by Jayne Davis
“Hmm. He has the looks for it, certainly, Senhor.”
Luis pressed his lips together against a retort.
“Lady Brigham will introduce you into society as the son of an old family friend,” Don Felipe said. “Pray greet her as if you have just been formally introduced.”
A test, he supposed. He advanced, bending over the hand she held out. “My lady, it is a great pleasure to meet you.”
“Hmm.” Lady Brigham tilted her head to one side. “You would be more convincing, young man, if you met my eyes while you smiled.” She turned to Don Felipe. “Do not hold me responsible if your plan fails. This… this boy will have little success with most women of my acquaintance.”
“Your targets will be older than you, da Gama,” Don Felipe said. “One by ten years or so.”
Lady Brigham must be thirty years older, or more.
“You need to seduce them whether or not you are attracted to them. Be aware of that.”
“Send him to me at midday tomorrow,” Lady Brigham added. Nodding at Don Felipe, she swept out of the room.
Wanting to protest that he was not a child to be discussed in that way, Luis managed to hold his tongue.
“This explains your acquaintance with Lady Brigham,” Don Felipe said, holding out a folded paper. “Learn your background, and do not forget who you are pretending to be.”
Chapter 4
Bella took a deep breath as she felt the mantua-maker’s eyes running from her head to her feet. This seemed little different from her father inspecting her appearance.
“A whole new wardrobe, you said, my lady?” Madame Donnard directed her question to Aunt Aurelia. Bella seethed—yet another person who talked about her as if she were not there.
“As I said in my note,” Aunt Aurelia replied. “A day dress is the most urgent—do you have one partly completed?”
The mantua-maker turned towards two women waiting by the door. In contrast to Madame’s elegant silver-grey gown, both their dresses were a drab brown. “Dawkins, bring the gown for Mrs Charlbury. She is of a similar size, and has not come for her final fittings even though it has been ready for weeks.” The plumper of the two women disappeared. “Fletcher, take Lady Isabella for measuring.”
Fletcher was thin, her face almost gaunt. “If you will come this way, Lady Isabella?”
Bella and Molly followed her into a room with long mirrors on the walls. Molly shut the door behind them.
“I need to measure you with only your chemise and stays on, my lady,” Fletcher said.
Bella sighed, and stood with her arms out as Molly and Fletcher between them unpinned and unlaced. Then Fletcher brought out a long strip of paper and moved around Bella, marking on it more different widths and lengths than Bella thought possible. As Fletcher was taking the final measurements, Dawkins returned with a gown draped over her arms. It was of orange fabric, embroidered with huge swirling patterns of green leaves entwining red and yellow flowers.
Fletcher looked at the gown as Dawkins held it up, then at Bella. “Is that the only one we have?”
“The only one far enough along to be ready for tomorrow.”
“What’s wrong with it?” Bella asked, hoping that these two weren’t also going to treat her as a mere object to be discussed.
“It will make—” Fletcher broke off as Dawkins jabbed an elbow in her ribs.
“Madame will advise you on patterns and styles, my lady,” Dawkins said. “Please, would you try this on so we can see how well it fits?”
Bella stepped into the petticoat and stood patiently while she was pinned and laced, and the two seamstresses pulled on tapes to drape the overskirt à la polonaise. Then she twisted in front of the mirror. The petticoat was a little long, but higher heels or re-hemming would fix that. However, the large fabric bows on the stomacher made her bosom appear too big, and the neckline gave the impression that she had very wide shoulders. And with those puffy skirts and the bright patterns…
“I look as broad as I am high,” she said. Wide was fashionable, but surely not so wide that she looked even shorter than she was.
“You look lovely, my lady.” Molly’s comment was loyal but not convincing.
Fletcher and Dawkins said nothing. Bella could see from their faces that they agreed with her, but were unwilling to say so.
“Miss Fletcher, can anything be done to make me seem less… wide? I can suggest a change to Madame, if I know what to say.”
Fletcher said nothing for a moment, then gave a nod. “Removing the bows and having a darker petticoat might help, and some matching dark trimming on the front of the bodice. That would draw attention to the centre of your body, and not the width. The neckline, too, could…” She broke off, shaking her head. “There is no time to remake the bodice.”
“We’d better go back before Madame comes to find out what we’re talking about,” Dawkins said, low voiced. “My lady, if you will follow me, please?”
Back in the salon, Bella stood while Aunt Aurelia and Madame scrutinised her. “It will have to do, I suppose,” was her aunt’s verdict. “Is this the best you can manage, Madame Donnard?”
“It is all I have that can be ready for tomorrow, my lady.”
“Aunt, could we not delay morning calls for a few days? This makes me look short and fat.”
Madame Donnard shook her head. “Oh, no, it—”
“It does,” Aunt Aurelia interrupted. “You are right, Isabella. We should try somewhere else.”
“What did Dawkins and Fletcher say to you, my lady?” Madame Donnard asked, with a downward curve to her lips that Bella disliked.
She raised her brows, in what she hoped was a supercilious expression. “Are you implying, Madame, that I cannot see for myself that this polonaise style does not suit me?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Would a darker coloured petticoat make a difference, Madame?”
“That’s a good notion, Bella,” her aunt said. Bella felt inordinately pleased at this small sign of approval, even though the idea was not her own.
“My lady, it is not necessary—and it will take time and cost more.”
“A simple yes or no would suffice, Madame,” Aunt Aurelia said. “A new petticoat is surely not too difficult? I like the garments you design for me, but if you truly think that this suits my niece’s short stature, I cannot rely on your judgement for the rest of her wardrobe.” She stood up. “Go and change, Isabella. I will wait for you in the carriage. Lady Yelland swears by Francine’s for her—”
“I’m sure we can come to some arrangement, my lady,” Madame said hastily. “Fletcher, find some suitable fabrics.”
When they finally settled on a dark green for a replacement petticoat, Bella’s respect for Fletcher grew. She had been right to ask the seamstress’ opinion, rather than relying on Madame Donnard.
Madame turned to Aunt Aurelia. “Fletcher should have it finished by late afternoon, my lady. I’ll send her to your home to do the final fitting, if that is convenient?”
“Very well,” Aunt Aurelia said. “Now, to start with we will need more day dresses, and one ball gown, at least. What styles do you recommend?”
Madame walked over to a cabinet full of dolls dressed in myriad styles and colours. She extracted several and set them on the table. Her aunt picked up each one in turn, setting aside several with knots of ribbon down the bodice, and large embroidered patterns. All similar to the gowns Bella had seen her aunt wearing.
That would not do—she needed gowns suited to her own figure. Fletcher would be a better advisor. “Aunt, I need hats and shoes and stockings before I am seen in public—will there be time to buy those today?”
“I hope so, Isabella, but we do need to order more gowns.”
“Tomorrow will do for that, will it not? Madame’s women will be busy enough today with the alterations for this gown. Could we borrow some of these dolls and some fabric samples, and think about them at home?”
“That would certainly give us more time for ou
r other shopping.” Aunt Aurelia turned to the mantua-maker. “I trust there will be no difficulty with that arrangement? I will return the samples with our order tomorrow.”
“Yes, my lady.” Madame did not look particularly pleased.
“Now, while Lady Isabella changes, you may suggest some fabrics that would suit this style, for me.” She held out one of the beribboned dolls.
Bella was exhausted by the time they returned home. She was happy to be getting a new wardrobe, but a long walk would have been less fatiguing than the interminable discussions about styles and colours, ribbons and lace. Footmen had been sent back to Marstone House several times with hats, parcels of gloves and stockings, fichus, and shoes, with more items ordered for delivery the following day.
They weren’t all for her, either; Aunt Aurelia had remarked how she was enjoying spending Marstone’s money while she could. It was a shame, Bella thought, that her aunt was only being paid to arrange her marriage. She would enjoy her first season under her aunt’s chaperonage if Aunt Aurelia could be relied on not to foist the first eligible suitor on to her.
“We will have tea, Isabella, then we must choose some designs from those fashion dolls.”
“Can we do it after dinner, Aunt? We have made so many choices today.”
Aunt Aurelia nodded. “By all means. Take them to your room if you like—you can look at them when you’ve had a rest. I’ll get your tea sent up.”
Bella took the box of dolls and fabric samples to her room and spread them out on her bed. Molly soon arrived with the tea tray, and handed Bella a sealed letter. “Langton just give me this, my lady.”
Will’s handwriting! Bella lost all interest in the dolls, taking the letter over to the window while Molly poured the tea.
Dear Bella
I have learned that you are being brought to Town, but unfortunately I must be absent on business that I cannot avoid.
Her heart sank. Only Will’s interference had enabled her sisters to marry the men of their choice. And she’d hoped that being in society might allow her to see Will again, even if that could only be in public.
However, I have asked Mr Carterton to act in my stead.
Carterton…? Oh, the man Papa had wanted Lizzie to marry two years ago. The man she’d dragged into a darkened room! She couldn’t help smiling at the memory.
I have left Archer in Town—you may remember him as a former groom at Marstone Park. Your maid knows him, and you may put complete trust in him, as you can in Carterton. I have also written to Lady Tregarth, who will help you if she can.
Your loving brother
Will
Unlike the letters of news from Will or her sisters, she would not want, or need, to read this one again. She crossed to the fire and consigned it to the flames, stirring with a poker until it was nothing but fine ash.
“Molly, the letter said that you know Archer.”
“Yes, my lady. I spoke to him last night. He asked me to tell him where you would be each day, if possible. So Mr Carterton can meet you.”
“It seems you and Archer know more about this than I do.”
“Sorry, my lady. Archer said as how Lord Wingrave was writing to you to explain.”
“Never mind.” It wasn’t fair to be annoyed with Molly—the maid was helping her. “Now, come and look at these dolls with me.” Entering society would be sufficiently daunting without having to wear gowns that made her look like a chubby child.
“How is it that you know more than Madame about styles that flatter other women?” Bella asked later that afternoon, as Fletcher stood back to assess the new petticoat. She still looked too wide, but the changes did reduce the unfortunate effect.
“I was a lady’s personal maid for a time, my lady. My mistress had a good eye for colour and shape.” She dropped to her knees and started pinning the hem.
“Do you have time to advise me before you go?”
The seamstress cast a glance at the clock. “I’m expected back, my lady.”
That was a shame. “Madame will be angry if you delay, I suppose.”
“It’s a pity my lady was busy when you arrived, Miss Fletcher,” Molly said, before the woman could reply. “You had to wait half an hour to do the fitting.”
Fletcher sat back on her heels. “I… I could say that.”
“I’ll make it worth your while,” Bella said. The seamstress nodded, and carried on pinning.
“There, it’s done,” she said at last. “Let me help you take it off—”
“Never mind that,” Bella said. “Molly can help me. I want you to pick the dolls and fabrics that will suit me, please.”
“Madame does not like anyone other than herself advising—”
“I will not tell her, I promise.”
Fletcher met her eyes and then moved over to the table. By the time Bella had finished redressing, the seamstress had sorted the dolls and fabrics into groups.
“Which do you think I should choose, Fletcher?” Bella asked.
“You must decide for yourself, my lady. But these…” She lifted one pile of fabric samples. “These, I think, will suit you.” She pointed to the next pile. “These would suit you as well, but they are costly. My last mistress used to say that very expensive fabrics like some of these were flaunting wealth, and a sure way to attract men in need of a fortune.”
Aunt Aurelia would mention her dowry often enough, no doubt—but there was no need to advertise it further. “And these?” The final pile.
“The patterns are too large to suit you, my lady.”
That made sense. “What about the dolls?”
“You can wear gowns of either style,” Fletcher said, picking up a doll wearing the draped back of a gown à la française, “but the skirts must not be as wide as this shows.” Bella listened carefully as Fletcher explained how the cut of the bodice and the neckline could subtly enhance her shape, and how ornamentation could distract or attract attention.
“Thank you,” Bella said, her head spinning. “I think I can remember enough of that to discuss a few gowns with my aunt.” She emptied her coin purse and pressed a couple of shillings into Fletcher’s hand. “Molly will show you out.”
Fletcher glanced at the coins in her hand, her eyes widening. “Thank you, my lady.” She followed Molly out of the room.
Bella looked at the dolls they had chosen with satisfaction. She would ask her aunt if Madame Donnard could send Fletcher here to do the final fittings for her new gowns—she might be able to glean more valuable advice. She would have more confidence in society if she knew her clothing and hair suited her, and this was something she could control.
Chapter 5
Bella looked at the people in Mrs Roper’s parlour in dismay. She’d had difficulty remembering the names of everyone she’d been introduced to on their first call today, and now here were dozens more.
“Smile, Isabella!” Aunt Aurelia whispered. “That long face will not attract anyone. Ah, Mrs Roper, how lovely to see you again.”
“Lady Cerney, welcome.” Mrs Roper’s smile was friendly as she pulled forward a girl of Bella’s own age. “May I introduce my daughter, Jemima?”
“My niece, Lady Isabella Stanlake.”
Bella made her curtsey, returning Jemima’s curious gaze. She was slender, and her emerald gown brought out hints of green in her hazel eyes. Bella smoothed a palm over her own dress, wishing she were clad in something as becoming.
“I haven’t seen you in Town for some time, my lady,” Mrs Roper said. “Jemima, why don’t you introduce Lady Isabella to some of your friends?”
Jemima sighed as Aunt Aurelia moved away with Mrs Roper.
“You need not introduce me to more than a few people, if it is onerous.” Bella tried to keep the hurt from her voice.
“Oh, no!” Jemima’s hand flew up to cover her mouth. “I didn’t mean that at all.” She leaned her head closer to Bella’s. “Mama will persist in thinking that everyone my age must be my friend, and there are some
I would prefer not to know. Come, I will introduce you to a few people.”
Bella listened to a young man with a round, serious face making unexceptionable remarks about the décor of the room, but could think of little to say except to agree with him. A decorative man in a laced pink coat and mint-green breeches lisped a greeting before turning back to the elderly lady with whom he was conversing. Then Jemima stopped beside two women who appeared to be a little older than Bella.
“Lady Isabella, may I introduce Miss Celia Quinn?” Miss Quinn had a flawless oval face and golden hair dressed high, and a smile that failed to reach her eyes.
“Delighted, I’m sure,” Miss Quinn said, and turned to her dark-haired companion. “This is Miss Diana Yelland.”
“Lady Isabella, how nice to meet you. Who is your father?” Miss Yelland’s words were friendly, but the tone was not. Bella was uneasily aware that Miss Quinn was inspecting her gown while Miss Yelland spoke.
“The Earl of Marstone.”
Miss Yelland’s brows rose.
“I’ll introduce you to some other people,” Jemima said, taking Bella’s arm before Miss Yelland could say anything else. “You see?” she whispered, once they were out of earshot of the two women. “Mama thinks they are my friends.”
“Why does Miss Yelland dislike me? She doesn’t even know me.” Surely her appearance was not so off-putting?
“Because you are of higher rank, most likely. Her father is a mere viscount, and Miss Quinn’s father only a baronet.”
Bella grimaced, and Jemima’s hand tightened briefly on Bella’s arm. “Not everyone is like those two,” she said. “Oh, Mama wants me. Will you be all right?”
“Of course.”
Bella took a cup of chocolate to an empty chair. She didn’t want it, but holding the cup and saucer would make her lack of acquaintance less obvious. A group of women were talking behind her, and she recognised the icy tones of Miss Yelland amongst them. Some of their comments carried with distressing clarity, and removed any desire in her to turn to see who was speaking.
