That should have been exactly the excuse she needed to rush back to the carriage. She had jobs to complete, customers to satisfy. The Baroness of Ferron had unleased the full force of her temper when she’d arrived at Kitty’s shop that morning and had learned her order was not yet complete. But making dresses wouldn’t pay Mr. Blaylock fast enough, and the only thing she hated more than pointless indulgence was being indebted.
She adjusted her opal-encrusted bodice for the fourth time that evening, even though it was as perfectly fitted as every other garment she made. For tonight’s outing, she’d reluctantly chosen a pink silk poplin gown paired with a light-blue cape trimmed in gold. Her hair had been more difficult to arrange, but Alyssa had helped her manage a basic coiled plait.
Alyssa, whose jaw had dropped open when Kitty had revealed her plans for the evening. She had done her best to impress upon Alyssa the importance of keeping Kitty’s relationship with the viscount secret. If the shop suffered, Kitty might be forced to let Alyssa go. Hopefully, that would be enough to keep her quiet.
Kitty glanced at Cordon, taking in the excellent, if outmoded, tailoring of the black, double-breasted twill suit he’d chosen for this outing. The garment had to have cost more than an entire month of rent on her shop. She’d asked who had made it earlier, but he’d only waved his hand and said he’d bought it so long ago, he could no longer recall. Another peculiarity. He sometimes spoke as if he were much older than his forty-some years.
She kept her hands clasped together. “What if someone recognizes me? They’ll wonder why you’re bringing a dressmaker to the opera.”
He patted her hand. “I have ensured your identity will be kept secret.”
“That is not possible.” She might look almost nothing like herself in the beautiful gown, but she still felt terribly exposed, as if everyone around them knew she didn’t belong. They were certainly flicking their fans open to hide their mirth and would openly ridicule her once she stepped out of earshot. By morning, the entiretonwould know that the Viscount Grayson had taken her as his mistress. The wealthy customers she was trying to attract would spurn her. She never should have agreed to this outing.
He squeezed her arm. “You have my word that anyone you meet tonight will not remember your face.”
She scoffed. “You cannot promise that.”
The skin around his eyes crinkled with his grin. “Do not underestimate my influence. Now, try to enjoy yourself. This is surely the most beautiful opera house in England.”
She peered up at the ceiling. It was painted with vibrant portraits, and the windows were made of elaborate stained glass. The entire building was a temple to excess.
Her parents would have loved it.
With that thought, an idea took root. She was here, surrounded by the very clients she wanted to attract. If Cordon was telling the truth and she didn’t have to fear damaging her reputation, then this was an opportunity too precious to waste. So, she turned her attention to the other guests, examining their choices of attire. Some garments had obviously been purchased from shops that specialized in cheap, quickly made outfits, but others were spectacular.
One particularly handsome black-haired woman wore an elegant silver dress decorated with more black lace than Kitty had ever seen on a single garment in her life.
It couldn’t have been easy for the creator to work with such fine material. Kitty was very familiar with cursing as slippery lace and silk refused to stay in place on her lap.
“What are you looking at?” Cordon asked.
Without realizing it, she’d strayed from his side. She wrenched her gaze away from the woman in the incredible dress. “Professional curiosity, I’m afraid. Shall we go to our box?”
“Nonsense,” he said. “I shall introduce you to the lady who has captured your attention and ask who has made her fine gown. That will appease you?”
“W-Well, I….” She desperately wanted a closer look at the garment, but she also didn’t want to face the other guests. No matter his promise, the ladies and gentlemen here were alike in one regard: they had a ravenous appetite for gossip. She doubted even Cordon could threaten or bribeeveryonewho saw her tonight into silence.
“Mrs. Dillon,” Cordon said as they approached the black-haired woman. “Good evening.”
“Viscount Grayson!” the woman said in a thick French accent. “I am pleased to see you.” She leaned in and pressed her deep-red lips to both of Cordon’s cheeks, then pulled back and glanced at Kitty. “You are not bringing Miss Griffith?”
He patted Kitty’s hand on his arm. “Miss Felicity Trellwood was kind enough to be my companion for the night. She is new to the city and started recently at the Adelphi.”
Kitty stared at him. It could not have been as simple as using a fake name. He was deluded if he thought that would be enough to keep anyone from recognizing her. Mrs. Dillion might not have known her face, but London was small. Still, it was too late to do anything but go along with Cordon’s plan, so she dipped into a deep curtsey. When she rose, Mrs. Dillion was smiling.
“I hope you are enjoying the show, Miss Trellwood,” she said. “The lead soprano is tremendously talented.”
“Oh, then you haven’t heard?” he whispered. “It is quite scandalous…”
Kitty tuned out the conversation and examined Mrs. Dillon’s dress. The floral embroidery on the wool overskirt was so perfect, she almost touched the threads before remembering that she was supposed to be an actress. She squeezed her hands together at her waist.
She preferred to create outfits that had more longevity, or that could be worn in several scenarios, but the ladies of society did not have such concerns. They could wear a new dress several times a day for years and never run out of money. That was what she’d been missing. She had to think like her customers to design dresses that would appeal to them.
Perhaps accepting Cordon’s invitation hadn’t been such a bad idea, after all.
“…do you think, my dear? Should we retire to our box and enjoy some champagne before the show begins?” Cordon asked, drawing her back into the moment.
She opened her mouth to ask if they could return to her shop, then snapped her jaw shut. Asking such a question would betray her identity. She’d gotten too distracted by her craft and had forgotten why she’d agreed to accompany him: to earn the money he’d promised for completing whatever scandalous task he had in mind.
