Lord Westwick fell into a musing state for a moment before shaking his head and saying in a brisker tone, “I had been meaning to consult you about one of my wishes for the horse farm, Sir Hugh. That black of yours—have you ever considered putting him to stud?"
They moved easily into a discussion of horses and said no more on the subject of Miss Longstreet. Before taking his leave, Hugh’s glance strayed once again to the crystal display.
Westwick smiled. “You’re fascinated by all the sun catchers, eh? They were my wife’s idea. A pretty notion, what?”
"It's a charming room. She must have been a very clever woman."
The earl nodded. His eyes focused on one of the crystals, but his thoughts seemed elsewhere. "She was amazing. Whimsical, funny, overflowing with enthusiasm. I had thought to marry a solid country miss, someone of good family, sensible, correct. And then I met Sophie. She changed my life," he said simply.
"You were a lucky man."
"I only wish my luck had held out and that she'd outlived me." Lord Westwick made a dismissive gesture with one hand. "Never mind me. I get a bit maudlin when I'm talking about Sophie. Can't seem to get over her death the way people expect me to."
"Why should you? Pay no attention to the busybodies," Hugh urged, but he was feeling a little out of his depth.
"The minute you put off your black bands, they think you're ready to rejoin society with a vengeance, as though nothing has happened," Lord Westwick said. "In fact there were those who urged me to parties even before the year was out, saying I would miss a good time all on account of such strict observance. Bah! What do they know?"
When Hugh was once again outside on the pavement, he shook his head ruefully. He had learned nothing about why the earl might be a target for Miss Longstreet’s mischief, and he certainly hadn’t been able to warn the older man of any danger from that quarter. Hugh would have felt a fool offering such advice to a man who had known his godmother when she was a young woman. It all seemed so unlikely when you stood in that rainbow-filled room, chatting comfortably with an elegant peer of the realm.
Had Miss Armstrong got it all wrong?
Chapter Eight
Nell attempted to forestall a visit from Mr. Bentley by visiting the circulating library on Milsom Street. She carried with her the books that Aunt Longstreet had refused ("a lot of senseless drivel") or completed ("Now there's a fellow who knows how to describe an historic event"). She herself had read the novel the librarian had recommended, and though she would dearly have loved to discuss it, Emily had yet to return to collect it from her.
It had not occurred to her to suggest that Aunt Longstreet read it. Her aunt had no interest in fiction ("It's all lies, isn't it?"), and in fact had taunted Nell when she sat engrossed in Mansfield Park. Nell had little difficulty ignoring her aunt's barbed comments, but when Aunt Longstreet asked what the novel was about, Nell had been a little reluctant to describe the situation. When she had finished the book and closed the last volume with a sigh, her aunt had looked up sharply and said, "I hope that book hasn't given you any romantical notions, Helen."
Nell climbed the stairs to the circulating library with her usual purposeful step, tucking the basket in close to her body so it wouldn't scrape against the walls. She had taken to studying the women she encountered around town, noting their manner of dress and the way in which they wore their hair. It was her intention, on this occasion, to also glance through some of the periodicals about fashion which the library was certain to carry. Nell had come to believe that she must either look hopelessly provincial, or uncommonly dowdy, to those more versed in the current styles.
The moment she stepped into the large, bright room Mr. Bentley looked up from his work, as though he sensed her presence. His welcoming smile sat a little uncomfortably on his serious face, but there was no doubt that he was pleased to see her.
Nell walked directly to the desk, where she returned his greeting with a cautious one of her own. There were half a dozen patrons in the room, none of whom had paid the least attention to her arrival. Mr. Bentley quizzed her on each book as she lifted it from her basket.
"You haven't brought back the novel?" he asked, surprised.
"No. I finished it two days ago, and loved every word, but I promised Mrs. Holmsly that I would lend it to her. You don't mind, do you?"
"Not at all. She is welcome to it. I'll just make a notation..." He pulled a piece of paper over and jotted down a few words. "Can I help you find something today, Miss Armstrong? Perhaps other novels by the same lady?"
"Oh, do you have one? How wonderful. And, Mr. Bentley, I would like to look at some magazines of fashions for ladies, if you would be so good as to point me to them."
"Fashion?" His tone of voice suggested that he could not quite approve of such a choice, but he nonetheless indicated two wooden racks on the north side of the room. "You'll find La Belle Assemblée and Le Beau Monde over there. The current issues may be with one of the patrons, but they don't circulate, so the older issues will certainly be there."
"Thank you." Nell smiled briefly and crossed to the area he'd indicated. She was quite delighted to find a whole stack of journals. Flipping through the first one to come to hand, she almost gasped at the elegance of the gowns and the modishness of the toilettes of the women. The descriptions of the fabrics, too, intrigued her, for she found that they were almost entirely light materials, muslins and satins.
Nell's own gowns were made of heavier, sturdier materials, but she had been aware, from the first moment of arriving in Bath, that she was certainly not in the majority. Even before the warmer weather of summer came, all the women about her seemed to be dressed in fabrics which might better have graced the hottest day of July!
Nell had thought it very strange of them, and had wondered if perhaps Bath had been enjoying an especially warm spell just prior to her arrival. But no, these light, gauzy fabrics were what ladies wore throughout the year, apparently. How very odd of them.
Nell determined on the spot to have one made for herself.
Perusing the most recent issues, she chose exactly what she wanted, a high-waisted, full-sleeved sprigged muslin with a mint green trim at the wrists and neck. How very charming, she thought. I shall feel like the goddess of spring!
Knowing that any modiste worth her salt would be able to duplicate the gown, Nell made a note of the issue and description as reference. It did occur to her that the modistes in a town like Bath might be very dear, but she was determined to have the dress. With no effort at all, she could picture herself walking down a country lane wearing the sprigged muslin, flowering plums in bloom on either side of her, wearing slippers of green to match the gown. Oh, there would be birdsong, and sunshine, and the smell of newly turned earth.
And perhaps there would be a young man with her. Someone dressed in the first stare of fashion, very much in accord with her own appearance. (Mr. Bentley dressed respectably, but certainly not at all fashionably.) Her escort (who once again looked suspiciously like Sir Hugh) would pick a newly unfurled blossom for her as they paused by a stile. (Nell was particularly fond of picturing stiles, as one was often handed over them by one's companion.)
Staring out the window, lost in her daydream, Nell did not notice that Mr. Bentley had approached her. When he cleared his throat, she was abruptly returned to the present. "Ah, Mr. Bentley. You have brought me another book by the author of Mansfield Park?"
"Indeed I have. This one is a parody of the more lurid tales of Mrs. Radcliffe and others."
Nell frowned. "A parody? But I had rather have another such as I read before."
"None of her other books are in at the moment, but I will endeavor to hold on to them for you when they are returned."
"Thank you." Nell accepted the volumes he offered her, feeling slightly disappointed.
But time had slipped past and she had other errands to accomplish. She rose with a shake of her skirts to rid herself of the lingering daydream and her annoyance tha
t Mr. Bentley had interrupted it. She followed the librarian across to his desk to sign for the volumes, and then she proceeded on her way.
Nell's basket was almost full by the time she stopped at a discreet shop on a side street where a modiste's sign (Madame de Vigne) hung beside the door. In the bow window was a gown of superior workmanship and style. Nell stood for a lengthy time contemplating it, and then with determination she pushed open the door. A little bell tinkled to announce her arrival and it wasn't long before a woman appeared in the archway of the simply furnished room.
"Mademoiselle," the woman said in a heavily accented voice. "How may I be of service to you?"
"I am interested in having a gown made, but there is a certain amount of hurry. I would like it to be ready for Friday evening."
"That would not be impossible," Madame de Vigne admitted, her gaze traveling down the length of Nell's long frame. "What had you in mind?"
"I saw a gown in La Belle Assemblée which would be perfect." Nell reached toward the journals she recognized lying on a table, and opened one to the page she had memorized. "This one," she said, tapping the illustration. "I should like it in sprigged muslin, trimmed in a forest green."
The modiste considered the drawing for a while before nodding. "Yes, I could make it, but--forgive me for asking--have you any idea what such a gown would cost?"
Nell felt the color rise to her cheeks. No shopkeeper had ever asked her such a question before. The woman's eyes, she thought now, were critical. Perhaps she regarded Nell's height with disfavor, or she scorned the fact that Nell carried a basket like a country girl, or she found Nell's gown too old-fashioned. "I have no idea what such a gown would cost in Bath," she admitted. "In the country I might have it—material and labor—for under a guinea. I'm sure it must cost more here."
"Indeed it does, mademoiselle. If you provided me with the material early tomorrow morning, I would be able to present you with a finished gown on Friday afternoon for two guineas."
"Two guineas! Goodness." Nell's quarterly allowance from Aunt Longstreet was no more than five pounds. Two guineas seemed an exorbitant amount of money to spend on one dress. And yet… Nell really wanted to have a fashionable new gown, just this once. And she would need slippers to go with it. Nell bit her lip, frowning down at the dress design in the journal. "How much is the material likely to cost me?"
Madame de Vigne offered a Gallic shrug. "That would depend upon where you purchased it. You are tall, mademoiselle, so you would need to purchase three yards of the fabric. At Frasiers you might have it for ten shillings, perhaps."
"I see." Nell sadly shook her head. "Thank you, madame, but I believe I won't be able to make such a purchase."
As she turned to leave, Madame de Vigne put a staying hand on her arm. "I have a bolt of cloth, not a sprigged muslin, but it would suit you very well. Wait here."
She disappeared through the archway and Nell seriously debated whether she shouldn't just leave before the woman returned. But she stood her ground, staring at the long cheval glass across the room which mirrored her perfectly. Her walking dress did indeed appear dingy in the late afternoon sunlight.
After several minutes, during which Nell scrutinized her reflection more closely than was her wont, the French woman returned with an emerald green fabric in her arms.
"This," she said, stroking it almost reverently, "is a remnant from a gown I made some months ago. It is too strong a color for most ladies to wear, but I believe you could display it to advantage. But the gown would have to be more…"
She waved her expressive hands in the air, shaping and smoothing the outline of a woman's figure. "How would you say it? More simple, less ornate and frilled than the gown you are considering. Let us be honest. You are not in the first blush of youth, mam'selle. The dress you have chosen, it is well enough, I suppose, for the young girl making her come-out. But you, you have a few years of maturity. And your height! Mon dieu! You must convince the gentlemen that they admire such stature."
"But I don't imagine they do, madame," Nell suggested.
"Bah! What do they know? Not one gentleman in five understands the first thing about fashion. So, you have only to convince them that only on one of such height could such an elegant gown show to advantage, and voilá! They believe your height is to be admired."
Nell's lips twisted ruefully. "Would that it were so simple, madame. But no matter. The question here is whether I could afford such a gown as you describe, and I very much fear that I could not."
"But that is precisely what you can, and must, do, mam'selle. You cannot go about Bath in such undistinguished garments. No gentleman will take a second look at you."
Nell laughed. "But, madame, I am not interested in having gentlemen take a second look at me."
"Bah!" Madame de Vigne exclaimed again. "Every young woman not yet married is interested in having young gentlemen notice her."
"Then let us suppose that such is my aim," Nell offered. "That does not change the fact that I am unable to afford a new wardrobe, much less the elegant gown you suggest."
Madame's eyes narrowed, considering her. "But you thought that you could afford one such item for two guineas."
"Well, I was debating the possibility until I realized that I must purchase the fabric, and find myself a pair of matching evening slippers. Much as I should enjoy such a gown, I fear my allowance does not run to so great an expense."
"Then your allowance is inadequate."
"Quite likely." Nell sighed and stroked the fine emerald satin cloth before regretfully dropping her hand.
Madame gave a little puff of disgust. "Then you must ask for more."
"Madame would not say so if she knew the source of my income." Nell shook her head. "I'm sorry to have taken up so much of your time. "
"Two pounds five shillings, the material included."
"Show me what you have in mind."
Madame searched among the fashion journals and extracted one from the stack. Moistening her index finger, she paged rapidly through until she reached the illustration she sought. "This," she said, tapping it with her finger. "This, in the emerald satin, but without all the ornamentation. A tight corsage, short sleeves slashed in the Spanish style, the robe draped to the side. You would make a very fine figure in it, mam'selle."
Nell told herself it was rash to spend so much of her allowance on one fashionable gown. She reminded herself that she would likely have nowhere to wear the gown once she and Aunt Longstreet returned to Westmorland. She cautioned herself that she would not look so charming in the dress as the model in the illustration did. And she said, "Thank you, madame. I shall have it if you can make it up by Friday."
* * * *
Friday arrived with a change in the weather. Instead of the sparkling sunlight that had graced the golden stone of Bath for a week, there was a drizzling rain that made everything look sadly bedraggled. Nell had waited as long as she dared before hurrying to Madame de Vigne's, but she had been forced to bring the gown home in a drenching rain.
She hovered as her aunt's dresser, an ancient and stiff-lipped woman, checked the gown for water damage, and sighed when informed that there was none. The dresser, however, regarded Nell with astonishment as she held the gown up for inspection. "And what would you be needing something so fine for, Miss Armstrong?" she asked.
“My aunt and I are going to a concert this evening. She must have mentioned it to you."
"Indeed, but she made no mention of new gowns. I believe she is to wear her half-mourning from after her papa died."
Nell had refused to allow the woman's disapproval to lower her spirits. Tonight, for perhaps the first time in her life, she intended to indulge in a real fantasy--to attend a social function dressed as a proper member of society and escorted by a gentleman of the first stare. That would be a memory to carry back to Westmorland with her, one she could weave daydreams around for years to come, if she chose.
Naturally, Aunt Longstreet had been informed by
her dresser of Nell's new gown. When she joined her niece in the parlor, she regarded this confection with a critical eye. "Must have cost you a pretty penny. Don't expect me to be paying for it."
"I won't, Aunt Longstreet."
"Much too dark a color for a girl your age, and plain as a sack. Couldn't afford a few roses or a pearl trim, eh? Better if you hadn't bothered."
"I quite like it, myself," Nell admitted, giving the décolletage a slight tug upward. She was not accustomed to wearing so revealing a gown, though Madame de Vigne had laughed at her concern and said, "Mon dieu, yours will be the most modest gown there!"
Any further comment Rosemarie might have made was interrupted by Sir Hugh’s arrival. The baronet was impeccably turned out, as always, with shirtpoints just high enough to give Aunt Longstreet a target for her derogatory remarks. He merely grinned at her and turned toward Nell, where his eyes arrested. It was obvious that he had expected to find her once again sporting her aunt's old-fashioned raiment and that the sight of her in a fashionable gown left him at a loss for words.
At length he bowed and said, "Miss Armstrong. What a charming gown."
"Thank you, Sir Hugh. It’s in honor of your arranging our musical evening. It would be a pity to be in Bath and not attend such an event."
"A lot of caterwauling and discordant racket," Rosemarie interposed. "The only decent music ever composed is that to which one can dance."
"An interesting theory," Sir Hugh said. "I'm fond of waltzes myself."
"Waltzes? Nonsense! A flagrant attempt to display the human form in public," Nell's aunt declared. "It's that hussy's German influence."
Nell, not wishing to get into a discussion of the Prince Regent's wife, decided to turn the topic to one of more immediate concern. "Is it still raining, Sir Hugh?"
"Scarcely at all, and my carriage is right outside your door. If you are ready, ladies…"
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