of why?
CHAPTER THREE
THE TWO WOMEN CLIMBED into Lady Haughston’s waiting carriage, a shiny black barouche. Constance knew, from listening to her aunt’s chatter yesterday evening that this barouche, a slightly outdated equipage for someone usually so slap up to the mark as Lady Haughston, was one of the woman’s well-known and charming eccentricities. The barouche had been given her by her late husband when they were first married, and since his untimely death six years ago, she had refused to buy a new carriage, preferring his gift.
“I have been, in truth, looking at two hats at the milliner’s,” Lady Haughston said. “But we have ample time to stop elsewhere. Shall we go to Oxford Street? What would you like to shop for?”
Constance smiled at her. “I am quite happy to go wherever you wish, my lady. I have nothing particular I wish to buy.”
“Oh, but we cannot neglect you,” her companion said gaily. “You must at least need ribbons or gloves or some such thing.” She looked consideringly at Constance. “A bit of lace for the neckline of that dress, for instance.”
A little surprised, Constance glanced down at her chocolate brown dress. It would be prettier, it was true, with a ruffle of lace around the neckline and the small puffed sleeves—champagne-colored lace, for instance.
She shook her head, unaware of letting out a tiny sigh. “I fear it would not be plain enough then.”
“Plain enough?” A faint look of consternation marred Francesca’s pretty features. “You are not a Quaker, are you?”
Constance let out a chuckle. “No, my lady, I am not a Quaker. It is just that it is not appropriate, is it, for a chaperone to call attention to herself?”
“Chaperone!” The other woman exclaimed. “My dear, whatever are you talking about? You are far too young and pretty to be a chaperone.”
“My aunt needs my help. She has two daughters out.”
“Help? To watch them talk or dance? I think you are far too serious about the matter. I am sure she would not expect you to sit out every dance. You must dance at Lady Simmington’s ball. Her musicians are always excellent. I will speak to your aunt about it.”
Constance felt a blush begin in her cheeks. “I doubt I would be asked, my lady.”
“Nonsense. Of course you will. Especially when we brighten up your wardrobe a trifle. I have a deep blue satin gown—I have worn it far too many times already, and I fear I must give it up, but it would look wonderful on you. My maid can change something here and there, spruce it up a bit so no one will recognize it. You must come to my house before the party and let her make it over for you.”
“My lady! That is much too kind of you. I cannot accept such a generous gift.”
“Then do not consider it a gift. ’Twill be a loan, and you may give it back to me when the Season is over. And, please, that is quite enough of ‘my lady.’ I am Francesca.”
Constance stared at her, dumbfounded. “I—I don’t know what to say.”
“Why, what should you said but ‘Thank you for the dress, Francesca?’” the other woman retorted, smiling.
“I do thank you. But I—”
“What? You do not wish to be friends with me?”
“No!” Constance hastened to assure her. “I would like that very much. Indeed, I should very much like to have a friend. But you are too generous.”
“I am sure that you would be able to find a number of people who would tell you that I am not generous at all,” Francesca retorted.
“You make it very difficult to say no,” Constance told her.
Francesca’s white teeth flashed in a mischievous grin. “I know. I have worked at it for many years. Ah, here is the millinery. Now, stop all these protestations and come help me decide between these hats.”
Constance put away her doubts and followed Lady Haughston into the store. They were greeted with a smile and pleasant words from the girl behind the counter, and a moment later, an older woman who was obviously the proprietress of the store, swept out from the curtained rear of the shop to help them herself.
Francesca modeled both of the hats in which she was interested. One was a soft, dark blue velvet with a jockey brim, a delicate lace veil hanging down to cover her eyes. The other, a straw cottage bonnet, was lined with blue silk and tied fetchingly under the chin with a matching blue ribbon, Gypsy style. Both did wonderful things for her blue eyes, and Constance declared herself as unable to decide as Francesca was.
“You try them on,” Francesca suggested. “Let me see how they look.”
Constance made a token protest, but, in fact, she had been itching to see how the blue-lined straw would look on her. When she tried it on, she could not help but smile at her reflection.
“Oh!” Lady Haughston cried, clapping her hands together. “It looks perfect on you! You must get it, not I. I will take the velvet.”
Constance hesitated, gazing at her image in the mirror. The blue silk lining did as much for gray eyes as for blue, she decided. It was an excessively pretty bonnet, and she had not bought a new hat this year. Surely it would not hurt to spend a little of her money.
Finally, with a sigh, she shook her head. “No, I fear it must be too dear.”
“Oh, no, I am sure it is not. I believe it is on sale, is it not, Mrs. Downing?” Francesca turned and looked significantly at the store owner.
Mrs. Downing, who was well aware of the benefits of Lady Haughston’s patronage, smiled and agreed. “Indeed, it is. You are right, my lady. It is, um…” She shot another glance at Francesca. “…one-third off the price on the tag.” At Francesca’s smile, she nodded. “Yes, that’s right. One-third off. A true bargain.”
Constance looked at the price, quickly calculating. She had never spent even as much as two-thirds of this price for a hat at home. But, then, none had been as becoming or carried quite the elegant panache as this one.
“All right,” she agreed, saying goodbye to her pin money for the month. “I will take it.”
Francesca was delighted with Constance’s purchase and took the velvet hat for herself. Then she insisted on purchasing a spray of tiny silk buds as an ornament for Constance’s hair.
“Nonsense,” she said when Constance protested. “It will look perfect with the blue gown you are borrowing. It is a gift. You cannot refuse it.”
Their hats in boxes, they went back out to their waiting carriage. When they had gotten in and settled into their seats, Constance turned to Francesca.
“My lady—Francesca. I do not understand. Why are you doing this?”
Lady Haughston turned a look of supreme innocence upon her. “Doing what, my dear?”
“All of this.” Constance made a vague gesture around her. “Inviting me out with you this afternoon. Offering me a dress.
