifted her pointed chin a little. In what style...what colour?

The young lady spoke for herself, apparently recovered from her outburst. It is no good, Rufus. A new hat might cheer me if I had any fashionable frock to match it, but I have not. And how can I know what to buy? I am so far from knowing anything of the current modes that I cannot imagine wearing anything displayed here. Her round chin trembled. Even the fashion periodicals I have studied were a year out of date.

Grace feared more tears; pity stirred reluctantly in her. Will you come to the table here? She waved a hand gracefully at rear of her shop. I can bring you some selections to try. She did not know what drove her to make the offer. She should surely have determined if they had the money to make a purchase before offering to display her wares.

The girl looked to her brother for guidance and he nodded. Do it if you wish, Tansy. 'Tis what we came for.

He continued to watch Grace narrowly. Though she was made uncomfortable by the scrutiny, she restrained urge to snap at him.

Instead, she turned her attention to the girl. You would be much complimented by green, if I may say so, miss. She stepped around the gentleman with exaggerated care and crossed her shop to retrieve a pale straw bonnet bound in green grosgrain ribbon, trimmed with a cascade of silk leaves and a curling feather in the same green. She returned to the girl, circumnavigating the man once more. He merely regarded her steadily.

To her dismay the girl did not seize upon the hat with delight. Rather, her wide hazel eyes welled with tears once more. It...it's lovely, she choked out. But I have nothing suitable with which to wear it. You see, Miss...Miss...

Whitton, Grace Whitton. Grace had the feeling she was about to be the recipient of confidences she should avoid. But she was developing a curiosity about the pair, and waited for the information with composure.

Miss Whitton, we are newly come to London from the country, from County Durham. My brother, she waved a hand to indicate her companion, promised me a come-out in London, has always promised me that, but it is not at all what we thought. We are sadly unfashionable, and have no entrée into society. At least, my brother has letters of introduction but how are we to use them? And how can we use them when we look so...so countrified? We have no one to tell us how to go on. She stared into Grace's face, imploring understanding.

She was expecting assistance, Grace realized, hoping for deliverance from her ignorance. She hesitated, willing herself not to become involved. In a ploy to gain for herself time to think, she asked, And you are...?

The gentleman apparently deemed he had been ignored long enough. I am Evenswood, Miss Whitton. My sister is Miss Tansy Evens.

Grace choked on her misunderstanding, but schooled her face to polite interest while her mind raced. These were no bumpkins but titled folk, the sort of clientele she had long sought. They were countrified but perhaps not purse-pinched at all. Ah, indeed, I am honoured by your acquaintance, she said inwardly cursing her unaccustomed ineptitude. Her curiosity intensified. Home is an hotel, while you are in town, no doubt?

The Clarendon, Miss Whitton. It is scarcely homely, but does well enough. The bishop advised us of its suitability. The man was staring at her again, his gaze a rapier-sharp challenge.

Even they barely tolerate our rustic appearance, his sister said. I think they fear we will harm their reputation.

They like our brass as much as anyone's, Lord Evenswood said with cold disdain.

Not at all poverty-stricken, thought Grace, her mind working at a fever pace, and on terms with the great bishop of Durham. If I may be so bold as to make a suggestion then, costume being essential here in London, in our superficial society?

Yes? Lord Evenswood crossed his arms over an impressive breadth of chest and seemed to instill condescension into every letter of the short word he uttered.

A frisson of awareness of the man's earthy masculinity edged up Grace's straight spine. She dismissed the sensation by the simple expedient of encouraging the irritation his tone engendered in her. Holding onto her temper with grim resolution, she addressed herself to his sister. I have a friend, a seamstress of extraordinary talent, but two doors away. Her name is Frances Wood--her shop is called 'Francine's'. If you would like, I could accompany you there in order to introduce you to her, Miss Evens. She could provide you with such garments as you might want, and I can match bonnets and hats and other accessories to them.

Tansy Evens looked at her brother, her eyes wide and suddenly tearless. Excitement and pleasure were dawning in her piquant face. May we, Rufus? Please? If I could have a fashionable wardrobe, it would be a beginning. I know we talked of going home again, but perhaps we should stay...see it through. With a tentative smile at Grace, she added, It must be fate brought us to Miss Whitton.

Grace smiled at the girl in return; she seemed a lovable child. Grace thought Tansy Evens probably six or seven years her junior. She felt suddenly quite ancient.

I hardly think divine intervention was mobilized in this instance. Lord Evenswood's glance dwelt indulgently on his sister's transformed countenance. But very well, Tans. I have no intention of going back on my promise. If you wish to cut a dash in town, you shall.

Grace thought his austere features softened remarkably and his harsh voice gentled as he reassured the girl. He seemed truly to care for his sister, she thought. It was the only fact she had garnered so far in his favour.

His moss-green eyes returned to stare evenly at Grace. We would appreciate your assistance ma'am. Lead on, if you will.

I must just fetch my assistant, if you will wait one moment, my lord. Grace gave a slight curtsey and, suppressing a desire to dash out of the room, sedately crossed to the curtained entrance to her workroom and whisked through.

Miss Purcell, I must go out. She found her aide overseeing bonnet construction at the back of the workroom. She added in an undertone, I am taking two new patrons to Francine's--clothes from her, hats from us. This could be a lucrative arrangement--strangers to town from up north---far up north. I must just run upstairs for my shawl. Will you tend them while I do?

She did not wait for an answer, but dashed up the stairs to her living quarters, to the shelf that bore her well-thumbed Debrett's Peerage. She riffled the pages impatiently.

Evenswood...Evenswood...County Durham. There they were: Rufus John Evens, sixth Baron Evenswood. Sibling Tansy Sophronia Evens; home, the Carolingian Evenswood Grange. She flung the book back on the table startling her canary from a doze in its gilt cage, caught up a shawl at random, and hurried back down the stairs. She paused to catch her breath before re-entering the shop, twitching her dove grey skirts straight, draping the slate blue folds of her best merino shawl to advantage over her shoulders.

She entered the showroom of her shop sedately, no sign of her previous haste and excitement in her calm face and demeanor. Miss Purcell was aiding Miss Evens to try on myriad hats. Grace was pleased to see the girl's mood improved; the delight of titled customers and the possibility of substantial recompense made every effort worthwhile.

The baron was watching his sister with an indulgent expression softening the strong planes of his face.

Grace observed him, striving for an objective opinion. His clothes did him no justice at all, she reflected, and as for that hair--well, it was wonderfully thick, slightly curling hair but a queue was astonishingly old-fashioned. She spoke with careful consideration but on an impulse. Lord Evenswood, there is a tailor across the street. His establishment looks nothing, but he is very clever with his needle. His coats for gentlemen have the appearance of Weston's finest. Perhaps...

The gentleman turned an ice-cold glance on her, the gentleness fading from his face. He seemed to weigh his words, then said, Miss Whitton, you may turn out my sister as you will, but I see no point in dandifying myself. Clearly he was affronted by her suggestion. I ken your plan, but our visit here will be brief, and I have no intention of cutting a dash.

Grace thought she had made her recommendation most delicately, and was in turn offended by his cold dismissal. She could not forebear to say, Very well, sir. But there is little point in improving your sister's appearance, if your own will hold her back from any success in society.

Aware that she was being unconscionably rude, to a customer and a nobleman, she stepped up to Miss Evens' side. She caught a cautionary glance from Miss Purcell and knew it was well-deserved. She swallowed the anxiety that welled up in her throat, and said, Will you permit me to take that green bonnet, and this Pamela hat that you like so well, with us to Francine's, Miss Evens? When she sees how well they become you, and what you like, she will know how to approach your new wardrobe.

Oh, may I? They are both ever so lovely. The girl looked again to her brother as she rose. He nodded a slight smile curving his firm lips.

Thank you, Miss Purcell, for your help. Tansy Evens seemed thoroughly recovered from her melancholy. Oh, this is very exciting, Miss Whitton. I shall never be able to thank you.

Lord Evenswood seemed to feel no such gratitude; Grace encountered an unfriendly look on his face as she passed him. She lifted her chin and pulled open the heavy oak door for her clients. The baron took the edge of the door in his own hand as he clapped his broad brimmed hat back on his head, and waved her and his sister out into the street ahead of him. With her head high, Grace wrapped her shawl more closely about her; the cold wind snatched at her skirts as she led Tansy Evens from her shop. Lord Evenswood she left to follow as best he would.

* * * *

What a lovely afternoon! Tansy Evens sighed and hugged the bandbox that sat on her lap, as she and her brother travelled back to Mayfair and the Clarendon Hotel in a hackney carriage.

Lovely! Rufus found himself growling...again. You wept all over a shopgirl, Tans. I've not seen you greet like that in years. What were you thinking?

I did not intend to, his sister said, vivid colour creeping into her cheeks. It was just that she had such kind eyes, Rufus. She is the first person in London to have displayed any concern about us...me. Even the hotel looks down on us, but Miss Whitton did not.

Rufus remembered the milliner's disdainful glance at his dusty boots, his hair and his favourite hat. He could only suppose his sister had seen things very differently. He had not detected the kindness his sister had, and he said so. Then he added, She looks to have a broomstick for a spine; I've not seen such a rigid carriage since that one governess you had strapped you to a backboard.

Tansy giggled. She is very proper; a real lady. But I cannot think why you could not see her thoughtfulness. To take us to her friend, and recommend a shoemaker, and then the haberdasher near Leicester Square; she put herself to a good deal of trouble.

All in the name of profit, for her and all her friends. Rufus congratulated himself on his restraint as he leaned back on the squabs. He would like to be a good deal more harsh on the subject of Miss Whitton and her 'friends'. With anticipation, he thought of the decanter of Madeira awaiting him in the private parlour of their suite at the Clarendon and schooled himself to patience.

Dusk was gathering as the jarvey threaded the carriage through the busy streets. Gloom crept from the narrow streets and alleys that branched off the Strand. Lamplighters were beginning their rounds, and a drizzling mist was forming, edging into the carriage. Rufus was aware of the chill, even before it bore the unmistakable stench of the city into the shabby hackney with it. He was accustomed to strong smells--of stable and sty and of town and industry--but nothing in his experience had prepared him for the stench of London. And the noise. They had been but a sen'night in the city and already he was weary of the noise. The rowting and roaring of his prime ox was nothing to it. It penetrated even the quiet portals of the Clarendon, and in the streets the din was unbearable. The cries of sellers of all kinds, the hooves, the wheels, the chatter, the hum of the great metropolis made him want to bolt back to the peace of County Durham.

Oh, Rufus, don't be grumpy. The day started out so poorly, and now... Now I think I am the luckiest girl in London. Tansy gestured at the parcels and band boxes that piled on the seat beside her. I am certain Miss Whitton was not motivated by mercenary impulses.

You think not? Well, she knows how to make a sale certainly, Evenswood replied, withdrawing his attention from the bustling city and thinking again of the ladylike shopkeeper who had hinted that he cut a poor figure.

His sister's eyes rounded. Did you not like her, Rufus? I thought she was lovely; so courteous and ever so refined. And very pretty, did you not notice?

Rufus studied his sister, wondering about her question, if she was being facetious. Of course, he had noticed Grace Whitton was lovely. She had a form any man would notice, though it had been garbed in a gown made high about her slender neck. Her dark curls had been confined by a small cap, revealing dainty ears decorated with some sort of ear-bob. Her grey eyes were large and well-opened, if critical, and her lips were lush and rosy, even if she did express unwelcome opinions. She's a shopgirl, Tans. If she appears cultured, it is because she has learned from watching her customers. And do I have to like her? She is providing us a service, and stands to make a great deal of money from it.

Rufus! his sister said, her voice full of reproach. She was staring from the window, still avid after a week to see every detail of the great city. Look, men with advertising boards. Oh, but I cannot read them; we go too quickly. She turned to look again at him. Just because you are mercenary, it does not follow that everyone is. And she is not just an assistant. I think that is her own shop--Grace, Graceful Millinery, see? I believe she truly cared that I was upset. She nodded her bonneted head decisively. She is my first friend in London. I shall visit her again tomorrow.

Rufus shook his head. He was not setting foot in Graceful Millinery again; he'd be damned if he would. He tempered his words for his sister's ears. Well, I cannot escort you. I planned to go to Tattersall's tomorrow. See about a phaeton and pair...these hackneys are no way to see the town nor is our travelling chaise. You will have to wait for another visit to your new friend.

No I shan't; you may go about your business and welcome, she said, sticking out her tongue in a childish gesture designed to make him smile. I shall take Meade with me; she will be of more use to me in matters of fashion than you.

Rufus did grin then. What was he about, letting a shopgirl irritate him? Grace Whitton was no more than doing her job and she was of no account. You continue with that immature rudeness and I shall return all your finery.

Tansy beamed, knowing his threats to be idle. I will visit the millinery in the afternoon. In the morning I shall be busy with the hairdresser whom Miss Whitton suggested, if he can attend me. I shall have a new coiffure, and be much better able to choose gowns and hats with the improvement.

Rufus drew off his low-crowned beaver and ran a hand over his own hair, uncomfortably aware that it was untidy. His thoughts unwillingly returned to Grace Whitton. How dare that woman criticize his apparel, his appearance? What did she know of the matters that took his attention--the long days he spent on his tenants' farms, in his lead mines, his coal mines, and his manufactories? He had no time for superficial nonsense. Too many people depended on him for him to worry about the impression he made on others. He stared from the window, but suddenly saw his own reflection there. And he saw Tansy regarding him from the mirror image of her window.

She had pursed her lips and was studying him thoughtfully. She hesitated and then said, Rufus, have you seen any gentlemen here in London with their hair long enough to be tied back?

He was