Her aunt tilted her head in thought. “It should be something you wouldn’t ordinarily do.”
“I can pat the back of my hair.” Alex then did the motion. Normally she never bothered to check her appearance once she left her bedroom.
“That is a good one,” Aunt Winifred said with a decided nod. “I will keep an eye out during our next outing.”
“And I will practice starting conversations. And asking Mr. Taylor questions,” she added.
“Andlistening,” her aunt replied.
Alex bit her lip and nodded. This was getting to be quite a bit more work than she had been prepared for. But as the carriage pulled up to Atkinson Enterprises and she remembered all that was at stake, Alex was filled with a renewed determination to succeed.
Her aunt pulled back the curtain and gave the building a wary look. “Don’t work too hard, my dear. You’ll overtax yourself.”
Alex laughed as the coachman opened the door. “That hasn’t happened yet, Aunt Winifred.”
As she stepped down, her aunt muttered something that sounded vaguely likeDon’t press your luck. But when she looked back Aunt Winifred simply waved good-bye. Then the carriage door shut and pulled back into traffic, while Alex was left standing alone on the pavement.
Fourteen
Afew days later, Alex once again submitted to the indignities of courtship by allowing her mother and aunt to offer their opinions on her wardrobe. The LaSalle salon was that evening and Lucien was downstairs in the parlor with their father. Alex hadn’t seen him since their walk in Hyde Park and thinking of him waiting for her just a few floors below made her stomach flutter.
Alex usually attended the salon on her own, but tonight she needed a chaperone to help sell the legitimacy of her courtship with Lucien. Unsurprisingly, her aunt had not been very enthusiastic about attending a salon dedicated to innovative business ideas, so Father offered to come instead.
“Honestly, darling,” her mother said gently, “I think the green suits you best. Much better than that brown thing you were considering.”
“Yes, why onearthwould you even own a gown in such a color?” Aunt Winifred demanded from her spot on the chaise longue in Mother’s dressing room.
“Because I like it,” Alex grumbled as she tugged on the bodice of her gown. “And at least I couldbreathein the brown thing.”
Her mother let out a dismissive tsk and pushed her hands away. “If you’re being this dramatic, I’d say you can breathe perfectly fine.And stop pulling or you’ll tear a stitch and Walters will have to mend that as well.”
From her place on the floor, Walters grimaced. She was busy fixing the spot where Alex had ungracefully stepped on the hem earlier.
“Sorry, Walters.” Her mother’s maid grunted in response. “Could I at least loosen the corset a little?”
Her mother looked appalled by the suggestion. “Whatever for? All you’re going to do is sit in a chair and talk about the stock exchange or whatnot.”
Alex resisted the urge to correct her. “I’d still like to be comfortable.”
“It will ruin the shape,” Aunt Winifred pronounced and her mother nodded gravely.
“I don’t care,” she gritted out.
A perfect figure wouldn’t do her much good when she collapsed in the middle of Mr. LaSalle’s parlor.
Walters let out a long-suffering sigh. “If you insist, Miss Atkinson.”
She might as well have saidIt’s your funeral.
Half an hour later, Alex headed downstairs in a slightly looser corset. Though she hadn’t noticed any negligible difference in the shape of her gown, Aunt Winifred and her mother acted as if she were now wearing a burlap sack.
They entered the parlor where her father, Lucien, and Freddie were gathered by the hearth. As Alex watched her sister animatedly speak to Lucien while wearing a fashionably cut soft blue gown to great advantage, she was suddenly very glad she hadn’t wornthe brown thing.
But it was the smile on Lucien’s face that caused something to tighten in her chest. Something that could not be blamed on her corset. She had allowed herself to forget the very important fact that Lucien wasin lovewith her sister. It was an inexcusable oversight.
“Good evening, all,” her mother trilled as she glided over to the group. “Freddie, I thought you were going to the Egyptian Hall with the Ericsons this evening to see that fortune-teller.”
“Medium. And I am, but I didn’t want to miss Lucien,” she said with a fond glance in his direction and not at all cowed by her mother’s pointed tone. “Mrs. Ericson is simply mad for seances.”
