“Where do you hail from?”
“A small village in Sussex,” Theodosia answered.
“And how are you enjoying London?”
Theodosia attempted to quell her enthusiasm. “It’s all quite marvelous. I had no idea so many people could live in one place.”
Madame Duchon laughed. “The novelty does fade rather quickly, especially when the Thames begins to smell.”
“We’re going to Gunter’s this afternoon,” Olivia piped up from where she was comparing two silk sashes.
“A fine establishment,” the modiste remarked.
“It is,” Theodosia said. “Though this time, Lord Wilton will be joining us.”
Why had she said that? It was hardly worth mentioning. Yet she felt Olivia’s eyes land on her with amusement.
“I’ve been trying to coax my brother to accompany me for weeks,” Olivia said, lifting a brow. “But one polite invitation from you and he agrees.”
Theodosia’s cheeks flushed. “I merely asked. There was no persuasion involved.”
Mercifully, the subject dropped, and a more comfortable silence fell over the room as Madame Duchon continued taking measurements.
Once finished, she stepped back and gestured towards the bolts of fabric. “Would you like to examine the material I brought with me?”
Theodosia approached the settees, letting her fingertips glide over the fine muslin. “They’re so soft. So beautiful.”
“I only use the best,” Madame Duchon said, joining her. “Nothing less will do for a young lady’s first impression.”
Theodosia hesitated. “Are you sure that’s… wise?”
“I am,” the modiste replied with a confident nod. “I have an excellent team of seamstresses working night and day. With any luck, you’ll have the first gowns delivered tomorrow.”
“That sounds rather expensive,” Theodosia said, but then a voice spoke from the doorway.
“You needn’t concern yourself with the expense, Miss Theodosia,” Lord Wilton said, stepping into the room. “I gave my word.”
Madame Duchon dipped into a graceful curtsy. “My lord, a pleasure, as always.”
He inclined his head in polite acknowledgment. Olivia rushed to his side, a rich green gown draped over one arm.
“Look at this one,” she said. “Is it not the loveliest?”
He studied it for a moment, then replied dryly, “It is… certainly a gown.”
Olivia merely smiled. “Why do I even bother? You haven’t the faintest appreciation for fashion.”
“I never claimed to,” he said. “Are we to depart for Gunter’s now?”
“Just one more moment while I speak to Madame Duchon,” Olivia said over her shoulder, already turning back to the modiste with a sparkle of excitement in her eyes. The two women fell into easy conversation, animatedly discussing sleeve lengths and hem embellishments.
As Olivia became engrossed, Lord Wilton stepped beside Theodosia. “Are these muslin fabrics to your liking?” he asked, his gaze sweeping over the assortment with polite interest before settling on her.
“They are,” she replied, allowing her fingers to glide over the soft weave of an ivory muslin. “I’ve never seen anything so fine. The fabrics available in my village were more practical than pretty.”
“Then I’m pleased you’ll have the opportunity to wear something worthy of you.”
She turned her head, regarding him with playful suspicion. “Another compliment, Lord Wilton?” she asked lightly. “If you’re not careful, all this flattery might go to my head.”
