Page 47 of The Lyon's Pretty Pugilist

“A modiste…” Bridget’s eyes clouded over, and she sighed.

“Josephine requires a gown for Lady Helena’s ball,” Agatha said.

“A ball?” Studying a high corner, Bridget placed her finger on her cheek. Seconds later, she lowered her gaze. “Forgive me for being frivolous, but I would love to attend a ball. I need some excitement in my life.”

Stupendous. Then she could take Josie’s place.

“Of course, you shall go,” Agatha said. “We will all go. I will writeto Helena tomorrow.”

Nicolas rubbed his temple as Agatha and Jonathon repeated details of the jumble they found themselves in.

Bridget took in every nugget of information and then squealed with delight. “I thought female pugilists looked like men with big noses and big ears, but you are beautiful, Josephine.”

Josie’s cheeks caught fire.

“I cannot wait to tell Isabelle that I am going to a ball with a female pugilist,” Bridget said. “She will die of envy. Not over the ball. She detests them. But that I get to spend time with a woman who punches people for a living.”

Nicolas scowled at his sister. “Bridget, you mustn’t tell anyone.”

“Oh, bother.” Bridget half-heartedly stomped her foot.

Nicolas pinned her in his intense, no-nonsense gaze. “Bridget, I am deadly serious.”

“Relax, brother.” She rolled her eyes. “I will never repeat a word. I am just so happy to be here. Things have been terribly boring and depressing at home. This shall be so much fun.”

The carriage halted on a side street, jolting Josie to the present.

“Ladies, we have arrived,” Jonathon announced.

There was a flurry of activity as the carriage door opened. The two men hopped down. With assistance from a footman, they helped the ladies from the vehicle.

“Four hours, Mother?” Jonathon asked.

“Perfect,” Agatha said.

“We shall relax at White’s until then.” Jonathon bussed his mother on the cheek and grinned at Bridget.

She beamed at him, earning herself a glare from Nicolas. Still smiling, Bridget kissed Nicolas’s forehead.

Nicolas tipped his hat to the four of them, his gaze lingering on Josie. “Enjoy your afternoon, ladies. When we return, I will give you the money, Agatha.”

Jonathon and Nicolas climbed back into the carriage and the women waved goodbye as the vehicle rolled away.

“Come along,” Agatha said. “Madame’s shop is around the corner.”

Bridget linked her elbow with Josie’s and leaned close to whisper in her ear, “I dare say, my brother fancies you, Josephine Martin.”

Modiste Aubertewaspainted onto the brickwork of the three-story building, and the large green letters ran almost the entire length of the front facade. Colorful bonnets and befeathered, flowered hats adorned the display in the charming bow window.

Bridget dragged a gawking Josie into the establishment.

The second Josie entered the shop, she gasped. Every color and type of fabric cascaded from the numerous racks. More silk, satin, muslin, lace, damask, linen, and velvet filled the massive shelving units. A long glass counter glistened beneath the chandelier and an ornate oak staircase toward the back of the space added to the room’s elegance. Well-dressed ladies and shop girls bustled about.

“Madame is behind the counter,” Agatha said as she subtly waved to an impeccably dressed, dark-haired woman.

Josie’s gaze darted about the lively room as they waited for the woman to approach. Once she reached them, she took Agatha’s hand in hers. “Lady Davenport, you look as lovely as ever.”

Agatha chuckled as she waved off the compliment. “And you are as kind as ever, Elise. This is Lady Bridget, Lord Shiredale’s daughter. And this is my cousin, Miss Josephine Martin.”