Madame Giselle, in her absence.’ The French accent had disappeared to reveal the Londoner underneath. Apparently, she’d taken more than the shop when she’d come out from the back room.
The girl took her silence as hesitation. ‘We are not as fashionable as we once were, I’m afraid. I will understand, of course, that you prefer to go elsewhere. I can recommend several excellent modistes who are frequented by the ladies of your class.’
If she was not careful, she’d get her chance to shop with Clarissa. Penny’s eyebrows arched in surprise. ‘No wonder you are not as busy as you should be. For when one is in trade, one should never turn down commerce, especially an order as large as the one I am likely to make.’ When she had come into the shop, she had had no intention of spending money. But suddenly, it seemed the most natural thing in the world.
‘A large order?’ the dressmaker repeated, dumbly.
‘Yes. Day dresses, travelling clothes, outerwear and ball gowns. I need everything.’
‘Do you wish to look at swatches?’
She gritted her teeth. ‘It does not matter. Choose whatever you wish. And styles as well. I do not have any idea how to proceed.’ And then she prepared for the worst.
The girl ran her through her paces, draping her in fabrics, and experimenting with laces and trims. And Penny had to admit that it was not as bad as it could have been, for the girl made no attempt to force her into gowns that did not flatter, but chose clothes that would suit her, rather than poking and pinching to get her to fit the fashion.
The choice of shops had been most fortunate, although Adam could not have known it. Now if she could find a way around the inconvenience of dinner and dancing for a hundred or so of her husband’s friends … The man was cracked if he thought he could use his mother’s guest lists. The names on it were likely to be as dead as her modiste.
Penny glanced down at the girl, who was crouched at her feet, setting a hem in the peach muslin gown Penny was modelling. ‘Giselle?’
‘My real name is Sarah, your Grace,’ she said, around a mouthful of pins. ‘Not as grand as it should be. But there is no point in hiding the truth.’
‘Sarah, then. Do you have family in service?’
‘My mother is housekeeper at Lord Broxton’s house.’
One of her husband’s adversaries in Parliament, but closely matched in society. It would do to go on with. ‘It seems, Sarah, that I am to throw a ball. But I am no more born to be a duchess than you were born a Frenchwoman. If I had guest lists and menus from a similar party, it would help me immensely. No one need know, of course. And I would be willing to pay, handsomely.’
Jem was summoned from the street and given a note from Sarah, and directions to the Broxtons’ kitchen door.
He was back in a little more than an hour, with a tightly folded packet of papers containing names and addresses of the cream of London society, and the menus for a variety of events.
Penny sat comfortably on a stool in the back room and smiled at Sarah, who was throwing a hem into another sample gown. ‘This is turning out to be a surprisingly productive trip, and not the total waste of time I had suspected. If I am careful, and can avoid any more of my husband’s outlandish plans for me, I might still manage an hour or two of work.’
Adam would no doubt be irate when he saw the clothing that that woman was making for her. It did not in any way remind her of the dresses worn by the ladies of his circle. The colours for evening were pale, and the sprigged muslins she had chosen for day dresses hardly seemed the thing for a duchess.
Although just what duchesses wore during the day, Penny was unsure. Whatever they liked, most likely.
She gritted her teeth again. Or whatever their husband insisted they wear. But Sarah had seemed to know her business, despite the lack of customers. She had loaded Penny up with such things as were ready, more than enough petticoats, bonnets, and a few day dresses that had been made for samples, but fit so well they might have been tailored for her.
She inquired of the total, not daring to imagine how much she might have spent.
She saw the wistful look in the girl’s eye as she said, ‘The bills will be sent to your husband, of course. You needn’t worry about anything, your Grace.’
Of course not. For nobility did not have to concern themselves with a thing so mundane as money. But she had taken much of the poor girl’s sample stock, and there would be silks to buy, and lace, and ribbon to complete the order.
And since she was the Duchess of Bellston, it could all be had on credit while the false Madame Giselle found a way to pay her creditors with aristocratic air. Her husband, who had been so eager for this wardrobe, would send the girl some money in his own good time. She must manage as she could until then.
Penny reached into her reticule, and removed a pack of folded bank notes, counting out a thick stack. ‘Here, my dear. This should go a fair way in covering the materials you will need. You may send the balance directly to my bank for immediate payment. Do not hesitate to contact me, should you need more. If I must do this at all, I would that it be done right and wish you to spare no expense.’
She saw the visible sag of relief, and the broadening of the smile on the face of the modiste.
When the carriage returned, and Jem saw the pile of boxes, he looked at her with suspicion, and gestured to an underfootman to throw them on to the carriage and tie them down. ‘I’m to spend all my time, now that you’re a “her Grace” two steps back and carrying your ribbons?’
‘If it makes you feel better, Jem, think of it as charity work, just as my brother always wanted me to do. Or perhaps as economic investment in a small business.’
Jem stared sceptically at the boxes. ‘I’m thinking, at least ladies’ dresses are lighter than books.’
‘Well, then. You have nothing to complain about.’
She had chosen to wear one of her new dresses home, a simple thing in pale pink muslin, with a rose-coloured spencer. The matching bonnet was a work of extreme foolishness, with a shirred back and a cascade of ribbons, but it seemed to suit the dress and she did not mind it overmuch. When she walked up the steps to the townhouse, it was a moment before the man at the door recognised her, and smiled before bowing deep.
Very well. The transformation must be startling. Adam would be pleased. She was certain of it. And he would admire the way she had managed the ball with a minimum of effort.
And then she remembered it did not matter at all to her what Adam thought. The whole of this production was an attempt to fool society into believing in their sham marriage, and put up a united front for his spurned lover, Clarissa.
If she was truly spurned. It was quite possible that Penny had wandered on to the scene in the middle of a contretemps and things would be returning to their despicable normal state at any time. If she allowed herself to care too much about her husband’s good opinion, she would feel the pain of his indifference when he was through with her.
She hardened her heart, and walked down the hall to her husband’s study, pushing open the door without knocking.
He was not alone. Lord Timothy was there as well. They had been deep in discussion over
