Magnolia.
She should get that. She’d been expecting this call since she’d heard the news from her family last night.
She looked up at her blue-blooded patrons. “I’m sorry, Lady Hamilton, Lady Melody, I do need to take that. I shan’t be long.”
“Take your time.” Melody flung her blond curls over her shoulder and admired herself in the full-length mirror. The gown was magnificent, and Rose could understand why Melody was more than happy to be in it for as long as she possibly could—pins and all.
Rose stooped to grab her phone. She slid her thumb across the screen as she walked away, silencing the fun wedding tune from the sixties movie, My Fair Lady. It was the classic that had inspired the name of her boutique. As had Italy. And a certain woman who had helped her through the darkest time of her life.
Don’t go there. Too many sad memories.
Rose swallowed back the hurt to attend to the matter at hand and lifted the device to her ear as she headed toward the front of the shop.
“Maggie! Hi.”
“Rose… Did you hear the news?”
Who hadn’t heard the news? Britain’s most eligible bachelor engaged—for real this time. It was likely all over the Cumbrian Times this morning. Probably made it into the London papers, too. The internet… But who needed newspapers and social media when you had siblings? Her other five sisters had already messaged her late last night to ask if she was making the wedding gown. And the bridesmaids’ dresses. Rose had long ago reworded the phrase ‘Always the bridesmaid, never the bride.’ Her mantra? ‘Always the dressmaker, never the one wearing the dress.’ And that was nobody’s fault, but hers.
She sucked in a breath and put on her happy voice. “I did. Congratulations. I’m over the moon for you. Dear Maggie, you are going to make such a beautiful bride.”
Maggie gave a little squeal from the other side of the phone. “You do know why I’m calling, don’t you?”
How could she forget? When she opened her own bridal boutique in London four years ago, each of her sisters called dibs on Rose designing and making their wedding dresses. She’d already done one…five more to go. Six if Lily married again—and Rose hoped she did. Twenty-five was far too young to be widowed, especially with a toddler.
It was likely her studies in Florence and her experience in both Milan and London, however, that were the big draw cards—her being their sister having little to do with their decision. It was hard not to wonder if she didn’t design such exquisite gowns, whether she would still be their dressmaker of choice.
“I wouldn’t miss making your dress for the world, Maggie. There’s nothing could keep me from this honor.”
“Thank you, Rose.”
“So when is the big day?”
“Eight months’ time—on New Year’s Eve.”
“Clever, two parties for the price of one. But,” Rose gave a shiver, even though her sister couldn’t see, “the middle of winter? You’re brave.”
“Not really. It’ll be an evening wedding inside Levens Hall’s banqueting hall, so we don’t have to step a toe outside in the cold. I know it’s unlikely, but if it does snow, I’d love to get one or two photos of me and Davis in the white stuff. Should be fun.”
“Should be. Make sure then to have snow boots waiting at the front door of the mansion.” Rose peeked past the display window models clad in flowing white satin, chiffon, organza, and lace. Outside the skies were clothed in their usual gray. Two more months until summer. All three weeks of it. Thankfully Maggie wasn’t getting married then. As much as she loved dressing summer brides, there was no way she’d be able to get a gown designed and made for Maggie in that short of a time. Especially with her current workload.
“The banqueting hall… Isn’t that the place Davis proposed the first time?”
Maggie laughed. “Yes. Who would’ve thought the night I ran out of there, we’d be getting married a mere nine months later? Much as we’d like to tie the knot tomorrow, marrying a viscount takes a lot of planning.”
“Viscount? I thought Davis was a baron.” Had she missed a communication somewhere? Or was this fresh news—she the first to hear for a change?
“He is, but he’ll no longer bear the courtesy title when we marry. Hadley…I mean Earl Rathbone, Davis’s father, is so pleased about the marriage proposal, he’s bestowing on Davis the title of viscount, as he’s rightly entitled to.”
“Does that mean you’ll be a viscountess?” Rose turned and strolled back toward her waiting clients. Much as Melody loved being in that dress, Rose doubted her mother would want her daughter dodging pins for too long.
“I guess so,” Maggie said.
“Will I have to call you Lady Magnolia and curtsey every time I see you?”
Maggie let out a giggle. “Heavens, no. I’ll always just be Maggie to my family. This won’t change me.”
“Phew, I’m glad. I’d hate to lose my sister to all that snootiness.” She dealt with enough of the airs and graces of her exclusive clients—she didn’t want to see her sister go that way, too.
“Rose, the Rathbones are far from snobs, especially Davis. You’ll see when you meet them.”
And until then, she’d have to take Maggie’s word for it, unbelievable as the thought might be that aristocrats could be…normal, nice people.
“So when am I to meet this gorgeous fiancé of yours?”
“I’m glad you asked. We’re coming down to London next weekend. Are you free?”
“If I’m not, I’ll make myself free.” Couldn’t let her sister think she had no social life, that the only thing occupying her time was her work. Or did she already know that?
“Great. We’ll book a table for four on the Friday night at Clover’s restaurant. On Saturday we can plan the wedding outfits. Davis and I want to waste no time—these eight months will go by fast, and we’re leaving nothing to chance. With a wedding like this, we can’t risk anything going wrong.”
“Four? You do know Clover isn’t able to join us when she’s working.”
“No, not Clover.”
So who did they plan to invite to dinner, if not their baby sister?
“Davis’s clothing designer is joining us. We’d like you to meet him. Davis and I have some specific requirements that will necessitate you working together.”
“Him?” Rose peeked around the curtain of the workroom cubicle where she’d left the Hamiltons. She gave a wide smile and indicated a minute more with her finger. She stepped back, allowing the gray fabric to fall into place. “Who is Davis’s designer?” she whispered as she walked away from the cubicle again. Wouldn’t want the Hamiltons to overhear anything she said. They likely moved in the same circles as the Rathbones.
Please, Lord, don’t let it be that Frenchman everyone’s crazy about using these days…Bernard Lefebvre. I’ve heard he’s so difficult to work with.
“Davis said his name was Jody and that he’s the Italian god of men and women’s fashion.” Maggie sighed. “I’m sorry, I’ve no idea what his surname is. Do you know anyone by that name?”
The air sucked out of Rose’s lungs as if someone had punched her mid-riff. Know him? She’d done far more than know him—she’d fallen in love with him. It would be easier to partner with Bernard Lefebvre on this wedding, than work with the charismatic JoDi. But she’d promised Maggie there was nothing that could keep her from making her dress. And there was probably no way Davis would switch designers.
“JoDi… J–o–capital D–i.” Rose drew in a long breath. It didn’t help to calm her. “Maggie, I–I have to go. I’ve important clients waiting in a half-pinned wedding gown.” Not that she could work on the dress now with her shaking hands. She’d have to make an excuse and schedule another fitting with Melody later in the week.
“Of course, Rose. I can’t wait to see you. Wish it was this weekend.”
“Me too.” Although this weekend wasn’t a good one for her. Hadn’t been for years. But, the sooner they did this, the s
ooner Joseph Digiavoni could breeze in and out of her life. Again. Thankfully she’d broken things off with him before he could realize why. He’d been the golden boy of the Italian fashion world—a rising star—no way she could’ve stood in the way of his dreams and plans. He would never have forgiven her, no matter how besotted with her he’d claimed to be.
She’d had dreams of her own, too. Making them happen had required the hardest of choices, and the greatest sacrifice. And even though she’d done what she believed was best for everyone, she lived with the guilt and remorse of her decision every day. If only she could turn back the hands of time. She would do it all so differently.
Cell phone to his ear, Joseph Digiavoni leaned back and twirled his leather chair away from the designs that carpeted his desk. He needed to finish half a dozen of them, but Davis Rathbone was one of his top clients. He’d spend whatever time was necessary on the phone.
“Davis, you have made me a happy man today.”
He pushed to his feet as Davis’s laugh filtered through the phone. “That’s only because you’re going to be raking in a lot of money from designing my wedding suit, and those of my entourage.”
Joseph chuckled along as he stepped toward the floor-to-ceiling window of his twenty-eighth floor studio located in the award-winning, gherkin-shaped 30 St Mary Axe. One floor for each birthday he’d joked when he’d chosen the location two years ago. The building was an architectural masterpiece and definitely the place to hang his label—hence the reason he’d signed a five-year lease here for JoDi when he’d decided to add a London office to his Milan-based business.
And, of course, the view over London and the River Thames.
“It’s not about the money,” Joseph said. “I’m truly happy for you. You’ve found the love of your life. We should all be so fortunate.” He gazed out at the gray skies, missing the warmth of Italy. And the one who brought sunshine to his life. “I would be lying, though, if I didn’t say I’m more than happy about the new business you’ll now be steering toward my women’s line of designer clothes. For that, and your upcoming wedding, we should celebrate.”
“About that…I still need to figure out how to twist Maggie’s arm to allow me to indulge her in the luxury of your designs. She can be quite stubborn when it comes to being ostentatious. Even wanted me to sell my Ferrari and buy one of those environmentally-friendly electric cars like hers. I stood my ground on that one. I said to her, ‘Darling, I love you’, and then I almost blew it and said ‘but not that much.’”
A loud howl erupted from Joseph’s mouth. “Serious? You didn’t…”
“No, thankfully not, otherwise I wouldn’t be calling you to set up a meeting to discuss outfits for my wedding. I went on to beg her not to expect me to give up my Italian baby.”
Joseph chuckled. “I would have begged, too. On my hands and knees. Once you’ve gone Italian, you can’t go back.”
“That’s true…but only for cars. I do love my fair English lass far too much. I wouldn’t exchange her for any other woman.”
He’d felt the same way—a long time ago.
“Speaking of celebrations,” Davis said. “Are you free next Friday night? Maggie and I would like to take you and her sister out for dinner at The Silver Spoon.”
Her sister? “Is this a blind date? And how did you manage to get a reservation there?”
Davis’s laugh boomed through the phone, and Joseph pulled the instrument away from his ear until he could hear the chuckles subside. “I hadn’t thought of it like that. No, this is not a blind date. In fact, let’s call it the first working meeting between you and Maggie’s wedding dress designer. As for the reservation, Maggie has inside connections.”
A knock sounded behind Joseph, and he turned to beckon his secretary, Alicia, inside. “Her sister is a wedding dress designer in London? Who? I might know her.”
“Knowing you, Joseph, you probably do. Especially as her business name seems to have been inspired by your home country.”
As have many women’s fashion boutiques.
Bored with the gray outside, Joseph turned away from the window and sank into the comfort of his chair again. He inched it closer to his desk, then lifted two of the designs and stretched over to hand them to Alicia. “Give those to Betty Boop. I need 3D models by two-thirty,” he whispered.
Designs in hand, she turned. Joseph watched as she swayed her perfect form back out of his office.
“Betty Boop?”
“There’s a resemblance to the cartoon icon,” Joseph defended himself. “Round baby face, big eyes, button nose, short black hair.” He cleared his throat. “So, your fiancée’s sister…”
“Why don’t we keep it a surprise? You only have ten days to wait. I wouldn’t want you not showing if the two of you have history.”
“Just because I’m surrounded by beautiful women all day, doesn’t mean I’m involved with any of them.”
Davis sighed. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“I know you were only joking. Besides, I do love history.”
Davis breathed in audibly then exhaled another sigh. “Still, I shouldn’t have insinuated…not even in a joke. I’ve been on the other end of people thinking the same of me, and for a large part of my adult life, it was true. But the stigma that remained almost ruined things for me and Maggie.”
“So, the sister…” Perhaps if he pressed, Davis would give in. He disliked surprises. If he knew the woman, he’d rather know what he was dealing with upfront, than get caught unawares.
“I guess it couldn’t hurt to tell you. From what Maggie has told me, it seems her sister’s married to her work.”
As was he.
Joseph smiled. “Then it’s a pity this isn’t a blind date. Seems Maggie’s sister and I have much in common.”
“I guess the chances are slim then that you and Rose would’ve met socially.”
Joseph’s breath hitched. “Rose? What did you say Maggie’s surname was?”
“I didn’t.”
“Is her bridal boutique down in Hyde Park, near Harrods? La Mia Bella Signora’s?”
“I think that’s the name Maggie rattled off in her excitement. Do you know Rose Blume?”
“Y-e-s.” And did they ever have history. Thankfully the dinner wasn’t this weekend. He already had a special date planned back home in Tuscany. One he couldn’t miss.
Davis released a groan. “I hope that ‘yes’ doesn’t mean you’ll have a problem working together. I know Maggie is set on her sister designing her dress—”
“And I don’t blame her. La Mia Bella Signora is the haute couture of wedding gowns.”
“I won’t work with another designer, so if there will be any problems, you’ll need to sort things out before next Friday. You obviously know where she works.”
“It’s cool, Davis. There won’t be hassles. We’ll work together just fine. In fact, I look forward to it.”
And while he was in Rose’s face for the next few months, perhaps she’d think about being honest with him and owning up to what she did in Italy.
Rose stared at her phone, Maggie’s caller ID image now replaced by the wedding dress screen-saver and five rows of icons. Did she even use half the applications they referred to? She should just delete them.
Like she’d deleted Joseph from her life?
There was no other way. If she’d stayed with him any longer, he’d have known the truth. She couldn’t ruin his dreams. The break had to be swift and clean.
Rose swiped at the tears that fell and shoved her phone into her jeans pocket. She took a deep breath as her trembling fingers wrapped around the curtain. Now to break the news to the Hamiltons that this fitting was over. Melody wouldn’t be happy. But it couldn’t be helped. If only her hands would stop shaking.
She pulled back the curtain. Clasping her hands behind her, Rose strolled inside.
The countess looked up from the wingback armchair where she sat talking to her daughter. She set down the complim
entary glass of champagne that was served at all fittings, as was a small platter of canapés. Both her glass and the platter were almost empty. Melody’s champagne glass still stood on the round wooden table between the two wingbacks.
Untouched.
Strange. Normally her glass was the first finished. The lady had a palate that loved the bubbly liquid.
Melody twisted around, and the skirt of her dress swirled with the action. “Whilst waiting, I was thinking… Could you embroider more sequins and beads to the bodice? I want to sparkle as I walk down that aisle.”
Sparkle? Any more sparkle and she’d look like a disco ball—well, a shapely disco ball.
Melody hitched her dress and stepped to the table beside her mother. She reached for the bridal magazine lying next to the white porcelain platter. Standing beside Rose, she flipped through the glossy pages, and then handed the open magazine to Rose. “Something like that.”
As Rose studied the full-page color spread, an ache formed in her chest. Bella Donne. No wonder the dress was so incredible, and Melody had fallen in love with the beadwork. Bella Donne was renowned for their bridal embroidery.
Rose brushed a hand over her stomach, remembering the months spent learning the craft in that Milan studio from owner and master-embroiderer, Arabella Martinelli. Just after she had broken things off with Joseph.
Arabella had taught her much more than working with a needle and thread, sequins and beads. In the short time she’d mentored Rose, Arabella had demonstrated, in a practical way, all Rose had learned the previous four years at Polimoda International Institute of Fashion Design and Marketing in Florence.
Florence. Tuscany. Why had she insisted on going there to study instead of London where her parents wanted her to go? There were many fashion design schools in the city she now called home. In fact, the best was there. The romance of Italy had been the lure. And if she hadn’t gone to Italy she would never have met Joseph Digiavoni, never have—
Those Blue Tuscan Skies Page 2
