Madame Adrienne grinned. “Of course.” Her French accent returned. “I am one of the best modistes in the city.”
“But the color—” Robert muttered. “It looks like fresh goose shit.”
Madame Adrienne chuckled. “It is yellow ochre. A more mellow version. His looks like goose shit left too long in the sun. The other is puce. Again, a more mellow version of the reddish-purple he will strut about in.”
Robert shuddered.
Michael had to agree with Robert’s assessment. “Lady Clara will look awful in this color. In both of these colors.”
Madame Adrienne circled Michael, tugging on seams and running her hands over his back. “But she will benefit from elaborate trims. I have tempered hers with a dark gold collar and cuffs, and piping on the shoulders and back so this monstrous color will not be next to her skin or hair.”
The front door of the shop opened and closed, and Michael felt a spike of alarm, looking in that direction.
Madame Adrienne patted his arm. “Relax, gentlemen.” She disappeared into the front room, pulling the curtains closed behind her.
“It does look good on you, color notwithstanding.”
“It is one of the most comfortable I’ve ever worn,” Michael admitted. He stroked the front of the second waistcoat, running his hand along the details of the silver embroidery set into a puce silk-satin.
“That man has atrocious taste,” Robert said.
“And once again,” Madame Adrienne announced as she flounced through the curtains, “people I invited show up with people I did not.”
Michael turned and froze, staring at Lady Clara Durham, who stood in the doorway. Her maid Radcliff peered over one shoulder, mouth agape.
Robert was on his feet in a second, his face lit with absolute glee. “Oh ho! The plot is revealed as the curtain goes up!”
Madame Adrienne shook her finger at him. “You are a wicked, wicked man.”
“So I have been told.”
“What is going on?” Clara asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Well, it would have been much simpler if you”—she pointed at Robert and Radcliff—“and you had not come along for the adventure.” She tugged Clara’s arm, leading her into the room. “Now it appears Lord Robert and I will be taking”—she lifted an eyebrow at the maid, who said her name—“Radcliff for tea and treats at Gunter’s.” She glanced from Michael to Clara, then pointed at a second curtain door near the back of the fitting area. “Go through there, to a door in the rear wall. Up the stairs. Everything will become clear. We will be back in about an hour. You will hear us.” She turned back to Robert. “You have money.”
Robert nodded solemnly and put his palm flat against his chest. “I do, Madame.”
Madame Adrienne took Radcliff’s arm and turned her back toward the front door. “Then let us go.”
Radcliff began to sputter a protest, when Lord Robert took her other arm and pulled her along. Over her head, he asked the modiste, “Have you heard from Lady Eloise?”
“I have not, and it is most concerning—” Her words vanished as the front door closed, and Michael heard the key turn in the lock.
Michael stared at Clara, who looked glorious in a deep blue silk day gown trimmed with piping the exact color of her hair. His mind felt numb, but he rallied in his thrill to see her again. “My lady—”
She looked around the fitting area of the shop as if lost. “Did you—did you arrange this?”
He took a step closer. “I did not. I got a note—” He looked around frantically for his coat, as if he had forgotten it hung on a hook less than two feet away.
“So did I!” She pulled a wrinkled piece of foolscap from her reticule. “She said she needed to check a fitting—” Clara looked around again. “Which I suppose was a lie.”
“She wanted to present me with these waistcoats.” He pointed to the one he wore and the one on the frame. “Because I had borrowed one of Robert’s.”
“How would she know—” Clara’s eyes narrowed as she looked closer at the waistcoats. “Those look like...”
“She said they would be like the ones the Duke of Wykeham will wear.”
Clara’s hand went to her mouth, and her eyes glistened. At first Michael thought that Clara had begun to cry, but after two steps toward her, he realized she was fighting laughter.
