“Good.”
“Good? Didn’t you like it?”
“I hated it. It was badly cut and ridiculously fussy, and the color made me look like a—like a sick canary.”
Lucy smiled. “I think you might enjoy meeting my dressmaker. She’s also a woman of robust opinions, particularly when it comes to matters of fashion.”
Chapter Four
The cab turned into Piccadilly and pulled up in front of an elegant shop with a large picture window. With green velvet curtains draped behind the window and a single long white-satin glove and a length of silk draped over an elegant black wrought iron stand, it looked quite classy, Lucy thought. The nameChancewas lettered in elegant gold script with a simple white-and-gold daisy painted on the glass.
Chancemeantluckin French.Lucy hoped Lady Charlton was right about the dressmaker listening to her opinions. It would be the first time ever, she thought sourly. But then Papa—and his latest mistress—weren’t in charge here.
Inside, the shop was modern and elegant. Lucy looked around approvingly. A short, fashionably dressed woman came limping toward them, a wide smile on her face. Some kind of assistant, Lucy assumed.
“Lady Charlton, delighted to see you again. It’s been a while.”
“It has, Miss Chance,” Lady Charlton said warmly.
Lucy stiffened.Miss Chance?This was a mistake, surely?
Lady Charlton continued, “But today your client is my goddaughter, Miss Lucy Bamber, who will be making her come-out this season.”
The little woman’s brows rose. “This season, eh?” She gave Lucy a long, thoughtful look, then gave a decisive nod. “Bit of a rush, but we’ll manage. If you’ll step through here, ladies, we’ll ’ave this consultation inside.” She turned her head. “Polly, love, bring tea and biscuits through for Lady Charlton and Miss Bamber, will you? This will take a while.”
A discreetly dressed young woman nodded and disappeared through the green velvet curtains.
The short woman gestured. “Through here, if you please, my lady, Miss Bamber.”
Lucy didn’t budge. She grasped Lady Charlton by the sleeve. “A word in private, if you please.” She jerked her head, indicating outside.
Lady Charlton gave her a quizzical look. “Very well. A moment please, Miss Chance. My goddaughter and I need a word.”
Lucy led her out onto the footpath. She didn’t want that woman to overhear the conversation.
“Well, Lucy, what is it?”
“That woman isn’t French at all. She’s a... a Cockney!”
Lady Charlton raised her brows. “Yes, and...?”
“My father promised me a proper French dressmaker. Not some Cockney.” And he’d paid Lady Charlton well for it, so if she was trying to cheat by having Lucy dressed by some second-rate cheap Cockney dressmaker, Lucy wasn’t going to stand for it. She’d had enough of being badly dressed. For the first time ever, she was going to have what she wanted, not what Papa and his latest woman chose for her.
Lady Charlton said coolly. “Really? I see. And which French dressmaker would you prefer?”
“I don’t know, but Papa said—”
“It will, of course, alter our arrangements quite considerably if we have to travel.”
Lucy blinked. “Travel?”
“To Paris.”
“I don’t understand. Papa said you would take me to the best French dressmaker in London.”
“Ah, I see.” Lady Charlton’s expression softened slightly. “The trouble is, there are no genuine French dressmakers in London at the moment. Oh, there are some very good dressmakers who call themselves French, who display in their shops French magazines containing the latest fashions from Paris. They call themselves French names and speak English with a French-sounding accent, but try speaking to them in French...” She shook her head. “Miss Chance is one of the rare few who refuses to pretend she is anything other than she is.”
“Oh.”
