It was a beautiful, sunny day. The sky was a deep azure blue; the few clouds that dared to appear on the horizon were puffy white balls that floated lazily across the sky. Forsaking the large, cumbersome coach, they drove alone into the village, cozily seated next to each other in Carter’s open curricle.

He identified a few landmarks along the way, but for the majority of the journey they were silent. But it was a good silence, a comfortable silence. Carter’s spirits lifted. Another sign of the progress they had achieved in their relationship.

Though it was not market day, the village streets were bustling with activity. They received many curious stares, and Carter smiled and doffed his hat to those souls brave enough to meet his gaze.

“Where shall we begin?” he asked Dorothea after he had secured the carriage horses and assisted her out.

“The millinery shop,” she replied. “Mrs. Simpson told me that the widow Jenkins has been struggling lately to pay her bills. I’m sure our patronage will be appreciated.”

The bell placed strategically on the door tinkled merrily as they went inside. A middle-aged woman hurried forward from the back of the shop, pulling up short when she caught sight of her patrons. Standing still as a post, her eyes bulging, her mouth open, the woman stared at them in a speechless trance.

“Mrs. Jenkins?” Dorothea said softly.

Visibly shaking off her stupor, the woman took a step toward them. “Yes? Hello. Or rather good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon. I am Lord Atwood and this is Lady Atwood.” Carter smiled. The shopkeeper continued to stare. Well, it was no wonder the woman had trouble paying her bills. She had no skill at all in dealing with customers.

“Our housekeeper, Mrs. Simpson, told us about your lovely shop,” Dorothea said as she slipped to Carter’s side. “I can see she was not exaggerating the quality and selection of bonnets available.”

“Oh, my lady.” Mrs. Jenkins fairly gushed as she curtsied very grandly. “I am so honored to have you frequent my humble little establishment.”

“We are most happy to be here, are we not, my lord?”

“Delighted.”

Carter hardly knew where to look. There were hats and ribbons, gloves, and other feminine fripperies artfully displayed on and behind the counters. Far too much lace and feathers and silk for his tastes. Now, if there had been some sensual, female undergarments in view he might have taken more of an interest.

Dorothea, however, was clearly in her element. At Mrs. Jenkins’s urging, she took a seat in front of a cheval mirror. The only other empty chair was a dainty, gilded piece. Carter eyed it with suspicion, doubting it would be comfortable and concerned it would not hold his weight. Wisely, he elected to stand.

“You have a most unusual selection of hats, Mrs. Jenkins,” Dorothea proclaimed. “Do you design them all yourself?”

“I most certainly do. After consulting all the latest fashion plates, of course. If I may?”

Mrs. Jenkins turned to her right and lifted a concoction off the counter that resembled a fruit basket. Carter saw Dorothea’s eyes widen momentarily in true alarm, but she quickly recovered. Casting a broad smile at the giddy Mrs. Jenkins, Dorothea obligingly removed the simple, elegant hat she wore and placed the fruit monstrosity on her head.

“Ahh.” Mrs. Jenkins’s sigh of excitement was so loud it could easily be heard the length and breadth of the street. “It looks perfect on you. Even more beautiful than I envisioned. Don’t you agree, my lord?”

Carter managed to hold back his grunt of laughter. He was no expert of fashion, but even he knew the bonnet was a horror. “Everything my wife wears looks beautiful, Mrs. Jenkins.”

“Oh, my.” Mrs. Jenkins began fanning her hand in front of her face. “Never in my wildest dreams would I have believed that one of my modest creations would be worn by such an elegant, important lady. It fairly takes my breath away.”

The stricken look returned to Dorothea’s eyes. She swiveled around to face him. The color was high in her cheeks, matching the shade of a cluster of silk cherries that hung over her left brow. “Do you think I should purchase it, my lord?”

“I insist.” He grinned devilishly. “That one and at least one more.”

“I agree.” Dorothea turned back toward the mirror, pressing her hand to her abdomen as if searching for strength. “However, I believe this bonnet will be the perfect gift for my sister, Gwendolyn.”

Mrs. Jenkins’s face fell. “Your sister?”

“She is married to Mr. Jason Barrington. Her father-in-law is the Earl of Stafford. Dear Gwen is not out in society these days because she is expecting a happy event at any time. But she will soon return to the social whirl of Town. I just know when she sees this hat her spirits will be greatly lifted.”

Mrs. Jenkins’s eyes warmed. “I am overwhelmed at the thought of having another London lady of quality wearing my creations. But we now must find something extraordinary for you, Lady Atwood.”

“This one matches your gown,” Carter said, unable to resist an overwrought, fussy bonnet, which to his eye resembled an abandoned bird’s nest.

“You are right, my lord. The colors are nearly the exact shade as the marchioness’s walking dress!” Mrs. Jenkins exclaimed.

“Ah, true serendipity,” he replied with a grin as the blush of color drained from Dorothea’s cheeks.

Mrs. Jenkins arranged the hat on Dorothea’s head. It was difficult to believe, but the bonnet looked even worse than when it was displayed on the counter.

“The colors do blend well with my ensemble,” Dorothea said weakly.

Carter’s mouth went slack. He had been joking, teasing her. From what he had noticed of her wardrobe, his wife preferred, simple, elegant lines on her clothing and a restrained hand on the extra ribbons, flounces, and embroidery. Was she truly going to forsake her own sense of style and good taste just to aid Mrs. Jenkins?

Carter received his answer ten minutes later as they left the shop and strolled down the street.

“I can feel your laughter, my lord,” Dorothea said in a steady voice.

“I beg to differ, my dear. I am masterfully keeping my emotions under control, and given your current appearance that is a Herculean task.”

Dorothea shrugged. “There are worse things in the world than walking down the street wearing a nest fit for birds on one’s head.”

“True,” he replied, trying to bite back his grin without much success. “You could be balancing a basket of fruit instead.”

“With birds pecking at it.” Dorothea giggled. She bent over slightly with laughter, then straightened as the concoction on her head began to shift. “I cannot wait to give Gwendolyn her gift. It truly will lift her spirits, of that I have no doubt.”

Carter laughed again, but a sobering thought brought on a more serious concern. “Perhaps it is a greater cruelty to give Mrs. Jenkins false hope by purchasing and wearing her bonnets. Her talent for making hats seems limited at best.”

Dorothea shook her head. Carter watched in amusement as the nest dipped to one side, then righted itself in the center of her head. “Mrs. Jenkins’s bonnets are well constructed, fashioned from good quality materials. Unfortunately, she has a very heavy hand with the fripperies and a somewhat vivid imagination. It is certainly not to my taste, but I can think of several women in London who would find these hats divine, especially if they believed them to be the height of fashion.”

“Even I know that fashion is not set in this sleepy little village.”

She smiled, and Carter was struck by how truly beautiful she looked. Even wearing that ridiculous bonnet.

“All Mrs. Jenkins needs to succeed is for the women in the area to embrace her designs. I believe my patronage will go far in making that happen.”

Quite the understatement, he was certain. But at what cost? “My dear, dare I point out that your slender neck will surely collapse if you continue to wear these monstrosities upon your head.”

She arched a brow, but there was a twinkle in her eyes. “I can assure you this is the first and last time you will see me wearing such a voluminous hat. I have commissioned the making of another bonnet from Mrs. Jenkins and plan to gently guide her hand away from all the excessive ribbons, bows, feathers, and such. I feel confident that I can convince her to restrain her more exuberant designs in order to appeal to a broader base of customers, thus ensuring her financial success.”

“And in the meantime?”

Dorothea sighed. “In the meantime, I shall wear this bonnet to advertise my support of her endeavors.”

Carter leaned close and lowered his voice to a whisper. “I could easily contrive to have the hat blow off on the carriage ride home where it would forever be lost in the Ravenswood forest,” he suggested.

“Don’t tempt me,” Dorothea responded with a wry grin. “Ah, now here is the confectioner’s shop. I have a long list of sweets I wish to buy.”

Mr. Harper was a pleasant man, with an easy smile. He enthusiastically welcomed them into the store, causing Carter a momentary flash of guilt. These were his lands, his people, his responsibility. Everyone’s happy, surprised greeting brought home the fact that he visited the estate far too seldom.

Vowing that too would change now that he was married, Carter took his time examining Mr. Harper’s wares, adding several of his own selections to Dorothea’s long list. She was gracious and complimentary, and Mr. Harper beamed under the attention, though Carter was certain they had Mrs. Jenkins’s appalling hat to thank for the extra ounces of sweets they were given. It was clear that poor Mr. Harper could not fully concentrate on the task of measuring as he was mesmerized by the bobbing, swaying contraption that was Dorothea’s bonnet.