The Button Box: Gripping historical romance from the Sunday Times Bestseller. Dilly Court

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      Lizzie opened the gate which led down to the tradesmen’s entrance. ‘Maybe she would have made more money if she had. I don’t know, Clara, I’m not a businesswoman, but Mrs Comerford is very rich, and if Miss Jones is satisfied she’ll tell her so, and then who knows? Maybe Mrs Comerford will recommend your shop to her friends.’

      ‘I’m only doing this as a favour to you.’ Clara followed her sister down the steep, ice-coated steps to the tradesmen’s entrance.

      Lizzie knocked on the door and it was opened by a tiny scullery maid who could not have been more than ten years of age. The child scuttled off in the direction of the kitchen and Lizzie led the way through a maze of narrow corridors and up the back stairs. On the other side of the green baize door was another world. A marble-tiled passage opened out into a wide hallway with large, gilt-framed mirrors reflecting the ornate candle sconces. The scent of beeswax and lavender mingled with the spicy aroma of crimson and gold chrysanthemums, arranged in large urns. A liveried footman cast a sidelong glance at Lizzie, and Clara was quick to see a blush staining her sister’s cheeks.

      ‘Miss Jones sent me for material to mend madam’s ball gown, James,’ Lizzie said hastily.

      ‘And who is this young lady?’ He looked Clara up and down with an appreciative grin. ‘I’m afraid I can’t allow you to wander round the house uninvited.’

      ‘This is my sister Clara.’ Lizzie hesitated, eyeing James warily. ‘I’ll have to find Miss Jones. Stay here, Clara.’

      ‘Don’t worry, I’ll look after her,’ James said, winking at Clara. ‘I always enjoy the company of a pretty girl.’

      Clara put her head on one side, looking him up and down. He was a handsome fellow, tall and broad-shouldered, and he obviously traded on his good looks. She was not impressed.

      ‘I don’t need looking after,’ she said coldly.

      Lizzie cast her a sidelong glance, shaking her head. ‘Be nice to him,’ she said in a low voice. ‘But not too nice, if you know what I mean.’ She snatched the basket of lace from Clara and hurried off towards the staircase.

      ‘Why don’t you make yourself comfortable, miss?’ With a sweep of his hand, James indicated a dainty hall chair. ‘You’re likely to have a long wait. You know how ladies like to chat.’

      ‘I’m in trade,’ Clara said stonily. ‘I don’t have time to chat, as you call it.’

      James bridled visibly. It was obvious that he was not used to his clumsy advances being spurned. ‘I can see the family likeness. Lizzie is as prickly as a briar rose.’

      Clara was saved from replying by the sudden appearance on the staircase of a young man dressed for outdoors. He was plain to the point of homeliness except for a head of golden curls, which would have been the envy of any woman. He strolled down the stairs, coming to a halt in front of Clara. ‘Are you waiting for someone?’

      She rose to her feet. This person was obviously a member of the family and by rights she ought to have been waiting for Lizzie below stairs. ‘My sister, sir. Lizzie Carter – she ran an errand for Mrs Comerford’s maid. I have to wait to take the unwanted lace back to the shop, but I’ll be gone as soon as she returns.’

      A slow smile spread across his even features. ‘My mother always demands the best. Only she would send a servant out in such inclement weather.’

      James stood to attention, staring straight ahead, although Clara thought she saw the muscle at the corner of his mouth quiver, as if he were suppressing the desire to laugh. She thought it wiser to remain silent, hoping that Mrs Comerford’s son would go about his business, but he seemed reluctant to leave. He held out his hand. ‘I’m Joss Comerford. How do you do, Miss Carter?’

      Remembering her place, she bobbed a curtsey. ‘How do you do, sir?’

      ‘It’s very cold outside and the pavements are treacherous. May I escort you home, Miss Carter?’

      ‘That’s very kind of you, but as I said, I have to wait for the unwanted lace.’

      ‘Have you a connection with the textile trade?’

      She looked him in the eye and realised that he was teasing her. ‘You make it sound as though I’m dealing in smuggled goods, Mr Comerford.’

      ‘Now that would be exciting. Are you a smuggler, or a river pirate?’

      ‘Nothing so interesting, sir.’

      ‘So your connection with lace is …?’

      Clara could see that he was not going to be satisfied with anything other than a full explanation. ‘I am a shopkeeper, Mr Comerford. I own a drapery in Drury Lane.’

      His blue eyes widened and he stared at her with renewed interest. ‘You’re a shopkeeper?’

      ‘I am, sir.’

      ‘How intriguing. I must visit your emporium one day.’ He held his hand out to take his top hat and cane from a young maidservant who appeared seemingly from nowhere. ‘I’m going your way, Miss Carter. I have a luncheon appointment in the Strand, so it’s no trouble to see you safely home.’

      Clara was about to refuse politely when Lizzie came hurrying down the wide staircase, the basket in her hand. ‘Madam has taken all the lace, Clara.’ She came to a halt, gazing anxiously at Joss. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to interrupt.’

      ‘That’s all right, Lizzie. I’m glad that Mama is supporting local shopkeepers.’ He turned to Clara with a disarming smile. ‘My father is also in trade. He has a warehouse on the docks filled with exotic imports from foreign lands. I used to think it was like Aladdin’s cave when I was a child.’

      Clara shifted from one foot to the other. At any other time, and in a different place, it would have been a pleasure to talk to someone like Joss Comerford, but James was listening to every word and Lizzie was staring at her open-mouthed. Their reaction was typical of most people. The sons of wealthy families, whether their fortune had been made in the Caribbean sugar plantations or from privateering centuries ago, or in trade, did not mix socially with girls from the lower classes. That was the way things were and Clara could feel disapproval radiating from both her sister and James. If Joss Comerford had taken a liking to her, it was a recipe for disaster.

      ‘Isn’t it time you were going, Clara?’ Lizzie said in a low voice. ‘Jane will be wondering what’s happened to you.’

      ‘Yes, of course.’ Clara took the empty basket from her. ‘Madam is keeping all the lace?’

      ‘Put it on her account,’ Lizzie said grandly. ‘Goodbye, Clara. I’ll come and see you on my afternoon off.’ She turned on her heel and headed towards the servants’ quarters.

      ‘I must go.’ Clara glanced at James, who leaped to attention and opened the front door.

      Joss proffered his arm. ‘Allow me. It’s a long walk so I suggest we take a cab.’

      There was nothing Clara could do without appearing rude and she laid her hand on the sleeve of his cashmere coat. James kept his gaze fixed on a distant point as he held the door for them.

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