“There’s something missing.” She raced over to her dressing table and plucked a silver tiara from atop her jewelry box.
Olivia knelt as the girl returned and placed the sparkling piece atop her head. When she straightened, she pitched her voice high and said, “Good evening, Lady Constance. Have you been introduced to my son?” She scooped up one of Constance’s hats and placed it atop a bolt of black linen. “He is quite shy, I’m afraid.”
Constance wrapped herself in a shimmering pink chiffon. “Good evening, Your Highness. Pardon? Oh, yes, I would be honored to share your first dance.”
Constance grabbed the bolt and bounced around the trunks, while Olivia hummed a lively polka tune. She could almost imagine they were at St. James’s Palace, a venue she had only visited once, the year she had come out. She would neverforget the anxiety of kneeling before the queen in her best dress, and the unfathomable relief of earning no more or less than a nod from the monarch.
“What is going on here?” Lily asked.
Olivia froze as reality crashed down on her. Yards of fabric pooled at her feet, spilling across the floor and over several trunks. She had gone far beyond encouraging Constance and allowed her fantasies to take hold.
“I apologize,” she said, snatching the tiara from her head.
Lily’s frown eased. “’Tis no worry, my lady. I’ll have it cleaned up in a trice.”
Olivia didn’t want it cleaned up. She wanted to dance in the spilled fabric, to lose herself in her imagination and forget, for a few minutes, everything that had happened in the past week. Or, more accurately, the past decade.
“Of course,” Olivia said. “I apologize again for our exuberance.”
Lily clucked her tongue and positioned Constance onto a circular dressing stand as her helpers wheeled into the room. The maid wasted no time in wrapping her charge in strips of paper, jotting down each measurement in a small notebook.
It was tiresome to watch, and even more to sit through, so she was not surprised when Constance began to fidget. Olivia knew she should keep her silence to avoid embarrassing herself further, but she also had a job to do. Regardless of Constance’s involvement in the articles, she would not allow any girl in her care to wade into a season without preparation. There were too many men ready and willing to swoop in and play “the hero” to soiled doves, with no thought of marriage.
She met Constance’s gaze in the mirror and asked, “Have you ever seen your father speak cruelly to a servant?”
Constance looked appalled. “Never.”
“Have you ever seen him shout at a woman, servant or otherwise? Has he ever whipped a horse into a lather and then refused to take care of the beast when it was done with its work?”
Constance shook her head. “He would never do such things.”
“But if you had only seen him at balls, or garden parties, how would you know he is not a cruel man?”
This was a question she wished someone had brought up when she’d been a debutante. She hadn’t understood then how the aspect one showed in society was a falsehood. That was likely the reason she’d made no friends in her year, and how the earl had insinuated himself into her life so readily.
Constance screwed up her lips. “I don’t know.”
“Precisely. But there are ways you can ensure that a suitor is not cruel.”
“How?”
“For one, compliments that are not complimentary. I once heard Mr. Rutlidge tell Miss Whisperwill that her lovely, orange gown was the same shade as his favorite cat’s fur. Miss Whisperwill, an animal lover, was quite pleased with this comparison, until Mr. Rutlidge asked if he should check beneath her skirts for a tail.”
Constance hissed, surprising Olivia into a laugh. The next moment, she was hissing right back and holding her hands as if she had claws. Lily, from beneath Constance’s dress, uttered a series of words that Olivia didn’t recognize, and then scurried out from beneath the hulking fabric.
“Enough with both of you,” Lily said, sticking her thumb in her mouth. “I’ll bleed myself to death before this is up.”
Olivia gulped. “My apologies.”
Constance was in fits, but Lily was scowling, which did not bode well for Olivia or her relationship with Lily’s employer.
So as much as it pained her, she sat demurely on the couch and only called a halt to the dress fittings when Constance had to be reminded to straighten her back three times in as many minutes by a snappish Lily.
The room was uncomfortably warm, even as the fluttering curtain drew in a breeze that carried the smell of freshly cut grass. If she were at her townhouse, with its private backyard, she might have run through the lawn with her bare feet, but she did not have the luxury at the marquess’s home. Instead, she said farewell to Constance and left Lily and her helpers to clean up the mess they had made of the room. Constance would have gowns, at least. Lily had already pinned together the pieces of several dresses that were going to be lovely when they were finished.
She made a mental note to send Saffron a letter of thanks, as they would occupy Lily for some time.
“Lady Allen?”
