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The next morning, Cleo accompanied Yasmin to Quimby’s Emporium. They walked into an open area with curtained dressing rooms to one side and a huge mirror situated before a low platform.

Mrs. Quimby bustled over to them, dropping a curtsy before Cleo—who was her partner in the emporium—and Yasmin.

“We’re here to order Lady Yasmin a prudish gown,” Cleo said, smiling at her. “Yasmin, this is my dear friend and co-proprietor, Martha Quimby.”

“Good morning, Lady Yasmin,” Mrs. Quimby said, dropping another curtsy. “Prudish will be a pleasure. I spent yesterday measuring debutantes, most of whom believe they should dress like a young matron, exposing every asset they have. They’re imitating you and the Duchess of Trent,” she told Cleo.

Cleo shrugged and settled onto a couch, drawing Yasmin down beside her. “Martha, do join us.”

“I’d like to order a demure ball gown,” Yasmin said when they were all seated. “More than demure, in fact. A gown that hides my assets, as you called them. My fiancé thinks my clothing is too improper.”

Mrs. Quimby blinked at her. “Indeed?”

“I want to be turned into a wallflower,” Yasmin supplemented. “If not a wallflower, a nun.”

Cleo broke out laughing. “I remember saying the same thing to you,” she told Martha Quimby.

The proprietress was smiling. “As it happens, I might have just the gown for you, Lady Yasmin, so you wouldn’t even have to order one. It has yards and yards of fabric, and will cover you from your earlobes to your feet. But it is a terrible gown. Dreadful! I should pay you to take it. In fact, if you do take it, you’ll have to promise never to disclose its origins.”

Yasmin hesitated. “I don’t want to make fun of Giles’s request.”

“I think it sounds perfect,” Cleo said. “You can’t do better than a neckline that sweeps your earlobes, Yasmin!”

Mrs. Quimby came to her feet. “If you’ll give me a moment, I’ll fetch the gown. If you can countenance wearing it in public, we can do any necessary alterations immediately, and the gown will be delivered to you tomorrow morning.”

“I believe that’s the future,” Cleo said to Yasmin.

Yasmin had slipped back into thinking about Giles. He loved her; she was almost certain. And she was madly in love with him, which explained why she was considering winding a bolt of fabric around her body. “What is?” she asked belatedly.

“Walking into an emporium, choosing a gown, and having it delivered in a day, or perhaps even altered on the spot.”

“That would be astonishing,” Yasmin said. But she couldn’t help returning to Giles. “I’m truly worried. What if he thinks I’m mocking his request?”

Cleo shrugged. “I made Jake wear flowered vests and golden breeches. Frankly, if Giles jumps to such a negative conclusion, perhaps you should rethink the connection, Yasmin. Do you really want a husband who believes he can control your wardrobe?”

“No,” Yasmin said. “Certainly not. I’m just worried that he doesn’t understand. Men don’t dance with me merely because of my neckline.”

“They dance with you because you are endlessly enchanting,” her friend said, dropping a kiss on her cheek.

“That’s very sweet of you, but they also assess my reputation and think that I might be available for intimacies,” Yasmin said somewhat miserably. “If Giles sees me in a Quakerish gown and realizes that men still throng around, he might change his mind about marrying me.”

Cleo frowned. “Why?”

“Because he will always have a scandalous countess,” Yasmin explained. “I’ve tried to warn him, but he doesn’t believe me. My reputation is unaffected by what I wear.”

“In that case, the more fabric, the better,” Cleo pointed out. “Make your point, Yasmin, and thereafter inform the man that further meddling in your wardrobe is not acceptable. I allowed Jake to order me a few garments from Quimby’s before we married, but thereafter I revoked his rights to interfere.”

Ten minutes later, Yasmin walked from the dressing room, and Cleo began giggling before Yasmin even stepped up on the platform before the large mirror.

The gown was made from heavy purple-and-yellow-striped silk that frothed into ruffles below the waist. Orange silk crossed over the bodice, and a white bodice sewn beneath rose into flared collar points at the neck.

It was certainly demure. There was no chance that anyone might glimpse the line of her leg. Yasmin occupied twice as much space as she might normally, thanks to a ruffled petticoat.

“You look like a rooster dressed for a costume ball!” Cleo went into a fit of laughter.

Mrs. Quimby stood back, arms over her chest. “The gown is still a monstrosity,” she observed. “You’d be a pleasure to dress, Lady Yasmin, if you weren’t set on being a wallflower.”

Yasmin had never seen a garment like the one she was wearing. “These sleeves are unusual,” she observed, plucking the puffs that marched down her arm. The puffs of gold silk were tied with red cords, giving her arms a vague resemblance to a puffy caterpillar.