Fairclough had opinions on bonnets?
Not that there was anything inherently sinful about the subject, she reminded herself. After all, people needed clothes even if they didn’t necessarily need fashion. That was the reason she gave sewing lessons at the Foundation, as well as weekly tutorials in embroidery and crochet. It was thanks to those very skills that she’d managed to transform her best dress, now in its seventh year of service, into something vaguely fashionable for this evening’s outing. It had taken all of her ingenuity, but she’d finally succeeded in reducing the gigot sleeves into short puffed ones, even fringing the cuffs with a layer of white lace and adding a matching trim to the hem. It wasn’t perfect. The bodice was too high and the overall shape nowhere near full enough, but she’d thought it had looked reasonably presentable.
Less than a minute inside Lady Fentree’s imposing Georgian mansion had been sufficient to destroy that illusion. All of the other young ladies were dressed in the very height of fashion, in off-the-shoulder silk gowns with bell-shaped skirts and low, pointed waists, as if they’d come to the party straight from their modistes. As a casual observer Millie thought she might have enjoyed the spectacle, but to be seated amid so much splendour made her feel like a gaudy weed in a flowerbed full of lilies. It was hard not to feel a little bit jealous, especially when the new vogue for pastel shades was far better suited to her pale skin and auburn hair than the recent craze for bright colours. Even harder not to feel self-conscious when everything about her, from the sensible, unadorned bun at the nape of her neck to the practical ankle boots poking out from beneath her skirts made her feel hopelessly dowdy.
‘What do you think of Pamela hats, Miss Fairclough?’ Lady Fentree’s voice penetrated her thoughts suddenly.
‘Me?’ Millie flushed, embarrassed to have been caught with her attention wandering. ‘Oh, I like them very much, especially the ones with wide ribbons.’
‘Indeed. They’re so flattering, especially when one wears the back of one’s hair in ringlets. It stops them getting flattened.’
‘Yes, I suppose it does, although I’m afraid I’ve never worn ringlets.’
‘Never?’ Lady Fentree sounded genuinely shocked. ‘Well, how extraordinary.’
‘Is it?’ Millie looked around the group in dismay, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut, after all. Judging by the looks being exchanged, everyone else thought it extraordinary, too. As if she’d needed another way to prove how drab and boring she was!
Which was nothing but foolishness and vain self-regard on her part, she chided herself, sitting back in her chair as the conversation moved on without her. There was no cause to feel jealous of the other young women either. Clothes were simply the external trappings of a person and not a reflection of the soul beneath. Self-sacrifice and duty were the things that really mattered in life and she for one could survive perfectly well without new gowns or elaborate hairstyles. It was only being in society that made her feel this way and she’d be back out of it soon enough, as soon as she and her mother returned to the Foundation, where nobody had forty-five minutes to waste in idle chatter about bonnets.
For once, however, the idea of noble self-sacrifice failed to provide its usual consolation. Looking around a room filled with smiling, chattering faces, she still couldn’t help but feel just a little bit…well, boring. Was she boring? She didn’t want to be, but compared to everyone else, her impulsive younger sister Lottie especially, she couldn’t help but suspect that she was. Lottie wasn’t there, of course, having stayed behind in London with a cold while she and their mother came to spend Christmas in the country, but Millie still knew what she’d say. She’d tell her to stop behaving like an old maid and just enjoy herself for once. That was the whole point of this holiday, after all, even if Millie suspected their mother had ulterior motives.
They were staying at the house of her father’s cousin, Lady Alexandra Malverly, the only member of his family who hadn’t disowned him after his marriage to her bluestocking mother, Lilian. Despite rigid opposition, the two women had become close friends and remained so even after his premature death from typhoid ten years before. Since then, Alexandra had issued regular invitations for them to visit, but her mother had generally refused, being unable to make reciprocal offers herself. This year, however, she’d said yes, claiming that she needed a change of scene and a rest. Given how worried they were about Millie’s twin brother, Silas, that was hardly surprising, but it was still out of character enough for Millie to wonder if there was something else behind it.
‘I really think you ought to try ringlets, Miss Fairclough.’ Lady Fentree’s fan tapped her knee, startling her anew. ‘A little more width at the sides would make your face look rounder. Yes, indeed, you must try ringlets and with a Pamela bonnet, too. I shall advise your mother to purchase one.’
‘Oh, no.’ Millie lifted a hand in protest. The last thing her mother could afford was a new bonnet for her. ‘I’m perfectly happy as I am. There’s really no need to trouble yourself.’
‘It’s no trouble…’
‘But I’d prefer it if you didn’t.’
‘Well, I’m sure I was only trying to help!’ Lady Fentree tossed her head and gave a loud, affronted sniff. ‘In any case, it seems that your mother is otherwise occupied.’
Millie followed the direction of her gaze across the drawing room to where her mother was deep in conversation with a strikingly handsome, dark-haired gentleman. Now that she thought of it, she’d been talking to him the last time she’d looked and the time before that. Which was…surprising. Even more so the fact that her mother was actually laughing, something she rarely did at the Foundation. Or at all any more. In fact, in the decade since her mother had been widowed, Millie didn’t think she’d ever seen her talk to any man, family members excluded, with anything other than polite interest.
‘She does look rather engrossed.’ The woman on her left tittered. ‘I’m sure bonnets can wait.’
‘My mother has far more important matters to concern herself with than bonnets.’ Millie stiffened defensively.
‘Oh, yes, Lady Malverly told me all about your Foundation.’ Lady Fentree looked pointedly around at her companions and gave an exaggerated shudder. ‘Mrs Fairclough and her husband set up an institute for women of questionable virtue a number of years ago. I understand that Miss Fairclough here assists in its running.’
‘I do, but it’s for women in need,’ Millie corrected her, ‘virtuous or otherwise. In particular, it’s for women with nowhere else to go. Our Foundation provides them with a place to stay and helps them get back on their feet.’
‘Very laudable, but I don’t think I’d like my Vanessa to involve herself in such matters. A young lady ought not to know too much about that side of life.’
‘No, far better to learn about bonnets,’ Millie heard herself snap, ‘but I’ve been raised to believe that we can’t just ignore things—or people—that we might prefer not to notice. We have a duty to help others.’
‘But surely we can do both?’ Her cousin Alexandra appeared at her side suddenly, wearing a placatory smile. ‘Personally I’ve never understood why we can’t help those less fortunate than ourselves and wear the latest fashions.’
‘Quite!’ Lady Fentree’s voice had the force of a small cannon. ‘Although I might suggest that this Foundation teach a few lessons in manners as well!’
‘What a splendid
