“Does this kind of thing happen often?” she asked.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Sometimes. With certain women.”
“Who?”
“Shall I make a list?”
She looked both fascinated and appalled. “Have there been so many?”
“A few,” he admitted.
“And . . . do you always reject them?”
“Always. I don’t mix business with pleasure.” As soon as he said it, he could see the wheels turning in her head. The conclusions she must be drawing.
“How do you account for me?” she asked.
“You were different. Unexpected. The way you came into the shop that evening. How you spoke to me and shook my hand. You took me by surprise.”
“Undoubtedly,” she said. “You must have been horrified when I kissed you that day in the fitting room.”
He was startled into a husky laugh. “Hardly. I kissed you back, didn’t I?”
“Did you? I’ve never been certain.”
“I did,” he assured her. “And very nearly said something stupid.”
Her mouth tilted up at one corner. “What?”
“Something about how beautiful you are, probably.” He took her hand and held it warmly in his, bare skin to bare skin. The same jolt of connection crackled between them as on the day they’d first met, warming his blood and quickening his pulse. “Or about how much I admire you. Something that would have put us both to the blush.”
“Shocking,” she murmured.
“Terribly shocking,” he agreed.
Her fingers threaded through his. “Will the article harm your business?”
He answered without equivocation. “Yes.”
“You’re that certain?”
“If fashionable ladies begin to equate lack of embellishment with pauperism, they’ll turn away from my designs.”
“Your designs are admired by everyone who sees them,” Evelyn said. “People will soon forget whatever nonsense was printed in the papers.”
“Possibly,” he said.
But he wasn’t counting on it.
He had a sinking feeling that this was but the beginning of the end of his brief blaze of popularity as a dressmaker. And if his fortunes sank, then any chance of a future with Evelyn sank right along with them.
He drew her hand onto his knee. “Evie . . . There’s another reason I came today.”
Her color heightened. “You wish to speak with my uncle.”
“I did intend to, but—”
“I’m afraid it’s impossible. For one thing, he’s gone to his club. And for another, he says it’s not to him you must apply, but to my aunt Nora. Which means . . . if you have a particular question to ask, you must go to Sussex.”
“Ah. That might be a bit tricky.”
Her gaze softened. “Yes, I know. You’re very busy. You needn’t go immediately.”
Ahmad felt a stab of bitter regret. He could no more go to Sussex to ask permission for Evelyn’s hand than he could approach her uncle. He had to wait and see how this all affected his business. If everything fell to rack and ruin over the next weeks, he would be in no position to take a wife.
But he wouldn’t burden Evelyn with that possibility. Not today. He couldn’t bear to see the disappointment in her eyes.
“No, indeed,” he said. He brought her hand to his lips and brushed a kiss to her knuckles. “I still have your black afternoon dress to finish.”
* * *
Evelyn cantered down the length of Rotten Row on Hephaestus, in company with her three friends. Anne’s older stallion, Saffron, kept a lazy pace, sometimes falling behind. Stella intermittently surged ahead on Locket. And Julia cantered steadily on Cossack, the great black gelding’s gait never changing.
It was half past five and the rest of London society was out in force. Ladies riding their expensive horses, gentlemen driving stylish sporting gigs, and stately dowagers parading in lavish open carriages.
Evelyn and her three friends cantered until they were out of the way of most of the traffic before slowing to a trot, and then to a walk. Their grooms followed several yards behind them.
“I needed that,” Anne said. “I’ve been cloistered inside all morning with Mama and her spiritualist friends.”
“More preparations for meeting the boy medium?” Stella asked.
“Endless preparations,” Anne said.
“I’ve never been to the West Midlands,” Evelyn said. “It will be an adventure.”
Anne gave her an amused look. “I wouldn’t go that far. We’ll probably have more fun on the railway journey than we will in the city itself.”
“Where will you be staying?” Stella asked. “With the boy’s family?”
“No, indeed. We’ve booked rooms at a hotel for two nights.” Anne straightened the skirts of her habit. “The séance will be at the boy’s house. Mama says it’s where he’s best able to commune with his spirit guide.”
“He has a familiar spirit, too?” Evelyn had thought only Lady Arundell was gifted with one of those.
“Oh yes,” Anne replied. “Most mediums do. It’s quite fashionable.”
“Not according to my brother,” Stella informed them. “He thinks spiritualism is the work of the devil, and spirit guides nothing more than demons leading ladies and gentlemen into sin.”
“If only it were that exciting,” Anne said. “The truth is, Dmitri is worse than any maiden aunt. He’s always giving Mama new edicts about my behavior. At least . . . she claims they come from him.”
Julia giggled. It set the rest of them off.
Two well-to-do ladies driving by in a barouche gave them a quelling glare. It was considered ill-bred to show undue emotion in public.
Evelyn’s laughter faded.
Julia rode up alongside her. “I like it better here in the morning. One can ride without censure.”
“There’s always going to be people watching and judging,” Anne replied, coming up on the other side of Julia. “The secret is not to mind it.”
Stella leaned forward in her sidesaddle to stroke Locket’s silvery neck. “Not all of us have the privilege of ignoring society’s opinions.”
“Why shouldn’t we ignore them?” Evelyn wondered. “If they’re wrong.”