Page 12 of Against the Wind

“Well, if it were me,” Lady Ormond opined, holding one finger up to her chin, “I would want something to engage my brain. Something I wouldn’t mind doing while providing for my existence.” She thought for another moment. “I suppose I would seek a position as governess—a position that did not involve small children, because they might require too much attention.”

“Brilliant, darling! I hadn’t thought of that. Of course, that is just what she might do.” Ormond was clearly proud of his wife’s cleverness.

“Why, may I ask,” Lady Ormond inquired, green eyes boring into her husband, “do you want to know? I assume it is not hypothetical.”

“No, actually,” Ormond agreed. “Martin has…er, lost just such a woman, whom, he has learned, has fallen on hard times and might be seeking a place of refuge. She is but a year or two older than you.”

Lady Ormond turned. “Lost a woman have you, Martin? Hmm. Already?”

Martin knew when he was being toyed with. He shot John a glance, but the young man was engrossed in his food. “Enough, you two,” he whispered.

“Do not be so touchy, Martin,” Lady Ormond said, studying him and likely seeing more than he wanted. “Anyone would think this woman has gotten beneath your skin.” She paused and, on a more serious note, added, “If you like, I can make discreet inquiries as to whether any women of the ton have recently retained a lady of quality as a governess.”

Martin eyed her. “I don’t want to frighten her or make her think she is being hunted. Could you inquire so as not to raise anyone’s suspicions? I also would not wish to alert Lady Egerton to my interest.”

“Of course not,” said Lady Ormond, green eyes twinkling. “You know how I love this sort of thing. Think of it as me helping our friend the spy. Yes, I’d quite like to do it.”

Ormond gave Martin a look, clearly annoyed that his wife was off on another adventure.

“Then, yes,” Martin said, amused that the tables had turned. “Please make your inquiries—if Ormond has no objection.” As if there were anything his friend could do to stop her. “I am making some as well.”

Kit recognized the shop as the same one she and Anne had frequented, a modiste on Bruton Street with a good reputation for dressing debutantes and women of the ton. The bay window with small glass panes displayed several gowns in the current style, with high waists and low necklines, done up in pale silks, brocades and satins with ribbons, flounces and lace.

They entered the shop to a jingle of a bell hanging over the door and the practiced greeting of an older woman with dark hair wearing a blue morning gown. The first things Kit noted about the woman were her high cheekbones and the professional confidence etched in her face; she would make an interesting subject to draw. Mrs. de Courtenay had been delighted to learn Kit was an artist, asking her to teach the girls a bit of her craft. Now they all three had new sketchbooks and pencils, and Kit had begun to draw the twins and the faces of the de Courtenay servants as well.

“Good day, ladies, I am Mrs. Singleton. How may I help you?”

“Good day to you, Mrs. Singleton. I am Miss Endicott, the girls’ governess for the Season. We seek your assistance for their wardrobes. Appropriate gowns for day and evening, including those they will need for the balls they will attend. And perhaps a pelisse or two.”

“Ah yes, Miss Endicott. Now I recall. Mrs. de Courtenay sent me a note. You are to have whatever you need and she will receive the bill. She was most insistent that you, too, should have gowns as well as her daughters.”

Kit felt the heat rise in her cheeks. This was so hard, taking the charity of the kind de Courtenays. But it wasn’t as if she could return to Rutledge’s home to pack a valise. The servants would long ago have discovered his body. Not for the first time, she wondered why she had heard nothing of his death; but facing the issue at hand, she had to admit she must accept the gift of the gowns if she were to accompany the girls to their balls and other entertainments as their mother insisted.

“Oh yes, Miss Endicott! You simply must,” pleaded Pen with her soft blue-gray eyes and a few freckles sprinkled over her nose that Kit thought charming even if the ton would not. “You simply must choose fabric for your own gowns. We will help. It will be such fun!”

Looking at Pen’s sweet face, Kit gave up all resistance. “All right, but only because your mother insisted.” Smiling at Mrs. Singleton she said, “Perhaps one or two gowns for me.”

“Mrs. de Courtenay was very clear, Miss Endicott. A few gowns for evenings and a few walking gowns as well, I should think.”

“Very well, then,” said Kit, resigned. She could see there was nothing for it but to go along with Mrs. de Courtenay’s generous plans.

She put her arm around Priscilla’s shoulders and made the introductions: “This is Miss de Courtenay.” Pris smiled briefly; she had no love for elaborate display. “And this”—Kit wrapped her other arm around the second girl—“is Miss Penelope.” Pen beamed at Mrs. Singleton, eager to please.

The modiste exuded confidence as she stood ready to begin, tucking a strand of dark brown hair behind her ear and steepling her fingers in front of her. “Very well. You girls are both lovely. I am quite certain our creations will render you the most beautiful young women at the balls. Let us get started, shall we?”

The girls exchanged excited glances and followed the woman to a trestle table holding bolts of fine muslin and silk in white and ivory. Kit eyed them as they eagerly handled the luxurious fabrics, looking toward their future and the Season. In the weeks she’d been with them, she had grown quite attached to Pris and Pen. Though twins, they looked nothing alike and had very different personalities. In the sketches of the two she had just begun, their differences were most apparent. Pris, the older by only a few minutes, was intelligent and levelheaded, her demeanor quite adult. Even now she was commenting affably on the practicality of the various fabrics, but her light red hair hinted at the temper Kit had seen on a few occasions.

Pen, on the other hand, had a softer appearance, with light brown hair and a rounder face, and she had a more malleable temperament. Both girls had blue eyes, though Pen’s were paler, more of a blue-gray like her mother’s. In their demeanor, the twins were as different as Kit and Anne had been—and they were equally as close. Kit kept hidden deep within her the twinge of pain she felt at knowing she’d never see Anne again.

She smiled to herself as she recalled how Pris had announced one afternoon the search for the proper husband was a mission of utmost importance and it was essential he be someone she could respect. Pen, on the other hand, was quite biddable, happy just to be included in any parties and dances. Any man who wanted her would do just fine if he were the choice of her parents.

It was a busy afternoon. Mrs. Singleton devoted herself to working with Kit to assure the girls selected appropriate gowns for the remaining events of the Season. The girls were arguing over the choice of ribbons and trimmings when the modiste finally turned her attention to their governess, giving Kit a long, studying appraisal.

“You seem quite familiar to me, Miss Endicott, even your name. Have you been here before?”

Kit shied from reminding the woman that she had been there before as a lady, as an earl’s daughter, but she would not lie. “Yes, I was here ordering a gown some years ago. It was lovely. Your work is excellent.”

Distracted by the praise as Kit hoped, the older woman thanked her and turned her attention to the fabric she had chosen. “This will go nicely with your fair complexion, Miss Endicott. And the silver moiré will set off your hair. That auburn color is most unique, so dark, so rich. And there is a slight blue cast to this fabric that will bring out your eyes, don’t you think?”