A sickening realization washed over me. This was not the sale of their beloved estate, followed by a leisurely move to Bath. This was something far harsher, and it had to do with Grandfather’s cherished East India Company.
“All the money is gone?”
Freddy nodded as she stepped into the hall. “Father was terrible at speculation. He thought investing in tea would be wise, but trouble arose with those lost ships.”
I reached out, clasping her hand, all my well-rehearsed comforts evaporating like the mist.
“So you see,” she whispered, her voice cracking, “I can hardly afford new gowns.” Tears spilled down her cheeks, and she hurriedly wiped them away before a startled cry escaped her.
I looked over my shoulder to find Edward standing in the hall, his habitual scowl in place.
“I must have forgotten a comb,” Fredericka murmured, managing a wobbly smile. Then she darted to her room before I could say anything more to console her—not that I knew what to offer, other than a hug.
I joined Edward. He hadn’t moved a muscle. Strange how as of late, he seemed to be at home more often than at Cambridge.
“Why is Freddy crying?” he demanded.
I hesitated to betray her confidence but reminded myself that Edward was her friend too. He would care. “Her family has faced ... misfortune. A great deal of it.”
His frown deepened until his eyebrows formed a fearsome V. “How much misfortune?”
“It’s related to the East India Company,” I whispered.
He released a long, slow breath, his shoulders tightening as if bracing for an unseen weight. “So Aunt’s plan is to take you shopping? As if that will solve everything wrong with the world?”
“Edward, she’s lost nearly everything,” I replied, a note of pleading in my voice. “Don’t ruin our morning with your dark mood. Freddy is hurting, and she’s our friend. Our dearest friend in need of our support and care.”
Edward’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he averted his gaze. His fingers curled into fists at his sides before he finally spoke again.
“I hate the Company.”
The next day, as Aunt Clarice called for the carriage after breakfast, Edward appeared at my side, straightening his cravat with a mischievous look chasing away his former gloom.
“You’re joining us?” I asked, surprised. “Shouldn’t you be finishing your studies at Cambridge? Do you ever attend a single class?”
“Have no fear, Kit. I hardly sleep and finish what I must in the midnight hour. I will return. In the meantime...” His smile was mild, though he narrowed his eyes. “I thought it best to accompany you ladies. London has a way of swallowing people whole, especially those who look as lovely as ... well, as Freddy does today.” He darted a glance at her dated gown. “And you, too, Sister. If I remember the last trip to the bookstore correctly, I had to keep an eye on you.”
Freddy flushed but said nothing, casting me a pleading look that suggested she felt as out of place as she’d feared. I squeezed her hand, hoping to ease her nerves. Aunt barely masked her surprise at Edward’s offer, but she patted his arm, noting it being fitting for a gentleman to join their party. Sebastian had left for another meeting with Parliament regarding the East India Company policies, his absence surprisingly missed.
When we arrived at Madame Lanchester’s shop on Bond Street, its polished windows gleamed in the morning light, gowns draped across mannequins shimmering invitingly. Madame Lanchester, an elegant older woman with piercing blue eyes and a powdered coif, greeted Aunt warmly before fixing a critical gaze on Fredericka.
“Oh yes, I see exactly what you need,” she declared, clapping her hands. “Miss Fredericka, you must try something livelier, perhaps a lavender with silver trim or the rose muslin? And a brighter shawl to add some cheer!”
Fredericka tensed, as though she’d been plunged into an icy bath. Aunt gestured for Madame Lanchester to bring a selection of fabrics, nodding with approval at each neutral or subdued choice the dressmaker suggested.
“Blue silk.” Madame held up a delicate swatch of fabric with an appraising gleam in her eyes. “This would bring out her complexion nicely.”
Fredericka fidgeted, her fingers twitching against the folds of her dress. “It’s very pretty.”
Aunt, seemingly oblivious to Fredericka’s discomfort, gestured toward another fabric—a vibrant rose satin. “And this for evening wear, perhaps paired with a deeper trim. Something to add a touch of elegance.”
Aunt meant well, and dear Freddy—who once told me to have the courage to refuse what I did not want—would now, in her reduced circumstances, accept whatever was offered without complaint.
Madame Lanchester nodded, producing a small sketch pad from her pocket. “I could design a high-waisted gown with short, puffed sleeves and a flowing skirt to flatter her figure,” she said, penciling graceful lines with practiced ease.
Freddy’s cheeks pinked as she glanced at the drawing. “It’s lovely,” she agreed, though her eyes darted toward a simpler fabric—a pale yellow muslin resting on the edge of the table.
“And for day wear,” Aunt continued, ignoring Freddy’s hesitation, “something light and practical. The muslin could suffice.”
