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1
Eighteen months later, London
Romy rubbed her fingers over the sample of damask. The fabric was beautiful but far more suitable for a sofa or chair than a gown. She made a mental note to speak to Madame Dupree, though she supposed someone like Miss Hobarth, who was chattering away happily beside her, would hardly note the difference.
I can hardly allow Miss Hobarth to go around looking like a sofa cushion.
“I am so pleased to see you, Lady Andromeda. London has been dull without your company. I know how difficult the time away has been.” Miss Hobarth gently touched Romy’s forearm.
“It has indeed.” A mild understatement. The death of Romy’s father, the Duke of Averell, had been far worse than any travail Miss Hobarth could imagine, though she meant well. Watching her father’s formerly robust form waste away to nothing while her two brothers remained estranged from him had been a frustrating circumstance. The anger still lingered at Tony, now the Duke of Averell, as well as her other brother, Leo. Tony at least seemed to have taken the reins of the family and dukedom firmly while her illegitimate brother fell further into his grief. As did Romy’s mother. But Mama was finally starting to recover after a frightening collapse in which Romy had feared for her mother’s health.
“Will you be staying in town long?” Miss Hobarth examined a bit of wool dyed a deep green.
“I’m not certain.” Maggie, Romy’s sister-in-law, had begged the family to visit London as she and Tony could not come to Cherry Hill at present. Leo had taken off for New York on business, leaving Tony to manage his gambling hell, Elysium.
Business.Romy wondered if Georgina, Lady Masterson, would like being referred to as if she were an invoice requiring payment. Leo had gone after Georgina, who had fled England for her native New York, last year. Honestly, it had taken him far longer to follow her than they’d all thought.
Mama, finally starting to wear pewter instead of black, had reluctantly agreed to come to London, mainly so that she could be with her grandson, Freddie, who was beginning to take his first steps.
“I do hope you stay long enough for me to ask your advice. I’m having several new gowns made, and you know better what I need than my own mother.” Miss Hobarth snuck a look at Mrs. Hobarth who was across the room. “What a stroke of luck to find you here today.”
“Lucky indeed. Madame Dupree was kind enough to inform me of some new silks she’d received, else I wouldn’t be here.” It was a half-truth. Romy would have been there regardless.
“I’m certain the help you gave my sister was what helped her land Viscount Lowell.”
“How is Lady Lowell?” Miss Hobarth’s elder sister had been indireneed of assistance. All the Hobarths sported hair in varying shades of ginger and seemed determined to dress only in chartreuse, with as many strategically placed bows as possible. It was a testament to her diplomatic skills that Romy had managed to steer the eldest sister toward more complimentary colors.
“Deliriously happy.” Miss Hobarth grinned.
“I’m glad to hear it.” Viscount Lowell was an older gentleman who doted on his much younger wife, and it was obvious he held her in much affection. Such affection wasn’t a requirement in most society marriages, but Romy insisted it be part of her future. As a duke’s daughter, marriage was a foregone conclusion, but her brother had assured Romy she would be allowed a choice of husband. Romy meant to have something more than a business arrangement. Her own parents had been madly in love. And Tony had wed Maggie out of love.
Romy refused to settle for less.
“Madame Dupree is amazing, of course. Her designs are magical,” Miss Hobarth gushed.
“They certainly are.” No one knew that better than Romy.
“But I am uncertain of some of the colors.” Miss Hobarth lowered her voice as if the modiste were nearby. “I should like to wear something bright, perhaps the color of a buttercup. And bows. The larger the better.”
Romy’s eyes ran over Miss Hobarth’s bright red hair. “I personally think any shade of yellow would detract from the crowning glory that is your hair.” She pointed at one flaming curl. “You are an original. I declare, Miss Hobarth, I’m quite jealous.”
Miss Hobarth blushed at her praise. “You are? I cannot imagine. You are one of the Beautiful Barringtons,” she whispered.
Romy made a puffing sound. “Nonsense. Why, you know that nickname was coined in jest by Lady Masterson? And only to tease my brother, the duke. I’m quite sincere.”
Beaming, Miss Hobarth gave a small giggle.
“Now, as to beading and bows, Miss Hobarth,” Romy leaned closer and took the other woman’s arm, “I have it on good authority that the latest fashions are all about the magnificence of the fabric, which leads one to uselessembellishment.”
Miss Hobarth pouted in disappointment.
“I don’t mean to say you cannot have your lace and beads,” Romy hastily assured her. “But you must be judicious in your choices. Take this, for instance.” Romy held up an ice-blue silk shot through with silver thread. “See how the fabric catches the light? Why, beading would be redundant and detract from the natural color of the fabric. I see you in this, off the shoulders for you’ve lovely skin, narrowed sharply and smoothly fitted, the silk fanning out from this point.” She gently prodded Miss Hobarth’s mid-section. “You’ve a perfect figure. Such a design will show it off to great advantage. I would put tiny brilliants in your hair and nothing else. You would stun every gentleman speechless.” Romy let the silk slide out of her fingers. “But that is only my opinion.”
“I must agree.” Madame Dupree, one of the finest modistes in all of London came up alongside them. “Less embellishment allowsyouto shine, Miss Hobarth. You will glitter like the stars in the sky.”
Miss Hobarth shot a glance to the opened drawer of beads one of Madame Dupree’s assistants was showing another customer before running her finger along the silk. “You are certain, Lady Andromeda?”
“Positive.” Romy nodded. “I would not suggest such a thing if I wasn’t. And, if I may, Miss Hobarth?”
