Passiflora’s lips curved. Obviously none of the women cared about his not-quite-late MotherDam’s feelings. She’d cheated D’Dandelion, ruined Dufleur’s father— how? He’d have to find out as soon as possible—and Saille sensed D’Holly had a personal animosity, too.
Attending the functions of the social season—and he had to do that if Dufleur was—would probably be very revealing as to nobles his MotherDam had alienated or allied with. He had a feeling that the people she’d considered acceptable wouldn’t be those he’d want at his back in any FirstFamilies noble maneuvers.
Dufleur cleared her throat, glanced at him with a faint flush in her cheeks. She gestured to the box that D’Dandelion was opening, pulling back layers of softleaves that protected the looserobe. “Some of that embroidery is my best work.” Her lips thinned. He wondered if she’d done the robe before or after his MotherDam had ruined her father.
Lifting her stare from the panel D’Dandelion was unwrapping,Dufleur said, “I’d like it to hang in the Enlli Gallery.”
“You had but to ask,” he said, then he glanced at the looserobe and caught his breath. It was magnificent—a shimmering pale green silkeen the color of new Willow leaves, with varyingshades of darker green embroidery. The scene of a weepingwillow shading a deep green rushing river seemed three-dimensional.
“Quite, quite fabulous,” Passiflora said. “The robe certainly belongs in Enlli.”
“Of course,” Saille said, staring at the exquisite stitches that must have taken septhours and Flair to be so striking. Septhours and Flair of Dufleur’s talented hands. What other precise talents had Dufleur’s hands mastered? Desire shivered through him. He cleared his throat, met D’Dandelion’s eyes. “Send T’Willow GreatHouse another bill for the looserobe. It will be paid before WorkEnd Bell.”
D’Dandelion smiled. “A pleasure conducting business with you, T’Willow .”
A calendar sphere popped into existence, flashing red. “T’Willow, your first appointment of the day is in ten minutes.”
Dufleur saw T’Willow’s hand, stretched out to touch her embroideryon the robe his MotherDam had rejected, fall. He frowned at the calendar sphere, bowed to Passiflora, then to D’Dandelion. To Dufleur’s surprise, he took one of her hands and pressed a kiss on the back. “Later,” he said.
She nodded.
He scooped up his bag and nudged Fairyfoot away from the door before opening it and striding with masculine grace into the cold, gray day. Her hand tingled, but she didn’t want to considerthe attraction she had to the nobleman. So she turned her thoughts to the afterimage of the calendar sphere that floated before her eyes.
It was another small object a long-ago Thyme had invented. Perhaps, perhaps, if she could invent something small and very useful, she could persuade the FirstFamilies to lift their ban on time experimentation. She’d have to cudgel her brain.
Passiflora scooped up the box holding the rewrapped looserobeand indicated the counter where much of Dufleur’s work lay.
But not all of her embroidery. Canny D’Dandelion had kept some pieces that she would mount on the wall, anticipating sales that might come her way from those who visited the art gallery. After all, Dufleur only provided the embroidery on exquisitegarments. D’Dandelion and others made the expensive clothing. She’d also negotiated with Passiflora that the discreet label next to Dufleur’s artwork—if this gallery showing materialized—would say “from the shop, Dandelion Silk.” She might be losing Dufleur’s services, but she’d definitely get something from Dufleur’s change of circumstances.
Then Passiflora turned to Dufleur and examined her top to toe. “Stand straight.”
Dufleur rose, snapped her spine flat, tucked in her hips, pushed her shoulders back.
Tapping a finger on her lips, D’Holly said, “You move . . .” she stopped before
Attending the functions of the social season—and he had to do that if Dufleur was—would probably be very revealing as to nobles his MotherDam had alienated or allied with. He had a feeling that the people she’d considered acceptable wouldn’t be those he’d want at his back in any FirstFamilies noble maneuvers.
Dufleur cleared her throat, glanced at him with a faint flush in her cheeks. She gestured to the box that D’Dandelion was opening, pulling back layers of softleaves that protected the looserobe. “Some of that embroidery is my best work.” Her lips thinned. He wondered if she’d done the robe before or after his MotherDam had ruined her father.
Lifting her stare from the panel D’Dandelion was unwrapping,Dufleur said, “I’d like it to hang in the Enlli Gallery.”
“You had but to ask,” he said, then he glanced at the looserobe and caught his breath. It was magnificent—a shimmering pale green silkeen the color of new Willow leaves, with varyingshades of darker green embroidery. The scene of a weepingwillow shading a deep green rushing river seemed three-dimensional.
“Quite, quite fabulous,” Passiflora said. “The robe certainly belongs in Enlli.”
“Of course,” Saille said, staring at the exquisite stitches that must have taken septhours and Flair to be so striking. Septhours and Flair of Dufleur’s talented hands. What other precise talents had Dufleur’s hands mastered? Desire shivered through him. He cleared his throat, met D’Dandelion’s eyes. “Send T’Willow GreatHouse another bill for the looserobe. It will be paid before WorkEnd Bell.”
D’Dandelion smiled. “A pleasure conducting business with you, T’Willow .”
A calendar sphere popped into existence, flashing red. “T’Willow, your first appointment of the day is in ten minutes.”
Dufleur saw T’Willow’s hand, stretched out to touch her embroideryon the robe his MotherDam had rejected, fall. He frowned at the calendar sphere, bowed to Passiflora, then to D’Dandelion. To Dufleur’s surprise, he took one of her hands and pressed a kiss on the back. “Later,” he said.
She nodded.
He scooped up his bag and nudged Fairyfoot away from the door before opening it and striding with masculine grace into the cold, gray day. Her hand tingled, but she didn’t want to considerthe attraction she had to the nobleman. So she turned her thoughts to the afterimage of the calendar sphere that floated before her eyes.
It was another small object a long-ago Thyme had invented. Perhaps, perhaps, if she could invent something small and very useful, she could persuade the FirstFamilies to lift their ban on time experimentation. She’d have to cudgel her brain.
Passiflora scooped up the box holding the rewrapped looserobeand indicated the counter where much of Dufleur’s work lay.
But not all of her embroidery. Canny D’Dandelion had kept some pieces that she would mount on the wall, anticipating sales that might come her way from those who visited the art gallery. After all, Dufleur only provided the embroidery on exquisitegarments. D’Dandelion and others made the expensive clothing. She’d also negotiated with Passiflora that the discreet label next to Dufleur’s artwork—if this gallery showing materialized—would say “from the shop, Dandelion Silk.” She might be losing Dufleur’s services, but she’d definitely get something from Dufleur’s change of circumstances.
Then Passiflora turned to Dufleur and examined her top to toe. “Stand straight.”
Dufleur rose, snapped her spine flat, tucked in her hips, pushed her shoulders back.
Tapping a finger on her lips, D’Holly said, “You move . . .” she stopped before
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