“Have you forgotten my brothers own Elysium? I know much more than I should, I expect.” Tony and Leo were rarely discreet when discussing their business dealings. She’d heard far more than was proper. The curse words alone would send most young women to bed for a week. She’d employed several of those foul words herself on occasion, but silently, only thinking them.
The modiste gave a soft chuckle as she finished buttoning Romy inside the dress. “I apologize again, my lady. I owe you a new gown. I have something lovely which just arrived. Cerulean blue, with a pattern of butterflies printed on it.Magnifique.Especially with your eyes. I shall save it for you and no one else.”
Romy glanced down at the mud-colored dress sagging around her slender form. Lady Van de Burgh’s elderly aunt must have had a buxom figure. “I will accept your apology. And you say it has butterflies?” She made her way out of the room, praying the main room was clear except for Miss Waterstone.
“When you return, I will show it to you. And there is also something I’d like to discuss with you, my lady. A way for us to expand our partnership, if you desire to do so.”
Romy stopped in the hall leading back to the front room, a tingle of excitement running through her. Could it be possible that Madame Dupree had finally decided she and Romy could be true business partners? She knew the modiste was considering expansion. Romy’s father had been generous with her pin money, and she had saved all the coin she earned in commissions from Madame. More than enough to purchase half of the modiste’s shop and pay for an expansion. “I look forward to our discussion. I’ll finish with Miss Waterstone and take my leave.”
“Steer the poor girl away from the striped silk. Her father would never allow her to choose fabric so costly. He is miserly, that one.” She lowered her voice and winked. “Except for the opera singer.”
Romy waved at the modiste and walked back into the front room which was blessedly free of patrons except for Miss Waterstone who was still studying the velvets. She needed to return home lest her mother worry. Bad enough Romy had lied and made up a list of charities which didn’t exist. Mama was not exactly herself these days, but she wasn’t stupid.
Resigned to further subterfuge, she pasted a smile on her face and made her way to Miss Waterstone. While she was grateful for all the advantages she’d been given in life, it was difficult to be a duke’s daughter with the soul of a modiste.
“Miss Waterstone,” Romy gently touched her arm, “you will melt in such a thing at your house party. No velvet.”
Miss Waterstone’s eyes widened as she took in Romy’s dress. “It is more dreadful than I imagined.”
“I quite agree,” Romy said with a small laugh. “It is reminiscent of a poorly made set of curtains. Now let us look at the floral design on this pale blue silk.” Romy steered her away from the velvets. “I can just see you wearing this with flowers in your hair. Look, the center of the flowers is the same color as your eyes.”
“Are you certain?” Miss Waterstone smiled as her fingers slid over the fabric.
“Positive.”
One of Madame’s assistants came forward at a discreet nod of Romy’s chin. The assistant assured Miss Waterstone the modiste would have a design for the silk ready for her to review by next week. While most of the ladies frequenting Madame Dupree’s hadn’t become suspicious of her presence, the modiste’s assistants certainly knew of Romy’s involvement. Or at the least, they had guessed. She made a mental note to speak to Madame Dupree about the continued discretion of her assistants.
Once the door shut behind Miss Waterstone, Romy ducked behind the counter to grab her shawl. The shop was otherwise empty, quiet save for the bustle of Madame and her assistants echoing faintly from behind a large curtain. Hopefully, her shawl would cover some of the hideous dress as she made her way out to her waiting carriage.
The bell above the door rang just as Romy straightened from behind the counter, her mind already on the gown she meant to concoct for Miss Waterstone.
“Madame Dupree.” A young lady entered the shop, her eyes sweeping over Romy and instantly dismissing her.
Romy smiled to herself. There was anonymity in clothing at times. It would save her from having to make pleasant conversation. The young lady looked vaguely familiar, but Romy certainly didn’t want to renew any acquaintance dressed in this hideous frock. Shawl hastily draped over her shoulders, Romy started toward the door.
“You, there. Where is Madame Dupree?”
Romy ignored the haughty command, instantly recognizing the dulcet, spoiled tone, for it was much more memorable than Lady Beatrice Howard herself.
At least in Romy’s estimation.
The daughter of the Earl of Foxwood had sounded just as imperious while gossiping at the last ball Romy’s mother had given at the Averell mansion. Beatrice had been whispering with Rebecca Turnbull, now Lady Carstairs, about Romy’s sister-in-law.
I believe I threatened both young ladies with bodily harm if they didn’t cease their disparagement of Maggie.
“Madame is closing for the day.” Romy averted her gaze hoping the ugly dress would disguise her.
Beatrice tapped her foot. “I must speak to her.”
“You are free to wait.” Romy could have offered to fetch Madame Dupree, but she wasn’t feeling charitable toward the spoiled young lady before her. Madame would eventually return to lock the front door and secure the counter. Beatrice could only benefit from a lesson in patience.
Romy’s anger flared, remembering only too well the ugly gossip Beatrice had helped spread the night her brother had compromised Maggie, now the Duchess of Averell. While everything had worked out for the best eventually, Beatrice and her friend Rebecca had been unnecessarily unkind.
The door to the shop was flung open again, but this time, the bell vibrated violently as if it were in danger of being torn from its perch.
“Lady Beatrice,” a low irritated voice intoned. “You promised your errand would take barely a moment which is theonlyreason I agreed to stop. Lady Foxwood grows impatient in the carriage. As do I.”
A tall, imposing form strode into Madame Dupree’s, contrasting starkly against the feminine bolts of fabric, ribbons, and other fripperies. The gentleman, with boredom etched across his features, was memorable not only for his immense height and build, but also for the scowl fixed on his lips.
