Adrienne relented, her shoulders drooping. “She did not have to. They all knew.” She reached for Eloise’s hand. “And they were glad. Glad he would go to you when he needed someone so badly.” She released Eloise. “But they would not tell anyone from the social ranks about it. You could still salvage this. But from what you are saying, you intend to return.”
“I truly believe I can help him. And my own reputation”—Eloise waved her own hand in the general direction of Mayfair—“I’m old, Adrienne. No one can really hurt me at this point. And I need to”—she swallowed, wanting to say so much more. Eloise would need Adrienne’s help as much as she believed Robert would need her. “There is more I want to tell you, but you cannot—”
Adrienne grinned. “Do you know how many Society secrets are bound up in this shop? I could ruin as many women as Robbie could men.”
“Lord Robert Ashton is Campion’s silent partner. He already owns half of all the businesses. He will inherit the rest. He is convinced this will put his engagement with Lydia Rowbotham at risk, and he expects his family as well as Makendon to demand he divest himself of them. It really will be a destructive scandal for a duke’s son to own such dissolute businesses.”
Her friend set down her coffee and put a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. She slowly shook her head. “Why the devil did he buy into such?”
“I do not know. But he did not expect to be put into a position to sire the Kennet heir, and I’m positive he expected Bill Campion to live a good long while.”
“And how exactly do you think you can help?”
Eloise took a deep, steadying breath. “I am not sure yet. I do need to look at his books.” She gave Adrienne a wry smile. “I had this—most likely naïve—idea that since I know business people like you and you know even wealthier business people...”
Adrienne smirked. “You think you can help him find buyers?”
“Perhaps. Or at least have some unexpected ideas. Which is what I have had to do with you and some of the other women I help. Plus, if I can help him...”
“Then he will help you find Timothy.”
“Yes.”
“So how do you plan to keep marching into Campion’s without losing the last remnants of your dignity?”
Eloise cleared her throat. “Um, I thought you might help with that. Maybe a similar outfit to the one last night but with a different cut? One that didn’t require me to—um—” She pointed to her chest.
“Batten down the hatches quite so securely?” Adrienne laughed, sobered, then continued chuckling.
“It is not that amusing.”
“Yes. It is.” She stood, picked up both cups and set them on a table near the stove. She held out her hand to Eloise. “Come with me.”
Eloise followed Adrienne down the narrow flight of stairs that led from her rooms to the shop. They emerged inside the large workroom in the back, where most of the construction of the ball gowns Society ladies ordered took place. The worktables and stations of the seamstresses were piled high with projects for upcoming balls and musicales, and high windows let in streams of sunshine. Various sizes of dress forms, some half-dressed, cast long shadows, creating a slightly spooky feel in the early morning light. In addition to the staircase and the arch into the front parlor, three other doors were set into the walls. One led to the alley and a second one opened into a dressing room. A third hid a storage room of fabrics and unused tools of a modiste’s trade.
Pulling a set of keys from her pocket, Adrienne unlocked that door, lit a small lamp from one of the seamstress’s stations, and motioned for Eloise to follow her. Inside, bolts of fabric were stacked low and high, with infinite yards of silk, muslin, crepe, gauze, and bombazine resting against cabinets and tucked into tall, narrow shelves. At the back of the room, baskets in a variety of sizes and filled with ribbons, beads, lace, and tiny bows covered a broad, high table pushed against the wall.
Adrienne handed the lamp to Eloise. “Hold this. Don’t let it touch anything.”
Eloise glanced around at the precarious stacks of flammable material. “I should think not.”
Squatting, Adrienne pulled several large baskets from beneath the table and shoved them to one side. She scooted farther under the table, and—after a bit more key rattling—a panel in the wall opened outward, away from the table.
Mouth agape, Eloise stared, then glanced down as Adrienne tugged on her skirt from beneath the table. “Hand me the lamp and follow me.”
Eloise did, squatting to scoot beneath the table. On the other side, she stood as shadows danced in a wide, windowless room, disappearing as Adrienne lit three more lamps.
“Welcome, my friend, to my own secret life.”
White walls helped spread the illumination, and what lay before Eloise appeared to be the workroom of a tailor’s shop. Dress forms with distinctive masculine appearances held evening kits primarily in black or charcoal gray, but with waistcoats in burgundy, indigo, crimson, or purple. Some were plain while others had embroidery that rivaled the most exquisite ball gowns.
Eloise finally found her voice. “You make men’s clothes?”
Adrienne’s smile held a slight twist. “Men’s clothes... for women.”
Eloise’s eyes snapped to her friend. “What?”
“The reason you had to be bound so tightly last night is that those weremyclothes. And while you are delightfully svelte, I am positively skinny. Plus, your—hatches—are rounder than mine.” Adrienne paused. “These, however, can be cut to accommodate all but the most buxom of women with little or no binding, while still maintaining the appearance of a man.”
