*
“Why are younot at the wedding breakfast?”
From her perch on the modiste’s fitting platform, Lady Lydia Rowbotham sneered. “Because I made this appointment weeks ago, and I can think of nothing less appealing than spending time with those people.” She plucked at the shoulder of her gown, as if searching for a flaw.
Lady Eloise Surrey stirred in the upholstered chair nearby and fluffed the skirt of her dark green muslin day gown away from her feet. Her attire, appropriately modest for a chaperone, felt drab next to the elaborate gown that flattered Lydia’s height—she was exceptionally tall for a woman—and slim figure. The new frock was in the latest style, with the longer waist in the blouse-style bodice and the sleevesen gigot. The rich blue of the silk enhanced her fair coloring and made her eyes gleam in the sunlight from the high windows of the shop’s fitting room. A gold gauze overlay of the skirt gave the dress an aura of lightness even as the undulating tubular rouleau on the skirt gave the impression of flair and volume. Matching gold satin trim on the sleeves, neckline, and waistline added enough frill to the gown that no one would miss the ostentatious flounces that had gone out of style this year.
Eloise looked away, trying not to be envious of the lovely gown. She had certainly worn such garb when she had made her debut more than twelve years earlier, but her time had passed. Yet the modiste’s shop had long been one of her favorite places—she loved the scents of freshly ironed fabric and the cinnamon and cardamom incense that Madame Adrienne Chenevert kept burning—and remained so even now. The bright colors and comfortable chairs made Eloise feel pampered and welcomed, even when she had to escort Lydia to the shop. “You do realize ‘those people’ will be family soon if you accept him.”
Lydia shrugged dramatically, which jerked the hem being pinned out of the seamstress’s hands. Lydia snapped a look at the young woman. “Be careful!”
“Sorry, my lady,” the girl muttered around a mouthful of pins.
Eloise exchanged a look with Madame Adrienne, who was gathering and pinning tucks in the train of Lydia’s gown. Eloise mouthed a quick, “Sorry!” and Adrienne rolled her eyes at the back of Lydia’s head.
“My apologies, Lady Lydia,” Adrienne said, her French accent unusually pronounced this afternoon. “She is young and just being trained.”
“Well, I hope she doesn’t ruin this gown.”
“I will oversee the final stitches myself.”
“Good. And deliver it by tomorrow noon. It’s for tomorrow night’s ball.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“It must not be late.”
“It will be quite on time. I assure you.”
“It is your reputation. Not this young twit’s.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Anxious to change the subject, Eloise spoke again. “But you are going to accept him, correct? That’s what you said.”
Lydia waved a hand at her. “Yes, yes. Why is it so important to you that I accept Lord Robert?”
Eloise pressed her back against the chair. “It isn’t, not really.”
“But?” Lydia prompted.
“If you accept Lord Robert, then Lord Wexley is free to pursue other interests.” Eloise crossed her arms. “Wexley has also showed an interest in Judith.”
Lydia gave her a wry grin. “Does your baby sister return the interest?”
Eloise tilted her head. “Perhaps.”
Lydia took a breath, remaining silent several moments, as if contemplating the question. Finally, she flicked a finger at Eloise. “Whatever happens with Lord Robert, I am not interested in Wexley. He is too much like a spoiled pup. Follows me everywhere, panting. I’m surprised he hasn’t soiled the carpet by now.”
Eloise’s eyes widened. “Lydia! He’s the son of an earl.”
“And as dull as one of my mother’s card nights. Your sister is welcome to him.” She twisted her head to look at Adrienne. “Are we quite finished yet?”
Adrienne straightened her shoulders and stepped back. “Yes, my lady. You may change now.” She offered Lydia her arm.
Lydia took it and stepped down, waving at her maid, who had been silent, standing in a corner for the last hour. “Come, help me out of this.” The maid followed her mistress into a changing room in the back of the shop.
Adrienne gestured for the young seamstress to return to the workroom, then turned on Eloise, her voice low. “How are you still friends with her?”
