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“Dearest sister,” Benedict returned with a charming grin, one that she was sure had caused the heart of many young ladies to flutter madly in their chests, “I can assure you that the feeling is mutual.”
Emily could only sigh inwardly at her brother’s flagrant dislike for their stepmother and half-sister.
Although, if I am truly honest with myself, I do admire him for being strong enough,she thought to herself,but he is a gentleman, and I am a lady, and therein lies the problem.
Unlike her brother, who was given a title and country seat, she remained mostly dependent on her father and by extension, her stepmother. Lady Horatia had convinced the Marquess that these dresses were Emily’s choice, and in all honesty, Emily herself had no true idea what fashions would suit her best. All she knew was that the dresses Lady Horatia curated for her were extremely ugly.
Let us hope that this Madame Dubois can help me,she thought miserably as the carriage slowed to a stop in Cavendish Square.
She had scarcely taken in the bustling activity when Benedict ushered her into a luxuriously appointed dress shop with “Dubois” emblazoned in fancy gold script over its clear, glass windows.
“MyLord!”
Emily turned at the sound of the husky, accented voice to face a beautiful woman who appeared to be in her second decade. Her dark hair was elegantly styled, and the dress she wore highlighted her generous bosom and her beautiful complexion. Her lips curled into a sultry smile as she walked over to Benedict.
“It has beenso longsince I last saw you,” she purred. “And this must be—oh.”
Emily flushed at the subtle cadence of horror in the beautiful modiste’s voice when she finally noticed her.
“Antoinette, this is my sister, Lady Emily Montgomery,” Benedict introduced her, “and she needs a dress.”
Madame Dubois blinked at Emily. “Lady Emily will need more than a dress, Lord Hardy.”
Emily nodded. “She is correct, Ben.”
“Riding habits, ball gowns, day dresses and the like,” Madame Dubois rattled on after she had gotten past her initial shock at the ugly yellow dress Emily was wearing. “New gloves and hats shall be in order as well.”
Benedict regarded her with narrowed eyes. “My dear Antoinette, are you trying to rob me in broad daylight?”
“Certainly not,” the modiste huffed, taking particular offense. “Those things I told you—they are merely the bare minimum of what a lady might require for the season.”
“Good Lord,” her brother breathed. “I shall be penniless before the day is done!”
Emily giggled. “You should at least have an idea of how much is required of you when it isyourturn to launch your daughter into society.”
“Then Father should very well compensate me for this!” he muttered. “Oh, never mind! Since it is her fault you are so poorly attired, I shall have Lady Horatia answer for this!”
Madame Dubois slid her smiling gaze over to Emily and winked at her. “Let us leave the dilemma of payment to the men, My Lady. Come with me, and I shall have you measured.”
She led Emily into the interior of the dress shop as two other women trailed obediently after her. The fitting room was furnished like a small and elegantly appointed sitting room with couches upholstered in deep wine with golden trim. Several mirrors were arranged before a small stool, onto which she had Emily stand.
Two other women came in bearing bolts of cloth in their arms and showed them to Madame Dubois for appraisal.
“Non, non,” the modiste sniffed delicately as they held it up close to Emily. “This will not do.”
Emily bit her lower lip as she stood on the stool while Madame Dubois carefully examined her.
“Lady Emily has such a vibrant coloring,” she remarked. “These insipid colors will never do!”
At her words, Emily felt her heart sink in her chest. Lady Horatia often told her that pale colors were all the rage and that darker colors were for older women.
“Do not look so glum, my dear,” Madame Dubois smiled at her. “Why try to imitate a daisy when you can be a glorious rose?”
She clapped her hands impatiently, and several more of her assistants brought in more fabric. Vibrant red, sultry wine, and crushed blue velvet that seemed to imitate the midnight sky.
“Now, this is what I want!” the modiste beamed, holding the swatches up to Emily. “See? See how the colors make her glow?”
Satisfied with the present selection, Madame Dubois had her assistants take Emily’s measurements as the modiste sat back with a pencil and a sketchbook of sorts. After the women had finished taking Emily’s measurements, Madame Dubois showed Emily the first few sketches the modiste had made.
