It wasn’t a question. Nor was I quite sure of the meaning of her blessing, only that it didn’t quite sound like she was blessing me.
“Yes, well, good morning, Miss Dubose. It was a pleasure to see you again.” I took a step backward, deciding to leave her note at the front desk. “Have a lovely day.” Clutching my disreputable valise, I began my retreat.
“Were the bath towels not to your liking? They’re the most luxurious towels I’ve ever used, and they’re peach because the Ritz has declared that hue to be the most flattering on a woman’s skin.”
I paused. “I found them quite lovely, thank you. Why do you ask?”
She looked perplexed. “Because I can’t understand why you’re leaving after just one night. César Ritz is turning over in his grave at the very thought of a guest choosing to leave early.”
“It’s just . . . ,” I stammered, watching as she unfolded her lean form from the deep chair and stood to face me.
“I’m surprised you actually stayed the night. I had you pegged for a middle-of-the-night bolter. But I thought to come down here this morning just in case I’d misjudged.” She smiled. “I’m very good at judging people and predicting what they’re going to do next. It’s a very useful talent.”
I straightened my shoulders. “Well, you were wrong this time. Perhaps you’re not as good at judging as you might think.”
Her smile didn’t falter. “Or perhaps you’re not as convinced that you should leave as you might think.”
Half of my mouth lifted of its own accord. “Touché.”
She waved at a passing uniformed valet and a gray-mustached man approached. “Please take Mrs. Langford’s valise back to her room.”
With the certainty that I had no choice, I relinquished the grasp on my bag. The valet began his retreat, but Miss Dubose called him back. “And please take her hat, too. But find another place to put it besides her room.” She reached up and unpinned my hat, considerably the worse for wear after yesterday’s events on the streets of Paris.
“And where should I put it, madame?”
“Anywhere. Absolutely anywhere else besides her head or her room.”
He bowed and walked away, not even looking back once.
“That was a good hat, I’ll have you know,” I said, less perturbed than I should have been.
“For an aged and blind fishmonger, maybe. We’ll find you a new one today on our shopping expedition.” She slipped her hand into the crook of my elbow. “But first we must eat. There’s a lovely café very close by that has the most delightful hot chocolate. And there’s nothing like a croissant or pain au chocolat to give us the energy we will need.” Her gaze flickered over my outfit again and frowned. “Thankfully there are plenty of cafés in Paris. I think we’re going to need at least two.”
“Really, Miss Dubose. This is entirely unnecessary. I brought two perfectly good dresses with me.”
“Call me Precious. It’s what I’ve been called since five minutes after my birth when my grandmama took one look at me and called me precious. As for your perfectly good dresses, like I said, I’m a pretty good judge of people. And if I weren’t a lady, I’d bet that those two dresses are at least ten years old and have been worn and mended dozens of times. In other words, they’re not fit for any kind of rendezvous unless it’s with a rag bag. If I’m wrong, tell me now and I won’t force you to come out shopping with me today. But if I’m right, let’s go to breakfast.”
At the word rendezvous my cheeks reddened. “Fine,” I said. And to avoid further discussion, I began walking briskly toward the entrance, pulling her along with me, the heavy trod of my brogues out of sync completely with the tap tap of her dainty heels and the gilded elegance surrounding us.
Nine exhausting hours later, I found myself in front of the dressing table mirror in my room at the Ritz, on my second glass of champagne—the bottle ordered by Precious, who’d declared it a necessity for a lady dressing for the evening—while she fluttered about like a hungry butterfly in a bed of daisies. What I’d thought would be an expedition to find two new dresses had merely been the edge of the rabbit hole into which I’d been pushed.
The poor valet had actually staggered as he’d gathered my shopping bags from the taxi—dresses, blouses, skirts, trousers, and shoes by the dozens filled the bags. But it hadn’t just been my outer garments that Precious thought needed replacing. She had actually let out a cry of distress when she’d seen my underpinnings—alarming enough that the salesclerk had run to the fitting room.