Barbara Metzger by Rakes Ransom Page B

now-dusty Hessians resting on the other side of hers.
    “So, ladies, time for a council of war. What plans have you made?”
    “Clothes first,” his aunt proclaimed. “The dressmakers can be working while we see to introductions.”
    “But I have plenty of clothes. They were sent ahead to Aunt Amabel’s.”
    “A lady never has enough clothes. Tiens , styles change overnight in London. Now you two make your arrangements. I rest.”
    Jacelyn looked at the figure of Claibourne’s aunt in her corner, all in black again, a high-necked stuff gown, and was dubious about the lady’s taste, much less her knowledge of the current fashions. Aunt Amabel, however, would have the vapours over the styles and colours Jacelyn chose. She wasn’t even in London, and already there were difficulties.
    As if reading her thoughts, Mme. Aubonier opened her eyes briefly and fixed Jacey in her glance. “Not to fear, petite . I go to visit these grande dames of your English ton . They talk more frankly without a jeune fille present. He goes with you to the shops,” she decreed, nodding in Claibourne’s direction before shutting her eyes again.
    “You, my lord, trailing after me in the dress shops?”
    “And the milliners and booteries; I’ll wait outside the corsetiere, of course.” He caught Jacelyn’s look in his aunt’s direction. “All very proper: an open carriage, your maid for chaperone.”
    “I haven’t got a maid,” Jacelyn contradicted. “I don’t want one, fussing about me and telling me what to wear, like a child.”
    The earl inspected his sleeve for lint. “I’d be your abigail myself, pet, doing up all those little buttons and combing out your hair, but I draw the line at mending and pressing.”
    “Mrs. Phipps always did that for me. I see that I cannot expect Aunt Amabel’s London housekeeper to sew new ribbons on my gowns. How does one arrange to hire a lady’s maid in Town? At home Mrs. Phipps would have promoted the second housemaid, or found a cousin who was good with a needle.”
    “I’m certain your aunt has already seen to it, once your clothes arrived.” He held his hand up when he saw her brow start to lower. “You needn’t keep her, whoever your aunt selects, if she doesn’t suit you. Remember, your father sent funds of your own, so you can hire any amount of fancy dressers, or second housemaids, if you’d rather.”
    That satisfied her but, curious, she asked, “Do you have a valet?”
    “Arthur and I share a man-of-all-trades. Haggerty was my batman in the army. He can remove stains from a cravat and poultice a horse’s hock and cook a fine rabbit stew, if need be. Mostly he makes certain I’m tricked out à la mode.”
    “Do you know a lot about ladies’ fashions?” Jacelyn wanted to know, getting back to the subject at hand, though she was fairly sure of the answer.
    That speck of lint seemed most tenacious. Claibourne cleared his throat. “I have had a, er, deal of experience in such matters.”
    “I’m sure you have, if half the rumours are correct!”
    “Hold your claws, little kitten. I never said I was a monk. One mustn’t listen to rumours, anyway.”
    “Sometimes one cannot help it. People think they should tell you, for your own good. One story has it that you have an uncle”—she lowered her voice to a near whisper—“who is a slave trader.”
    “Didn’t your father explain about all that? I was sure he would.”
    “No. He said you had an unfortunate family history which had no reflexion on you. Is it true?”
    “Yes, Fenton did own ships in the black trade; I don’t believe he does any longer. You needn’t worry about seeing him, however, he never goes out and I certainly never visit him. You won’t meet up with my cousin Percival either. He is not received in polite circles, thank goodness. A greater nodcock you’ll never see.”
    Then, under Jacelyn’s interested questioning, he explained how his family tree got so infested, how his Aunt Sydelle was