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“Nonsense.” Romy gave a small laugh as the material of her dress dragged along the floor. She put her back to the counter so as not to expose the gaping hole in her skirts to Madame Dupree’s other patrons. “How could it possibly be?”
Miss Waterstone’s fingers tangled together. “Because,” she said in a solemn tone. “Things often are.”
“I was not paying attention.”
Madame Dupree came bustling forward. “Mon dieu. What has happened?” the modiste exclaimed, surveying the damage to Romy’s dress.
“I am a victim of my own clumsiness,” Romy stated sadly, giving Miss Waterstone a look cautioning her not to speak. “I stepped on my own skirts while backing up. This dress, I fear, is not well-made.”
Madame’s eyes widened.
“Because,” Romy stated somewhat loudly for the benefit of the other patrons, some of whom had turned her way, “it was not created here. I fear I purchased this from the local seamstress outside my father’s estate. In the country,” she clarified. “A mistake.”
Madame Dupree’s keen eyes took in the shears jutting out from the table. She discreetly plucked them from their spot, her polite smile never wavering as she sought to free them from where they’d been wedged. She cursed under her breath.
“My lady,” Madame Dupree said, still smiling. “Are you injured in any way?”
“Of course not,” Romy whispered. “But I would prefer not to return home with most of my dress sagging around me. I’ve no idea how long these poor stitches will hold. Do you have another dress I might borrow? Something ready-made? Or a very large cloak?” She was already trying to figure out how to sneak into the house without running into any of the servants or her mother, who all assumed Romy was out distributing books to the poor.
I was mobbed by the orphans; for the books, Mama, and my dress tore clean away.
“Anything,” Romy stated firmly. Her mother hadn’t seen her this morning and wouldn’t recall what Romy had worn, but she would question a torn dress.
“I do.” Madame’s brow wrinkled. “It was made for Lady Van de Burgh’s elderly aunt who, I’m sorry to say, perished before it could be given to her. You need not return it.”
Miss Waterstone looked thoroughly horrified.
“I’m sure it will be fine.” Romy took Miss Waterstone’s hand. “I’ll only be a moment and then I’ll return to help you. I think a shade of periwinkle to bring out the beauty of your eyes.”
“Oh, but you mustn’t waste any more of your time on me,” she lisped softly. “I’ve already caused you enough trouble.”
“You caused me no trouble, nor are you a bother. I’ll only be a moment,” Romy assured her before following Madame Dupree to the back of the shop through a narrow doorway.
“You are so kind not to be upset, especially since you could have been hurt. Monique is on the floor today. She is lazy and knows to put these away.” Madame pulled the shears from the pocket of her gown. “I never thought to find such uses for pockets. I am glad I took your suggestion on them.”
“I am perfectly fine,” Romy said again. “Truly. There has been a crush of ladies in your shop today, and I don’t think Monique was intentionally careless. Please don’t sack her on my account.” Monique supported two younger siblings. Romy would feel terrible were she to be the cause of the young woman’s loss of employment.
“Iambusy. Incredibly so. All the society mamas have flooded my shop because of the gorgeous new designs...fromFrance.” She shot Romy a bland look before they both burst into laughter.
The designs were all Romy’s, sent to Madame Dupree while Romy had been at Cherry Hill. She’d paid the courier extra to keep the sender’s identity a secret lest her mother become suspicious. Madame had not actuallysaidthe designs were from France; the modiste merely did not correct her patrons’ assumptions.
Romy’s merriment filled the back room. It was good to laugh. There hadn’t been enough amusement in the last year, and being back in London, especially at Madame Dupree’s shop, had lifted Romy’s spirits. “I have an entire stack of new sketches. When will you visit Beston’s?”
Beston’s was one of London’s premiere linen drapers, purveyors of the finest fabrics in all of England. Madame Dupree and Mr. Beston were business associates and likely much more, based on the way the modiste blushed when speaking of him.
“I will go next week and replenish our supplies.” She moved into another room. “Mr. Beston is expecting a new shipment of exotic fabrics.”
“I could go with you,” Romy said hopefully.
“My lady, you know you cannot. Especially in my company. If you were to go on your own and order dozens of bolts of fabric?Mon Dieu. They would ask why, of course. Then wonder at you visiting my shop three or more times per week, conveniently helping the young ladies. Someone would guess. I do not think you are ready for that to happen. You may never be ready for such a thing. And your brother, the duke? He would be most angry with me.”
“You’re right, of course.” The idea that a duke’s daughter was secretly designing clothing for her peers would be a decent-sized scandal. Tony, who had conveniently disregarded his own tattered past, would not approve.
Papa would have.
A brief flash of pain crossed her heart. She missed her father.
Madame Dupree walked over to a large cabinet stuck in the corner, pausing to wave at a gown being pieced together. “I have had my girls working day and night on this.” She pointed to a gown of cream silk patterned with a gold geometric design draped over a dressmaker’s dummy. “Is it what you envisioned when you chose the silk?”
