said, her eyes falling to the swatches of fabric scattered about the floor and draped over the room’s furnishings.
“I have others. Your brother-in-law’s message was not suggestive of the scope of what he wants.”
“What does he want?” Anne asked, hoping to at least be informed as to the occasion on which the dress they were discussing should be worn.
“A wardrobe,” Elizabeth explained, smiling at her.
“Without any cheeseparing,” the modiste said, her pleasure obvious.
“A wardrobe?” Anne repeated. Which seemed to imply… “I am to have several dresses?”
“Dozens,” the countess agreed. Her eyes met Anne’s again before they fell to the pattern book as she turned the page. “Your father was very fortunate in his choice of guardian.”
“I understand they were great friends,” Anne said.
When Elizabeth Sinclair’s eyes came up this time, there was something in their blue depths Anne didn’t understand. Some emotion there that she couldn’t quite read. Almost as quickly as it had formed, however, it was controlled.
“Indeed?” the countess said. “I didn’t know.”
Anne didn’t either, of course. She had simply made that assumption, based on the fact that her father had chosen Ian Sinclair to be her guardian. And she couldn’t imagine any reason for that other than friendship.
However, whenever she had attempted during the past week to introduce any topic that might lead to a recounting of the days they had served together, she had sensed a reluctance on her guardian’s part. She had finally been forced to conclude that he was as reticent to discuss his military career as his health. And probably for the same reasons.
“This?” Elizabeth questioned the dressmaker.
Again both pairs of eyes focused on Anne, whose arms were beginning to grow gooseflesh from being bare so long. She didn’t complain, however. She stood where they had placed her, the light from the windows of her bedroom illuminating her every feature, good and bad she supposed, and wondered what she had glimpsed so briefly in the eyes of Ian Sinclair’s sister-in-law.
“What do you think?” Ian asked, watching from his chair by the fire as Elizabeth pulled on her gloves.
“I think you are going to need a great deal of help.”
“Besides that,” he responded with a smile.
“She’s completely unspoiled. And quite lovely, of course, but…Frankly, Ian, she hasn’t much training in the deportment that will be expected of a debutante.”
“If you mean blushing and simpering, then I’m not sure I would view skill in those behaviors as an advantage.”
The tone of his reply was sharper than he had intended, but the implied criticism bothered him. While he had been confined to his room by the maddeningly lingering effects of his illness, he had had almost too much time to examine his feelings for Anne.
Although it was true that he had, of necessity, been celibate since he’d been wounded, he didn’t believe that completely explained the strength of his attraction. Nor did his admiration of her courage or of the way her eyes met his with an honesty and openness that was unheard of in a woman of his class.
“She does have a tendency to speak her mind,” Elizabeth said, softening her reproach this time with a smile.
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