Free Fallen Angel by Charlotte Louise Dolan Page B

teeth began to chatter too much for her to speak, and she was forced to clamp them tightly together.
    “All females are cork-brained idiots,” he muttered under his breath, but instead of turning the horses around and taking her back to her sister’s house, which she fully expected him to do, he sent the pair tro tting briskly along in the direction of Oxford Street.
    Halting the carriage in front of Nicholay’s Fur and Feather Manufactory, which had on display a beautiful sea-green cloak, he said curtly, “Come inside, and we shall see how that cloak in the window will suit you. It appears to be lined with fur, which will at least stop the wind.”
    “Oh, but I am sure it will be much too expensive. I could not possibly afford such an elegant cloak,” Verity said, even while she gazed with envious eyes at the beautiful garment.
    “You needn’t worry about the cost. I have every intention of paying for it,” he said, climbing down and reaching up to assist her.
    Pulling back, she said, “You may buy whatever you wish, of course, but I am afraid it would be most improper for me to accept such an expensive present from you, my lord.”
    For a moment he looked so angry she rather thought he intended to drag her bodily out of the carriage and force her to do as he bid, but apparently upon further consideration, he saw the wisdom of her words.
    He did not, however, allow her objections to deflect him from his chosen course of action. “Then I shall give you the money, and you shall go in and buy the cloak, Miss Jolliffe.”
    “Which is no less improper, my lord,” she felt obliged to point out even though she was sure he was well aware of the rules of society.
    “But much more discreet, which is all that matters in such instances.”
    Still she hesitated, and finally in exasperation he said, “I am not a patient man, Miss Jolliffe, and I dislike being crossed. You would do well to keep that in mind.” Knowing in her heart that what she was doing was morally wrong, Verity nevertheless allowed him to help her out of the carriage. He tucked a leather pouch heavy with coins in her hand, gave her a shove, and with great trepidation, she entered the shop, which was heavenly warm.
    There was but one customer, a rather stout woman who appeared from her dress to be the wife of a prosperous merchant. She was keeping both clerks busy fetching out ostrich plumes of assorted colors for her inspection.
    Verity tried several times to catch the attention of one of the young men, but they had apparently decided she was not rich enough to afford anything in their shop, and after a single glance in her direction, they rather pointedly ignored her.
    After about five minutes, the door of the shop was thrust open, allowing a gust of very cold air to enter and with it a most irate Lord Sherington.
    The elder of the two clerks immediately rushed to his side and asked if he could be of any assistance, but Lord Sherington merely scowled and pointed out crossly that another customer was ahead of him.
    Looking around, the clerk’s glance fell on Verity, but again he dismissed her. “I am sure the lady is not in any particular hurry, my lord,” he began. “Might I show you some fine beaver pelts we received only last week—”
    His voice more chilling than the wind outside, Lord Sherington said, “I have no wish to be waited on out of turn.”
    The other clerk and the merchant’s wife gaped in astonishment, then the senior clerk hurried over to Verity, and demanded impatiently to know how he could help her.
    “I should like to try on the green cloak in the window,” she said.
    “That is one of our most expensive items,” the clerk said, looking down his nose at her.
    Knowing Lord Sherington was there to back her up, even though he was pretending an interest in some driving gloves lying on the counter, Verity felt bold enough to say, “If you do not wish to show me the cloak, perhaps you could inform the owner of this shop that I