Winning Miss Wakefield: The Wallflower Wedding Series by Vivienne Lorret Page B

interests—needlework as well as their statuses as wallflowers—they’d become fast friends.
    Merribeth knew she’d never have survived Mr. Clairmore’s betrayal without them.
    With a laugh at the clerk’s discomfort, Delaney said, “Oh, go ahead and give me that horrid chartreuse as well. I’ll give it to Miss Pursglove as a peace offering the next time I incur her wrath by acting like myself instead of a soldier of decorum.”
    Merribeth exchanged looks with Emma and Penelope. Delaney was impulsive to a fault, and there was no reining her in—not that they’d ever want to. To them, she was quite perfect just the way she was. However, to her decorum instructor, the dour Miss Pursglove . . . well, there was no hope to gain her good opinion. Not that Delaney wanted it. No, in fact, she was guaranteed permanent placement on Miss Pursglove’s vexation list. New battle lines were drawn between the two of them daily.
    “What length would you like in the silver, Merribeth?” Delaney asked, as the clerk set about wrapping the ribbon in brown paper and string.
    “I am not interested in the silver,” she lied.
    Delaney made a passable attempt at intimidation with the lift of her brow. “I beg to differ. You were practically ogling the entire spool.”
    “Ogling,” Merribeth scoffed—which might have been convincing if not for a wave of heat rising to her cheeks. “If you’ll recall, I’m going out of town and will have no need of it.”
    With Merribeth’s meager allowance, she couldn’t afford it anyway. Even though Delaney could, as a matter of personal pride, she didn’t want her friend to buy it for her. Besides, her friend would want to see what she chose to create with it, and all Merribeth wanted to do was hold it in her hands and stare at it for hours, remembering the heated shimmer in a certain gentleman’s gaze.
    “Don’t remind me,” Delaney huffed, dropping her new purchase into her periwinkle reticule before cinching the silver cords. “I hope you know, you are leaving me to face the wolves alone.”
    “Oh dear,” Merribeth said, with Emma and Penelope mirroring her concern. “I thought the backlash from last year’s . . . incident . . . had died down.”
    The members of their needlework circle vowed never to speak of it. However, if her friend was suffering any of the societal injustice that had recently befallen her, then Merribeth was determined to speak of it and help in any way she could.
    Delaney laughed. “I’m afraid that will never be forgotten. No doubt, they’ll have it inscribed on my gravestone. Here lies Delaney McFarland, the woman who —Oh bother, what is he doing here?”
    Merribeth looked up to see none other than Mr. Croft, the famed second party to the incident . Thankfully, he merely inclined his head in greeting but made no attempt to cross the store in order to speak with them. Besides that, he seemed quite busy acting as chaperone to three of his sisters. Merribeth knew of a fourth as well, but she was perhaps too young for an afternoon outing.
    Since he’s done them a service not long ago, she returned the greeting, keeping her society-approved smile in place.
    However, Delaney did not. “That man seems to have no other purpose than to vex me. No matter where I go, he’s there, in far too close proximity. And you know what happens when we are seen together, don’t you?”
    Merribeth knew. Seeing them together only reminded the entire ton of the infamous incident.
    “I will never live it down so long as he frequents the same establishments.” Delaney cinched the silver cords on her reticule tighter. “Though why he should step into Haversham’s of all places when Forester’s is far closer to his part of town, I shall never—” Her words stopped abruptly when Elena Mallory, gossip monger extraordinaire, sidled in and batted her sparse lashes up at him. “Of course. How lovely that my cousin should be here as well. No doubt she’s behind this,