A thud sounded over their heads and both looked up, as the noise was followed by the sound of footsteps that traveled across the ceiling toward the back of the shop.
“Apparently,” Robert muttered, “our friendly seamstress lives upstairs.”
The footsteps continued, the sound changing to an apparent staircase and the sound of a closing door. Abruptly, Madame Adrienne appeared between the curtains of the doorway—and just as abruptly stopped, staring at Robert. “Why are you here?”
Robert tipped his hat. “Good morning to you as well, Madame Adrienne.”
She fluffed the skirts of her burgundy silk day gown and nodded at Michael. “I only asked to see you.”
“Which piqued the curiosity of us both,” Robert said.
She sniffed. “Once again proving that men are far nosier than women.”
Michael had to smile. “You must admit, it was an unusual request. I do have my own tailor.”
Madame Adrienne relented with a smile and a wagged finger. “But he does not have the information that I do.”
“Which is?” Robert asked.
She motioned for them to follow her into the back room. “The palette of every outfit the Duke of Wykeham plans to wear for the rest of this season. A palette he has asked Lady Clara to mimic in all her gowns.” She stopped and turned, focusing on Michael. “A palette you should reflect in your waistcoats, so that you look even more matched with her than he does.” She gestured at two dress forms near the rear of the room—male dress forms currently outfitted with shirts, cravats, and waistcoats.
Robert coughed a laugh. “Those colors are bloody awful.”
“Robert!”
His brother could not stop laughing. “But they are!” He touched the brim of his top hat, dipping his head at the modiste. “My apologies, Madame Adrienne.”
The modiste shrugged. “I am not offended, Lord Robert. You are quite correct. And they are much more agreeable than what the duke will wear.”
“You are cozening us!”
“I am not. I have modified these to make them more palatable, as I did with Lady Clara’s gowns.”
Michael crossed to the forms and fingered the material. The waistcoats were quite well made. “How did you know my measurements?”
Madame Adrienne joined him and began to unbutton one of the waistcoats. “Ah. Those I did get from your tailor, after I heard that you had worn one of his”—she nodded at Robert—“to a visit a lady. Shameful. You are not the same size at all.” She eyed both men. “Nor the same shape. You are broader across the shoulders and chest but slimmer in the hips. Your waist is slightly larger, but all that is expected from a gentleman who spends more time in the stables than the gambling dens.”
“I think I am offended,” muttered Robert.
“I am quite certain you should be,” Michael responded. “You should also spend more time outside.”
Madame Adrienne scoffed and tapped Michael on the shoulder. “Take off your coat. Let us see if these fit.”
Both men stared at her. “Um, Madame—”
This time when she spoke, her French accent had vanished. In its place where the gruff words of a no-nonsense Englishwoman. “I am a modiste, sir. I have seen more naked men than you can possibly imagine. Modesty in this place will be a detriment to the next few hours. Now. Off with it.”
Michael felt uncertain whether to laugh or be shocked. He decided laughter would be the best choice. He slipped out of his coat and handed it to her. “In all fairness, I have probably seen more naked women than you might imagine.”
She hung his coat on a hook. “Oh, I doubt that. In London, Lord Michael, gossip is currency. The servants trade in it, the merchants rely on it, and the gambling hells”—she winked at Robert—“depend on it. I believe you were still wearing that lavender waistcoat the night you confronted a certain duke who has become an unexpected nemesis for the Kennet household.”
Robert found a chair and dropped onto it. “You have spies in my establishment?”
“I prefer the word informant. I believe you, Lord Robert, and your sister-in-law have some of the same contacts. It would be foolish of you to think of them as exclusive.”
Robert dropped his top hat to the floor. “Foolish indeed.”
Michael slipped off his waistcoat and traded it for the one Madame Adrienne handed him. As he put it on, the difference in the way it felt—from the weight of the fabric to the precise nature of the fit—astonished him. It was exquisite... and he said so.
