The sight of Lenore Peyton-Price coming to join Arlena impelled Evie to cast a longing glance at the door, but then, Lenore spoke, reminding Evie it was too late for escape.
“Evie? Why, what an extraordinary coincidence! We never thought to see you here.”
Evie pasted on a smile, a polite, perfunctory curve of the lips. “It’s my first visit.”
Arlena glanced over Evie’s plain white blouse and unfashionable gray walking suit. “Yes,” she agreed smoothly, “it must be.”
Beside Arlena, Lenore gave a soft, smothered laugh, and Evie felt the earth shift beneath her feet, fracturing time and space, hurtling her backward.
Suddenly, she was seventeen again, standing on a field at Chaltonbury, waiting with all the other girls as Arlena and Lenore, field hockey captains, picked their teams, listening as names were called one by one, watching as girl after girl was chosen to join, until she was the only one left.
Evie felt sick to her stomach.
“Evangeline Harlow?”
She turned, bracing herself to encounter more ghosts of school days past, but to her relief, she found someone beside her who was not the least bit familiar—a tall, slender redhead she knew at once must be the famous Vivienne, for her clothes gave her away.
Unlike her simply dressed showroom assistants, Vivienne was wearing a tea gown, a smashing silk confection in teal blue and mustard yellow, two colors that shouldn’t have looked amazing together but absolutely did. Evie had never taken much interest in clothes before, but now, as she studied the modiste’s exquisite dress with admiration and a touch of pure feminine envy, she appreciated for the first time the power of beautiful clothes.
Across from her, she heard another of Lenore’s stifled giggles, a reminder that she was staring, and with an effort she came to her senses. “I am Miss Harlow, yes,” she confirmed.
“Oh, Evie,” sighed Arlena, “still not married? What a pity.”
Evie’s smile now felt so tight she feared her face would crack, but when she spoke, her voice was careless and light. “Is it? I fear I’ve been having too much fun to notice.”
She returned her attention to the modiste and found the other woman smiling at her.
“I know just what you mean,” Vivienne said, leaning forward as if to impart a secret. “The married ladies,” she added in a whisper Evie sensed was designed to carry, “just don’t understand, do they?”
She gave Evie a conspiratorial wink, and everything shifted back into proper perspective. Evie returned Vivienne’s smile, and Arlena and Lenore’s catty remarks were forgotten. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”
Vivienne laughed. “Not at all. I am always happy to help a friend of the duke’s family. Especially when she has such a lovely figure.”
Evie almost cast a doubtful look down at herself, but well aware of Arlena and Lenore’s avid scrutiny, she checked the impulse just in time and allowed herself to take Vivienne’s word on the matter.
“Evie, friends with a duke’s family?” Arlena interjected, laughing. “But that’s absurd.”
“The duke told me what happened to all your clothes,” Vivienne went on as if Arlena had not spoken. “A flood, I understand? How terrible.”
“It was, rather,” Evie agreed, following her lead and ignoring the other two completely. “And now, I’ve nothing at all for the season,” she added with an exaggerated sigh. “I hope you can help?”
“I have dozens of ideas already.” Vivienne turned, tucking her arm through Evie’s. “Come with me, my dear, and let me show you what I have in mind for you.”
The modiste led her away, but Evie couldn’t resist a glance over her shoulder, and at the sight of Arlena and Lenore staring after her, their mouths open in stupefaction, the duke’s words came echoing back:
You will have fun, I promise you.
“Lovely to see you both again,” she called, feeling a sweet, wicked glee as she gave Arlena and Lenore a wide smile—genuine this time—and offered them a cheerful wave of farewell.
In the beginning, she’d been doubtful of the duke’s promise that she’d have fun in society, but now, as she followed Vivienne across the opulent showroom, she realized in surprise that he might turn out to be right.
***
For the next three hours, Evie found herself immersed in the world of women’s haute couture. After being measured by a shop assistant, she sat side by side with Vivienne, sipping lemonade, nibbling macarons, and discussing which of the sumptuous fashions modeled for her by the mannequins would suit her figure and her tastes.
She learned more about fabric and design than she’d ever dreamed possible, and she was astonished to discover that bold hues she’d never have dared to pick for herself were the best choices for her complexion and coloring. Emerald? Amethyst? Sapphire? Never would she have dreamed she could wear such colors, but when swathes of fabric in these jewel tones were draped around her, the gold glints in her hazel eyes seemed to sparkle, and her skin took on a vibrant glow that made her appreciate just why Vivienne was London’s most famous modiste. The woman knew her business.
Evie tried to take the duke’s advice, content to order only a minimal wardrobe, but she soon found that Vivienne’s idea of what defined minimal involved a bewildering array of garments, undergarments, shoes, and hats, and she was forced to trust that the dressmaker’s laughing assurance that she was purchasing the bare minimum for a fashionable woman was not an exaggeration.
