Ding…
The bell above the door of the dressmaker's shop chimed with a bright, cheerful sound.
Inside, the shop was a warm, colorful haven against the sky. Bolts of expensive fabric—shimmering silks, soft muslins, and rich velvets—were stacked high on polished wooden shelves. The air smelled faintly of lavender water and crisp, newly cut linen.
Several ladies were gathered near the front window, speaking in hushed, excited whispers as the modiste, Madame Helena, measured ribbons.
Delaney stood quietly near the back of the shop.
She was looking through a row of day dresses. Hamish was standing dutifully outside the shop window, keeping a close watch on the street. Delaney ran her gloved fingers over a piece of thick, dark green wool. She was supposed to be buying clothes for her fake wedding to Lord Hawksley, but her mind was entirely focused on the sleeping tonic she would buy next.
Then, the shop bell chimed again.
