Within Wychwood itself, there was a High Street lined with shops, and Daphne began walking down one side, content for now just to look in the shop windows she passed, but when she reached the shop at the corner, she found herself lingering for more than just a glance.
Daphne stared through the glass window of Mrs. Avery’s Dressmaking Establishment, where several beautiful gowns were displayed to tempt young ladies passing by. One of them tempted her. It was of rose-pink silk with a beaded filigree design around the hem in cream and deeper pink. It had a neckline that barely skimmed the shoulders, and looked just as likely to fall down as not, and the sleeves were absurd puffs of silk with more beading of deeper pink. A pair of embroidered silk slippers to match were displayed beside it. Daphne had never seen anything so feminine and pretty and impractical in her life before.
She touched the glass, staring at the gown, and a wave of longing swept over her. She had never taken any interest in clothes before—there was little use for pink silk in the desert sands of Morocco or Petra— and her practical, thrifty nature had never allowed her to justify a pretty dress, especially one so frivolous as this evening gown. But her life was very different now, and she was not in the desert anymore.
Daphne imagined how it would feel to wear such a dress, and before she could even think of changing her mind, she pulled open the door and went inside the shop.
As she stepped inside, a tiny bell sounded, and the half dozen or so women in the shop looked up. Daphne gave a smile of greeting that took in all of them, then she turned to have a closer look at the gown in the window.
The moment she did, she was lost. She wanted that dress, and she didn’t care if she spent every shilling of her thirty-two pounds to acquire it. It looked as if it would fit her, but even if it did not, she would have one made up just like it.
The bell over the door sounded again, and Mrs. Bennington entered the shop. The other woman came to her side at once. “My dear Miss Wade, did you not hear me calling you? I spied you from down the street. Why, I had no idea you were coming into the village today. Why did you not tell me so at breakfast?”
“I did not know how I would spend my day out. By the time I decided, you and Mr. Bennington had already left.”
“It is fortunate, then, that I have seen you, for the duke has been so kind as to allow my husband and myself to use one of his carriages today, and you will be able to ride back with us.”
She gave Daphne’s arm an affectionate little pat. “I am glad to see you spending more days out, my dear. Heaven knows, going to Enderby will be such a tonic for you, trapped as you have been in that dirty cottage—what does Mr. Bennington call it?”
“The antika.”
“Yes, yes, the antika. Such an odd name.”
“Good day, Mrs. Bennington.” Another voice entered the pause in conversation, and both of them turned to find a red-haired young lady of about seventeen standing only a few feet away.
“Miss Elizabeth, how lovely to see you. I hope you are well?”
“She is always well, ma’am,” a slightly older girl said, coming up to their group. “And silly, too.”
“So are you,” Miss Elizabeth replied, then cast Mrs. Bennington a pointed glance and looked at Daphne, causing the older lady to give a cry of vexation.
“Oh, have the three of you not met? How remiss of me! Miss Wade, this is Miss Anne Fitzhugh,” she said, gesturing to the older girl, “and Miss Elizabeth Fitzhugh. My dear young ladies, Miss Wade.”
They dipped mutual curtsies.
“It is such a pleasure to meet you,” said Miss Fitzhugh. “Why Mrs. Bennington has never introduced us after church services, I cannot think.”
“I would, I would,” the older woman assured with a laugh, “but Miss Wade always runs away before I have the opportunity.”
They all gave her such a curious look that Daphne felt compelled to explain. “Mr. Bennington is uncovering artifacts so rapidly that I have been spending my Sunday afternoons in the duke’s library, sketching as fast as I can.”
“If I were staying at Tremore Hall, I should find any excuse not to leave either,” Anne confessed, “just on the chance the duke himself might come by and actually speak to me.”
“If he did,” her sister put in, “you would faint dead away, I am sure.”
“I would never do anything so undignified.”
“Of course you would,” Elizabeth answered, laughing.
“I would not!”
“That will be quite enough, my dears.” A new voice spoke, and Daphne turned to another older woman who joined the group. “Do not quarrel.”
When the woman moved to stand between Elizabeth and Anne, it became evident to Daphne that she was the mother of the two, and a very attractive-looking woman, with a face as yet unlined by age. Her hair was free of gray and was a darker red than her younger daughter.
After being introduced to Daphne, Lady Fitzhugh said, “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Wade, for I have heard nothing but praise about you from my husband.”
“Sir Edward is very kind.”
