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Jenny did not wish to argue with the woman in public, nor do anything that might be perceived as disrespectful. Thus, she gracefully nodded at Raphael.
“You are petite so I will keep the style of your dresses simple so they don’t overwhelm your body. You are wearing the dress, after all, and not the other way around.” Raphael grinned at the dowager, displaying an impressive dentition. Jenny could not help the mirthful snort that escaped her at his brazenness.
At last, this mantuamaker is a match for the dowager,she thought.
The intimidating mask the woman always wore fleetingly faltered. She was unaccustomed to people like Raphael, it would seem. But she quickly recovered, appearing as though she was readying herself for combat.
“Lavender is a pretty color that compliments green,” he continued. “You can have a dress in lavender.”
The dowager began to shake her head. “Did you not hear me when I said her dress will be green?”
Jenny decided to deal with the dowager now. “Your Grace, perhaps we should go toyourmodiste if you are so displeased with Monsieur Raphael’s choices.”
Her mouth twisted. “That woman has not made me a decent garment in ages. She has positively gone out of style. The last dress she made for me hung on my shoulders and the needlework was atrocious. The thing was practically falling apart.”
“My mother was a mantua maker, bless her soul,” Raphael began. “She told me that a thread only stitches a dress. What holds it together is the body. You Grace, you are more than capable of holding a dress together.” He eyes the dowager appraisingly.
Jenny covered her mouth with her hand to keep from laughing. When they had walked into the shop that afternoon, the dowager had no inkling of what awaited her in the form of Raphael.
“Are you always this insolent?” she asked. Mrs. Atwood coughed and when Jenny looked at her, she found her red-faced with her hand covering her mouth.
“Only to those that pique my fancy, Your Grace,” Raphael replied, the corner of his mouth turning up.
The dowager was now nearly at a loss for words. She sat straighter in her seat and rearranged her shawl about her shoulders, sniffing and looking out the window at the busy street.
The day no longer wore on Jenny and Mrs. Atwood, for they had found ample diversion in Raphael’s quaint shop. When the dowager recovered, she employed her critical tongue once more but every remark of hers was returned with a witty rejoinder from Raphael.
Jenny thought this tale would be the first she would tell Nicholas when she saw him but then remembered how they had been with each other and changed her mind. The last time she had seen him was at the park with Lady Heatherford, and the last time they’d spoken was that night at the ball.
When it came time to choose nightclothes, the mantua maker suggested her night rails be made of silk instead of the usual cotton, and out of the corner of her eye, she caught the dowager smiling. The woman believed there would be an heir in this marriage and Jenny allowed her fantasies.
“Do you have a color preference or do you wish for me to suggest?” Raphael asked, waving for his assistant to bring some fabric samples.
Jenny turned to Mrs. Atwood for her opinion, already knowing the color she would select. “Which shade of green would you suggest, Mrs. Atwood?”
The woman smiled gratefully. “Try emerald green.” Jenny cocked her head. She had expected her to say jade green. After all, it was the color she had been suggesting from the start.
“Red is another color you should consider,” Raphael suggested.
“Red might clash with her hair but I think my grandson will love it.”
She doubted Nicholas would ever see her in any garments designed to seduce. Mentally shaking herself, she returned her attention to the matter at hand. More colors were selected: Midnight blue, violet, and rose.
“Well, Monsieur Raphael,” the dowager said, bracing her cane on the carpeted floor and rising, “you are hereby contracted to sew for the future Duchess of Seaton.”
Raphael bowed. “The future duchess shall have only the best.” He moved to a nearby rack and retrieved a few swatches of lace and presented them to Jenny. “These laces will be an excellent addition to your wedding dress and you may consider it my gift to you, my lady.”
Jenny smiled at his generosity. He was an excellent businessman. The dowager tried to make her opinion known then. “We will choose the Belgian lace.”
Jenny liked the lavender Austrian lace and she was about to express it when Raphael said, “Your Grace, I am quite transfixed by your hair. The shade is quite lovely.”
The dowager touched her immaculate coiffure. “It has more silver than gold in it now.”
“And it is lovely. I am expecting a shipment of red dye from the East Indies. They use it for their body and hair. If you would be interested in something new, I would love to share.”
“Oh?” The woman seemed to be interested in earnest.
While she was distracted by the prospect of coloring her hair red, Jenny picked the Austrian lace with a smug smile on her face. Before they left the shop, the dowager selected a few things for herself and Jenny had never seen her in better spirits. She could understand why. She had been made to feel young again and what aging woman would not be pleased with that?
All three women were in good spirits when they left the shop. But the sight of a familiar face, a face Jenny had not seen in years, sent her spirits plummeting. The dowager’s call distracted her and when she looked back, the face was gone.
But the damage had already been done and Jenny was feeling eerily disquieted. For a moment, she thought that she might be seeing things but her faculties were intact and her instincts sharp.
What she had seen must truly have been there.
