Page 25 of Not Just Any Earl
“Oh, yes! I’ve never experienced a scent quite like it before. It’s rose, obviously, with a hint of spice, and…is that honey, do you suppose?”
“I think so, yes, and perhaps a touch of plum.”
“Yes, just so! I can’t pinpoint the species of rose. It’s a deep, complex scent. I don’t believe I’ve ever smelled it before, but I imagine the rose it came from is very fine.”
“I thought I detected two distinct rose scents. Do you agree, Mr. Beale?”
“I do, yes. I’d guess the second rose is one of the damasks, but I couldn’t say which one.” Mr. Beale pressed the linen to his nose again and inhaled deeply “It’s a pity the scent is so faint. I’m afraid I can’t tell you much.” He shook his head.
“Oh, well, perhaps the roses are rare one, and difficult to find.” There was no mistaking the disappointment in Miss Templeton’s voice, but she offered Mr. Beale a polite smile. “You’re very good to try, Mr. Beale.”
“Of course, miss. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Well, now you ask, can you tell me anything about the distillation process? For example, I believe I read somewhere that roses must be harvested at precisely the right time, preferably at night when the fragrance is the strongest, and distilled twice—”
Johnathan listened, fascinated as she went on for some minutes about different types of oils, fermentation, and the danger of bruising delicate rose petals. Her voice was animated, her face alight with interest, all the natural reserve he’d observed in the drawing room this morning gone, and he realized with a start that this was a facet of the passion he’d experienced in the library last night.
Emmeline Templeton didn’t lack passion. Quite the contrary.
But she hid it, just as she did her hair under that absurd lace cap.
She and Mr. Beale went back and forth for some time, and it became clearer with every word from her lips that hers was no passing interest, nor was she a novice. The lady knew a great deal about flowers and scents, and about creating perfumes.
“Lord Melrose!” Mr. Beale had been so absorbed in the discussion he hadn’t noticed Johnathan, but Johnathan had unconsciously edged closer until he was standing right behind Emmeline Templeton, and now Mr. Beale caught sight of him over her shoulder. “I beg your pardon, my lord, for keeping you waiting. How may I help?”
Emmeline Templeton whirled around, startled.
“Pardon me, madam. I didn’t intend to…” Johnathan blinked down at her, feigning surprise. “Oh, Miss Templeton, is that you?”
“Er, yes. Good afternoon, Lord Melrose. How do you do?”
“Good afternoon.” Johnathan made a show of glancing around the shop. “You’re not here alone, are you?”
“Oh, no, my lord. I, ah…well, my sister and Lady Fosberry were with me, but Lady Quigley appeared and took them off to the linen draper around the corner.”
“You mean to say I’ve missed Lady Quigley? What dreadful luck.”
He grinned down at her, and to his delight, a shy answering smile rose to her lips. “I’m afraid so. I was meant to wait in the carriage while they finished, but then I noticed Floris was right here, and I couldn’t resist a visit. They’ll be quite cross with me.”
“I beg your pardon, but I couldn’t help overhearing your lively discussion with Mr. Beale. You know a great deal about scent and perfumes, Miss Templeton.”
Her lips turned down, as if she didn’t quite like this observation. “Not at all, my lord. It’s merely a diversion—”
“Oh, yes, the lady’s ability to distinguish scents is quite remarkable, my lord,” Mr. Beale interrupted eagerly, with an admiring look at Miss Templeton. “She’s got a perfumer’s innate understanding of scent.”
“Does she, indeed? How singular,” Johnathan murmured, his gaze resting on her face. A lady with such a…how had Mr. Beale put it?
An accomplished nose.
Accomplished enough that she could create her own scent? It certainly sounded like it to him. How curious, that a lady with such a deep understanding of flowers and fragrances should have appeared in London at precisely the same time a mysterious lady with a unique and tantalizing scent had haunted Lady Fosberry’s library, there and then gone again like a wraith wrapped in lavender silk.
Johnathan’s heart quickened. There was nothing he wanted more than to find the lady who’d kissed him so sweetly, but what sort of conclusions could he reasonably draw from a fold of linen? It could belong to anyone. Juliet Templeton, or another lady who’d attended last night’s ball. Even Lady Fosberry—
Well, probably not Lady Fosberry, but how could he be certain of anything?
He hadn’t gotten even a glimpse of his lady’s face!
Hadn’t Miss Templeton said this morning she didn’t attend Lady Fosberry’s ball last night? But that in itself was strange, given that the Templeton sisters were Lady Fosberry’s guests. Why wouldn’t she attend her hostess’s ball? Even if she hadn’t attended, she would certainly have been somewhere in the house.
