Page 8 of The Rogue’s Countess

“Well, Patience?”

“You are beautiful, but all those flowers, ruffles, and bows make you look like a wedding cake, and you, dearest, are the bride, not the cake,” Patience said firmly. “If you wear that gown, you’re quite likely to appear as a figure of fun in Currer’s next serial installment.”

Patience’s words made Louisa’s eyes widened in horror as she spun about on her heel to study her appearance in the mirror. Her younger sister’s mention of the Currer Chronicles made Constance start slightly. The biweekly serial had turned the Set on its ear in recent months as P. Currer had slyly taken aim at various members of the peerage by including them in his stories.

A work of fiction, the author’s characters were based on actual members of the Marlborough Set. Although names were changed, there was little left to doubt in the reader’s mind as to who the author was poking fun at. The skill and precision with which Currer lampooned the antics, scandals, and behaviors of the peerage was an amusing read until one was on the receiving end of the author’s mighty sword of ink. With a brief glare in Patience’s direction, Constance turned her head toward her baby sister, a placating smile on her lips.

“I find it highly unlikely Mr. Currer would mention a wedding dress,” Constance said firmly with a shake of her head in her attempt to reassure Louisa. “The man has a great deal of fodder to draw from given the recent antics of Lord Barrington and his latest mistress.”

“We are not the Reckless Rockwoods without justification, Constance. I truly think we’re living on borrowed time in escaping evisceration by the man’s wicked pen.”

Patience tilted her head in a defiant manner as she disagreed with the eldest of the three sisters. It was impossible to read Patience’s features through the netted veil, but the Mistress of Crianlarich’s bearing emphasized her irritation. Constance knew her sister’s dissent was not without merit. The Rockwoods had been lucky to date when it came to being singled out in Currer’s serial.

“It’s true. I had fully expected Currer to target Percy for threatening to thrash Lord Sproats last week.” Louisa lent her voice of support to Patience. At the mention of the viscount, Patience’s posture became one of fierce anger.

“Our brother was well within his right to dress down the man. Sproats’s comments were crude and deeply insulting to Rhea,” Patience snapped. “It’s a small wonder Percy didn’t pound the man into the ground, and he would have without any trouble at all.”

“And if Rhea hadn’t displayed such grace under pressure, our brother might easily have found himself in Newgate.” Constance glared at her middle sister before she sighed. “But I agree that Percy was well within his right to threaten the man for his insulting advances toward Rhea. I’m simply grateful she insisted on returning to Green Hill House the next day.”

“Well, we might remain untouched by Currer’s caricature of the Set, but some of our friends have not.” Anger swept across Louisa’s face. “Look at how Gideon has been taken to task in recent months.”

“For heaven’s sake, he’s a grown man,” Constance bit out through clenched teeth. “His reputation for breaking hearts is well-established.”

Currer’s droll, doubled-edged word-play had recently made the Rockwood family friend, Gideon Lethbridge, Earl of Chelmsford, the latest character in the Currer Chronicles. As one of the Set’s most eligible, yet elusive, bachelors, the earl had been mocked in the latest serial. Now, Patience had dumped oil onto the fire by suggesting Louisa might be mentioned in the next edition of the satire. As Louisa stared at her image in dismay. Constance quickly stepped forward to wrap an arm around her younger sister’s shoulder.

“We’ll have Madame Sabine find a way to fix the dress.”

“The wedding is in two weeks, and she hasn’t finished half of my trousseau,” Louisa said in a voice filled with panic. Mortification crossed her face as she shook her head. “Patience is right. I do look like a wedding cake.”

“You could walk down the aisle in rags, and Ewan would still find it impossible to look at another woman. The man is blinded by his love for you.” Constance smiled with encouragement. “I’m certain Madame Sabine can fix this gown. We all know the woman will move heaven and earth to keep her most devoted and lucrative client happy.”

“I agree whole-heartedly. Madame Sabine would face the hounds of hell to ensure you’re happy.” Helen, who’d remained silent until now, smiled with confidence at her youngest sister-in-law. “I know how high your dressmaker bills are. Sebastian is constantly muttering his frustration every time he sees the latest bill from Madame Sabine.”

“But it’s not his money he’s spending,” Louisa replied as a cheerful grin replaced her dismay.

“A fact I remind him of whenever he expresses his disgust and outrage at what your dresses cost,” Helen replied with a laugh. “That and the fact he promised never to begrudge you a dress bill again for helping him rescue me from Lord Templeton.”

The mention of those frightening events more than ten years ago caused a shadow to sweep across the countess’s face. Louisa quickly stepped forward to clasp her sister-in-law’s hands and kiss Helen’s cheek with great affection.

“My brother is fortunate to have a wife who patiently listens to his complaints.” In the next second, a mischievous smile curved Louisa’s lips. “But even if he had listened to me to begin with, he still would have been forced not to begrudge my fashion vice.”

Laughter followed Louisa’s mischievous remark. Satisfied things were on even keel for the moment, Constance turned away, intent on finding Madam Sabine. The seamstress could weave magical gowns that almost equaled Monsieur Worth but at far less a cost. If Sebastian knew how much a gown by Worth cost, he would be appalled.

Constance’s dressmaker bills were rarely as high as her younger sister’s. In fact, Lucien had remarked on more than one occasion he was glad she didn’t have her sister’s extravagant tastes. But the bill from Monsieur Worth last year had put Lucien in a state of shock. It had been an impulsive purchase, but the moment she’d seen the gown, it had been impossible to resist.

She’d excused her extravagant purchase based on needing a new gown for Helen’s and Sebastian’s anniversary ball. She’d also been seven months pregnant with Isabel, and Monsieur Worth’s creation had emphasized all her best features, while cleverly hiding the true size of her expanding girth. She bit back a smile as she remembered her husband’s outrage when the bill had arrived.

His anger had been short-lived when she’d modeled the gown that had arrived with the invoice. Instinctively, he’d realized she’d been feeling like a large cow, and the dress had bolstered her spirits. Her husband had then proceeded to demonstrate he would always find her beautiful.

The soft swish of the curtains that hid the inner confines of Madame Sabine’s workshop pulled Constance out of her musings. A woman emerged from the back of the shop carrying several bolts of material with her chin pressed into the one on top to manage her load better. As the clerk set the material down on the counter, Constance stepped forward to capture her attention.

“Pardon me, would you please tell Madame Sabine that Lady Westbrook needs to speak with her about her wedding dress?” The moment the woman looked up to meet her gaze, Constance stiffened with surprise. “Lady Helstone.”

The woman flinched at Constance’s soft exclamation before she shook her head vehemently. Cheeks flooded with a rosy color, the woman cast a furtive glance around the shop.

“I’m sorry, my lady, but my name is Mrs. Hodges.”

At the woman’s denial, Constance stared at her in disbelief and tipped her head to one side to study the woman’s features more closely. A sliver of doubt made Constance frown. It had been more than two years since she’d last seen Lady Helstone. The viscountess had disappeared from society after her husband had been shot and killed by his mistress.