Page 25 of A Foolish Flirtation

“Oh yes, indeed!” Pinky agreed with a small shudder. “Such a dreadful place! It really is providential we need never set foot there again.”

“It certainly is, I had no idea what we could even hock next,” Emmie said, her glance flitting around the room. The things she still owned were all big, heavy pieces and she had no notion how they could have carted them as far as Wainfleet Road.

Would she have her own suite of rooms as Lady Faris? She knew some grand residences did have separate quarters for family members. And even if she did, would she have any need of her hefty bow-fronted cabinets, and the mahogany sideboard? It seemed unlikely.

“We must make a list of things we need to do in the next two weeks,” she said, thinking of Jeremy’s letter. “There’s a lot to organize, and only two weeks left to do it.”

“Two weeks, dear me,” Pinky uttered. “We must certainly hurry and finish our latest novels before we return them.”

“Yes,” Emmie agreed. “We cannot leave Josephine languishing. We must see her safely returned to the arms of her beloved Fernando.” Pinky paused and gave her a funny look. “What?”

“Oh, nothing, dear,” Pinky said quickly.

“No, tell me,” Emmie insisted.

“Well, it is just I have been considering if you were not right in what you said previously.”

“What did I say?”

“About, well, Count Stefano perhaps being the better choice for Josephine.”

“When did I—? Oh, that!” Emmie found herself suddenly extremely embarrassed. “That was just a nonsensical conversation, dear, I was not in earnest.”

“Well, I think, in hindsight, you made some salient points,” Pinky insisted. “Though, now that I come to consider it…” Her expression grew thoughtful. “I suppose that really Humphrey is the villain of the piece and Lord Faris, the hero.”

Emmie spluttered. “You think Lord Faris would make the better Fernando now?” She could think of nothing less appropriate, save for that of Humphrey cast in the role of a wicked mustachioed villain. “I cannot see it somehow!”

She wondered briefly what Pinky would think if she knew how Jeremy Vance had toyed with her back in the day. Perhaps it was better not to speculate. “You will come with me this afternoon, won’t you?” she said. “I shall need your help choosing wedding garments, and if it is the establishment I am thinking of, then it looks very smart and intimidating.”

“Of course, my dear.”

“And afterward we might even go to dinner somewhere nice?” she suggested, brandishing the envelope full of money. Their morning passed swiftly, and the carriage duly collected them for Emmie’s appointment and set them down on Jerwin Street.

The fabrics and trimmings were selected for Emmie’s wedding gown and few others besides. Leafing through the swaths of white silk, organza, and crepe gave her unfortunate recollections of her presentation dress, and she was determined that this time, she would have no train and wear no feathers.

Madame de Flores was insistent that only shades of white would do, so a fine duchess satin in ivory was settled on. Pinky fervently agreed her friend must follow in Queen Victoria’s footsteps and brought a veil to her attention that was embellished heavily with elaborate silk flowers.

Understanding that it was to be a daytime ceremony, she and Pinky had agreed that a high neckline and long sleeves were a necessity, but Madame de Flores shot this idea down at once.

“No, no, his lordship wishes for you to wed in a gown most elaborate. He wishes for you to wear the pearls and the orange blossom.” She snapped her fingers and fashion plates were brought forward showing highly trimmed gowns with low-cut bodices and puffed sleeves.

“These look more like evening dresses,” Emmie protested, “and besides, I do not own any pearls! Not anymore.”

Madame gave her a look. “You are to be a viscountess, mademoiselle. Certainement, there will be pearls.”

“Oh, you mean an heirloom necklace?” Pinky said with dawning understanding. “We did not think of that.”

“I’m confused,” Emmie admitted in a low voice as Madame clapped her hands for refreshment to be brought in for them. “I wonder if he means for us to be married here in Bath and then travel down to Cornwall, or if he means for us to be married at Vance Park.”

“I suppose with a special license,” Pinky replied, “you can really be married anywhere his lordship pleases.”

Moments later, Madame was sketching designs with delicate décolleté necklines. Emmie winced over them, only too aware that her own figure looked nothing like the wispy, waiflike maidens of Madame’s imaginings.

With this in mind, she firmly vetoed the elaborate swathing of tulle over any part of her, deaf to Madame’s protests. Despite its popularity, Emmie felt it added bulk, and bulk was neither necessary nor desirable to either her already ample bosom, or her not-so-slender waist.

“But ze neckline it will be indecent without ze tulle!” Madame protested, tape measure in hand.

“No, it will not, for you will not cut it so low as to expose too much,” Emmie responded firmly.