Page 25

“Perhaps if Mrs. Quimby added a satin apron,” Regina was saying, her eyes sparkling maliciously. “I understand they are fashionable in Paris.”

Finally, Lord Peregrine moved from his place. He strode over to Ella and held out his hand. “May I assist you to descend?”

She took his hand and stepped down, knowing that her cheeks were rosy.

The sunlight pouring in the windows already made her breasts feel twice as large as when they were neatly confined by a corset and covered with faded cotton, not to mention the housekeeper’s chatelaine pinned to her front, dangling a thimble and pair of scissors.

“Good afternoon, Lord Peregrine.” She did not curtsy, because …

Because … breasts.

He bowed. “Good afternoon.” When he straightened, a few locks of hair fell onto his forehead.

Before she thought, Ella brushed them to the side. Her eyes widened at her own boldness. “Pardon me!” she whispered. Luckily, Regina was informing the viscountess about the benefit of cucumbers in a reducing diet, so she missed Ella’s faux pas.

“Your gown is beautiful,” Lord Peregrine stated.

Ella tried to keep her expression serene. It was a standard compliment that might be offered to any lady. He was Fulvia’s betrothed. “Mrs. Quimby has outdone herself.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Perhaps a trifle more fabric at the top?”

She drew in a quick breath at the sting of his question, but it reminded her that he was a churl underneath all that manliness. Her uncle’s double, in a prettier package.

Among other things, Lord Peregrine certainly didn’t pad his calves. His silk stockings revealed a thick layer of muscle. The thought made her even crosser. Why had she ogled her cousin’s fiancé? She shouldn’t have even noticed that detail.

He cleared his throat. “I apologize.”

“There’s no need to apologize,” Lady Regina put in, coming up beside him and wrapping her hand around his arm. “We all agree with you, Lord Peregrine. Mrs. Quimby is used to designing for the stage, and certainly Miss Ella’s bosom would be visible from the farthest corner. Even, perhaps, from the moon. We in polite society do not expose ourselves in such a graceless fashion.”

Ella silently counted to ten, not allowing herself to speak.

“My fashion advice surely earned me an Unkind Thought,” Lord Peregrine said to Ella, stepping away from Regina’s grasp without even glancing at his former fiancée. “Do I see in your expression that you are already at UT #2?”

“ ‘UT’?” Regina asked in confusion.

Lord Peregrine’s glance at his former fiancée was so chilly that Ella blinked. “A private jest.”

Regina curled her lips into a girlish smile. “How kind of you to offer advice to your betrothed’s cousin.” She turned to Ella. “I suggest you heed his lordship’s rebuke. It is difficult to navigate society when you’re used to back rooms. Fulvia tells me that you sleep in the attic?”

Lord Peregrine made an abrupt movement, but Ella caught his gaze, commanding silence. He narrowed his eyes in return but held his tongue.

“It’s not like that,” her aunt cried at the side of the room, jumping to her feet. “Ella is my dearest niece. She chose to live in the attic rather than in her former bedchamber.”

“Of course, she did,” Regina said. She turned back to Ella. “A ‘fichu’ is a length of fabric, sometimes made of lace. Lace is quite expensive, so you likely couldn’t afford that unless Mrs. Quill had a discarded piece on hand. Perhaps a second-hand piece.”

“Mrs. Quimby,” Ella said. “Not Quill.”

Regina ignored that. “You should cover your cleavage so that you don’t startle guests at Fulvia’s debut ball. You certainly don’t want people talking about you rather than her, do you?”

“I know what a fichu is,” Ella said, baring her teeth at Regina in something that resembled a smile. “How grateful I am to receive advice from a leader of the Ton.”

Regina’s eyelids flickered as she tried to parse whether there was a hidden insult in Ella’s comment or not.

“My niece looks beautiful in the gown as it is,” the viscountess said, her voice wavering. “You are the very image of your mother, dear. I was so jealous of her figure.” She put a hand up to her head. “Oh no, I stood too quickly!”

Lord Peregrine instantly pivoted, took one long stride, and caught her arm as she wobbled in place.

Mrs. Quimby ran out of the dressing room, trailed by Fulvia, still wearing her own clothing.