Page 70 of A Much Maligned Miss

His eyes met hers. Then he took a bite.

27

The business did not take long to conclude in the office of R.J. Scrivens and Sons. Ralph looked surprised to see Gervaise had seen fit to bring Caroline along with him but greeted her politely as Gervaise saw her seated in a quiet corner, then hovered over her while Ewell kissed her hand and flirted as was his custom.

“Fully dressed today, I see,” he observed with a twinkle in his eye.

“Yes, I do not generally go abroad clad in a toga,” Caroline replied gravely, and Gervaise was pleased to see she kept her composure. Ewell laughed, and then Gervaise’s man of business arrived and the paperwork was unfurled.

Once this was seen to, he whisked her off to Madame Durand’s establishment in Conduit Street for a dress fitting. Madame boasted “the latest Parisien models” and had a whole army of seamstresses at her beck and call. Gervaise explained that Caroline required two wardrobes and Madame was intrigued enough to take a personal interest in proceedings.

“Cecile!” she bawled, her French accent slipping. “’Ave those new bolts of silk brought up tooty sweety,” she added, remembering she was fashionably continental.

Cecile paused at the bottom of the stairs. “The ones you was holdin’ for ’is lordship the duke’s latest fancy?” she queried doubtfully.

“Yes them!” Madame snapped. “’E don’t pay ’is bills as prompt as this one! I’ll oversee it meself.” She turned back to Caroline, all effusive smiles. “This way, Mademoiselle Pomfrey,” she enthused, leading her behind a satin ruched curtain. “We’ll take your measurements and then have a nice cozy chat about your preferences. Jenny,” she said, snapping her fingers. “You fetch his lordship the catalogues and see him settled comfortably while he waits.”

Jenny scurried off and returned with a stack of pamphlets which she piled onto a rosewood table while Gervaise settled back on a velvet sofa and started idly leafing through fashion plates until something should catch his eye.

He paused at a daringly low-cut number in olive silk. It was most definitely not an evening gown intended for unmarried ladies. His eyes traveled thoughtfully to the satin curtain. Caroline had said she looked forward to Miss Pomfrey’s more extravagant wardrobe, but it was possible she thought it would be showy in an altogether different manner to this.

He recalled Teddy’s little peg doll he had seen at Vance Park in her frilly purple gown. Caroline likely expected an excess of lace and trimmings rather than the off-the-shoulder sleeves and low-cut bodices he intended. A smile curved his lips. Well, she had called his bluff. Now they would find out if she really had the nerve to parade around a gin palace with a good deal more of herself exposed than she was accustomed to.

He turned the corner of the page and flipped it over to find another with an even more revealing décolletage. His eyebrows rose. She would need an elaborate necklace of some kind to provide additional coverage, or she would look positively indecent.

Jewels, of course, would paint a target on her back in a place like The Citadel. Some ruffian would be ripping it from around her throat the moment his back was turned. In truth, he could not give her jewels until he had convinced her to marry him. No, ribbon would have to do for now, he supposed, adorned with flowers or cheap stones like peridots or garnets or some such trumpery.

Such thoughts caused a temporary frown, but it was dispelled once he turned the page again and his gaze fell on a scarlet silk gown embellished with a profusion of seed pearls. Yes, he should like to see her in that one but not with seed pearls. No, he would have them substituted for black French jet beads instead.

By the time Caroline emerged with Madame Durand, he had a whole sheaf of pages marked with his selections. When Madame attempted to talk of organdies and crepe, he headed her off, declaring he already had his vision for evening gowns and would send those directions later.

Instead, he wanted to talk of day dresses of finest cashmere, velvet, and heavy twilled silk. Caroline looked momentarily disappointed, but she soon got caught up in talk of frogging, military-style buttons, and fringe. She grew positively excited at the prospect of a walking gown in scotch plaid.

“Oh, Blanche Pebmarsh had something like this last spring,” she exclaimed. “Only her sleeves were not bishop sleeves but flounced, and the fabric was of a red and green tartan, not blue and cream.”

Madame Durand sniffed. “Those colors were popular,” she agreed with a thin smile. “About two years ago.”

By the time they left Madame Durand’s, Caroline’s cheeks were aglow. “I had no idea I was to be so smart,” she said, hanging off his arm. “They will not know me back in Penarth!” They crossed the street, and he hailed a cab.

“Blanche Pebmarsh’s nose will be quite out of joint,” he hazarded.

She gave a choked laugh. “Hardly!”

“Is she the one with the spaniels?” he asked, handing her up into the cab and directing the driver to Regent Street.

“Oh no, they are her older sister Delia’s. Blanche is the local beauty, while Delia…” Her words trailed off. Was the local oddity, Gervaise surmised. “Well, you must have met them both at the Farises’ Christmas ball,” she concluded.

“Blanche stood up for all the dances and did not have to languish in a corner like me or sit among the dowagers like Delia.” She turned a disconcertingly frank look on him. “Everyone danced with her at the Christmas party. She’s very beautiful.”

“If I did, then I do not recall it.” Suddenly he recalled her words to him that night she had been out of her mind on laudanum. You did not dance with me at the Christmas party, and I secretly wanted you to. He felt an unaccustomed pang. “Actually, I think I do remember Miss Blanche. She was monopolized all night by your brother, if memory serves.”

“Edgar?” She looked surprised. “Oh yes. He did stand up with her several times.” She cleared her throat and started fiddling with the buttons on her glove, avoiding his eye.

He trailed an arm over the back of her seat. “What? Are you imagining me burning with jealousy at my missed opportunity with Penarth’s resident beauty?” he enquired mockingly.

“No, of course not!” But she had been thinking something along those lines, he just knew it. What could he say? If you had not been suppressing yourself to within an inch of your life, then I would have asked you to dance? It had not been her fault. Her reticence had been the only way she could deflect her mama’s viciousness. Taking her gloved hand in his, he lifted it to his lips. “I danced with you that night on the terrace,” he reminded her.

She gave an awkward laugh. “Oh yes, when I demanded it.”