“Not all men are like that.” Madame’s fingers caught and pulled at her hair. “Not my François.” “Surely not the earl?” Lydia’s face appeared beside Madame’s in the mirror, puzzled. “You confide in him, don’t you? He loves you so.” Did he really? Amy bit her lip. It was pointless to confide in Colin, anyway; he’d made it clear before they wed that a countess would never run a shop. And he’d become more and more closed and distracted over the months.
