Lady Jocelyn was not as skilled at hiding her emotions. If the fire in her eyes was any indication, she was livid. “He is quick to realize he deserves a woman of the highest caliber, not one who comes from a line of treasonous scapegraces.”
“You have always tended to exaggerate. Aline? There was only one.”
“Who is to say you will not produce another?” She held up her hand with such speed, it created a breeze. “Enough. I will engage with you no further. It is beneath me to speak to a person of such low character. Beth, if you intend to outfit her, the trousseau you are creating for me will go unpurchased.”
Althea was familiar with the cost of a trousseau. She had been planning her own before her father spoiled things. She couldn’t have Beth sacrifice those coins. “No, actually—”
“Yes,” Beth interrupted. “I am creating magnificent frocks and gowns for her.” She turned to Althea. “We shall have the fitting Friday, and everything will be ready next week.”
“Beth—”
“’Tis done.” She gave her attention back to Lady Jocelyn. “Do not worry yourself needlessly about your beautiful trousseau, Lady Jocelyn. I shall donate it to a mission that caters to the poor. I’m certain there are women aplenty who can make use of the items my ladies and I spent hours stitching. I wish you all the best. Good day.”
Flabbergasted. That was how Lady Jocelyn appeared, and Althea was relatively certain her once-dear friend had never had someone below her in station speak to her as though she were above her in station. She wanted to hug Beth.
“I’m certain the Duchess of Thornley will not be at all happy to hear of this development as I came to you based upon her recommendation.” Lady Jocelyn turned on her heel and went for the door, only to find it blocked by Benedict, his arms crossed over his chest. Althea was quite familiar with that implacable stance.
“You owe Miss Stanwick an apology. Her father was treasonous, not her.”
“I don’t see that it’s any of your business.”
“I’m makinghermy business.”
While she couldn’t see Lady Jocelyn’s face, Althea was rather certain she was bestowing upon Benedict a hard stare capable of shooting daggers because she’d seen it many times in her past. The woman didn’t like being challenged. “You look familiar.” She lifted a finger, wagged it at him. “You’re one of those Trewlovebastards.”
She spatbastardsas though it left a foul taste in her mouth and might cause her to cast up her accounts. Apparently, it had yet to register with her that the Duchess of Thornley, whose name she’d tossed out imperiously as though she were related to the Queen, was a Trewlove as well and considered this man her brother. But it wasn’t the reason Althea stepped forward. She did it because she didn’t want to see him hurt for a kindness he’d shown her. Although it tookeverything within her not to grab the woman’s hair and yank her back. “Jocelyn, you have no call to insult him.”
“It’s Lady Jocelyn to you.”
“No insult,” he said evenly. “’Tis true. I am a bastard, born on the wrong side of the blanket, with no earthly idea who my parents might be, but my manners far exceed yours, Lady Jocelyn. Apologize.”
“Or you’ll do what, precisely?”
He leaned back against the door. “I can stand here all day barring your way. While you need to hasten to another dressmaker in order to get work started on your new trousseau. A simple ‘I’m sorry’ will suffice.”
Lady Jocelyn glanced back over her shoulder. The fury distorting her lovely features should have ignited Althea on the spot. Her mouth went askew, flat, tight, pinched. She squeezed her eyes shut, opened them. “I apologize.”
“As do I. I wish you nothing but happiness with Chadbourne.”
For a moment the woman was blinking so much that Althea thought she might be fighting tears. But when Benedict opened the door, she was through it in a blur, her faithful servant trailing quickly after her.
Ignoring the stares of the few remaining customers and staff in the shop, Althea turned to Beth. “I’m so sorry. Let me know the value of her trousseau and when I have the means in three months, I’ll pay you for it.” She was rather certain it would take at least a quarter of the extra she was going to earn by meeting his deadline.
“Don’t worry yourself. The clothing will be put to better use. I doubt she would have worn anything more than once.” She took Althea’s hand, squeezed it. “To be honest, I’m glad to be rid of her. She kept changing her mind about what she wanted, but only after we’d finished making what she’d asked for. It was becoming tiresome.” She looked overAlthea’s shoulder and clapped her hands. “All right, ladies, back to work. The entertainment is over.”
Now it was Althea blinking back tears at the simple kindness. Once she’d taken so much for granted, and she no doubt wouldn’t have appreciated the manner in which a hardworking seamstress—who was dependent on the goodwill of others to earn her living—had stood up for her.
“Hopefully, everything went better before I returned here,” Benedict said, having moved closer, distracting Althea with his presence. For which she was grateful. She’d never shed a tear in public and certainly didn’t want to begin now.
“Everything was lovely,” she assured him. “I’m quite looking forward to seeing all the frocks completed.”
His assessing gaze held a touch of sorrow. “I recall you telling me that a Lady Jocelyn had once been your dearest friend. That particular Lady Jocelyn?”
She merely nodded, for what more was there to say?
“Now she’s to marry the man who threw you over.”
“So it would appear.”
