“Lucy!” Emilia sat down beside her and framed her charge’s face in her hands. “You are beautiful and perfect as you are,” she said fiercely.
“B-but I haven’t got anyone to look after me, like Mr. D-Dashwood does for Charlotte,” hiccuped Lucy. “No one will care what I wear.”
Emilia’s heart twisted painfully. “You’ve got me,” she declared. “And Mr. Dashwood looks after you, too.”
“Oh, Millie.” Lucy swabbed her face with her skirt, and Emilia let it go. “He doesn’t care about me. What if you’re not still here when I’m fifteen?”
And just like that her heart cracked. “I will never forget you or desert you. I expect you’ll have many friends who are more amusing and fashionable than I when you’re fifteen, but if you ever wish me to take you shopping in Bond Street, I will,” she vowed recklessly.
“Promise?” whimpered Lucy. Tears clung to her pale lashes, making her look like a sea creature.
Emilia nodded, her gaze unwavering on Lucy. “I promise.”
The girl wilted. “All right.”
“And we’ll go for ices another time,” Emilia added. “Soon. Charlotte would like to see her friend, but it’s not as though Gunter’s will close forever after today.”
At last, a weak smile lifted Lucy’s drooping mouth. “Tomorrow?”
“Perhaps. We’ll see what state your sampler is in.” Emilia got to her feet and offered her hand to Lucy, who dragged herself up from the step. “Go on, now. We’ll be back before you know it.”
“Because it takes forever to stitch a sampler row,” muttered Lucy, plodding up the stairs.
The cat sauntered across the top stair, and Emilia added in a conspiratorial whisper, “Perhaps Sir Chester will help you.” Lucy’s head came up, and she sped up, catching the cat in her arms when she reached the landing.
Emilia took a deep breath. She ought to have expected that. Naturally Mr. Dashwood would take a greater interest in his own sister, who was older and in more pressing need of things like gowns and dancing lessons. It wasn’t his fault Lucy had been so neglected her entire life that an outing to get ices seemed imbued with unspeakable excitement.
It wasn’t her fault, either, but Emilia felt the weight of Lucy’s disappointment.
She straightened her shoulders and summoned a smile as she went down the stairs. Charlotte peered anxiously around the brim of her bonnet. “Shan’t Lucy come?”
“No,” said Emilia, taking her own bonnet from Pearce. “There will be a time for her to come, but today we are outfitting you! Lucy would grow bored sitting and waiting, and you’ll wish to spend time with Miss Neale.”
Charlotte hesitated, but finally smiled a little and nodded.
Arabella led the way to the carriage, chattering brightly about which modistes were in fashion this Season and which had grownde trop. Charlotte revived with the talk of the new dresses she would soon have, and Emilia let James help her into the carriage. He sprang up on the seat with the driver and they were off.
It had been quite a while since Emilia visited Bond Street, and she couldn’t deny a thrill of delight as they turned into the fashionable street. Unlike Arabella, she had never had carte blanche to shop here as a matter of course, but she’d been able to afford a few select items. A bonnet from Mme. Roche’s shop. Gloves from Dewey’s. Her best gown, a gift from her grandfather years ago, from Madame Follette’s.
“Where shall we begin?” asked Charlotte. She was doing an admirable job of keeping her composure, although she was gripping her reticule in a stranglehold of eager excitement.
“What do you need most?” Arabella smiled at her.
“Oh...” Charlotte looked uncertainly at Emilia. “A dress?”
“We shall start with some day dresses and a dinner dress,” said Emilia. “With shoes, bonnet, gloves and the like.”
Charlotte’s face lit with joy. “Oh, yes,” she breathed.
Arabella nodded in satisfaction. “Very good. Brissotte’s, I think.”
The dressmaker’s shop was bright and clean, with elegantly dressed dolls in the two front windows. Madame Brissotte, an older Frenchwoman, came forward with a smile, and soon the three were ensconced in a small, neat room with delicate furniture. There Arabella took charge, laying out the array of clothing they wanted, with specifics of colors and styles that made Charlotte’s eyes grow wide.
“Very good, my lady,” Madame Brissotte said approvingly. “Françoise will know precisely what to do.” She rang a bell and a moment later a young woman came into the room, sketchpad and pencil in hand.
For over an hour, Emilia and Arabella sorted through sketches, ignoring Charlotte’s gasps of delight to cast aside several. The young assistant nodded almost constantly, her pencil flying across the pages as she revised the sketches to Arabella’s demands.
Once they had five approved sketches, the cloth was presented, unfurled from soft, shining bolts that evoked another pang of envy in Emilia’s heart. There was a rich sea-green silk that made her gasp softly, and before she could stop herself, she put out her hand and touched the glowing cloth.
