Page 18 of Only a Mistress Will Do

He let her go. Her stricken stare told him this would be an uphill battle, near impossible to win in such a short time. Still, he smiled at her. “Did you enjoy your first kiss, Dora?”

Raising her fingers to her lips, she rubbed them lightly, as if she could feel the kiss better that way. “I don’t know, my lord.”

“Tristan, please.”

A brief nod. “Tristan.”

“Then we will have to try again, when next I come.” He smiled gently, trying to reassure her as he would a skittish colt. “Perhaps then you will know.”

“Did...did you enjoy it, my...Tristan?” The big blue eyes held out the hope of his approval.

“I did, Dora, very much. Soon I hope you will feel the same.”

Her smile stretched the width of her face, banishing her uneasiness and lightening her eyes to a dazzling azure. “Oh, I am sure I will, Tristan.” She bobbed her head and scurried out.

Tris collected his cloak from Pratt and sent for his horse. What a damnable mess. He hated to lie, but the hesitant hope in Dora’s face when she asked if he enjoyed the kiss had squeezed his conscience into that pathetic admission. Perhaps it would be better next time. The girl was sweet, too sweet for his tastes if truth be told. So he should not be surprised she stirred not one iota of passion in him, even pressed firmly against his cock. There hadn’t been so much as an inkling of a stirring down below.

That might concern him except for the immediate response when he thought of kissing Violet. If he had been engaged even in this light a dalliance with her, his ride home would have become damned uncomfortable. In fact, if he didn’t stop thinking of her right this minute he might regret it, though he doubted that.

Stepping out onto the portico in the brisk wind, his ardor abated somewhat. Still, it didn’t matter. He’d be tortured by thoughts of Violet in his arms long after her departure and his wedding were things of the past.

Chapter 7

“Hold your arms straight out, mademoiselle. Do not move.” Madame Angelique’s voice was firm as she passed a measuring tape around Violet’s chest and pulled it tight across her breasts. The mantua maker had arrived promptly at two o’clock. Once she had been ushered to Violet’s chamber, she set to work immediately. With quick, sure movements, the petite woman in the fashionable ecru gown plied her tape and recorded measurements for chest, waist, and hips, then lengths for her arms and legs.

Violet’s head whirled. The swiftness with which Angelique worked astounded her. She had planned to ask the woman about possible employment, however she feared now her sewing skills might be found lacking by the energetic French woman.

“Now for the ‘at hand’ gowns le seigneur requested. Here, let us try this one.” From a huge box, she produced a half-finished gown and dropped it over Violet’s head.

“But—”

“Ah, that shade of blue suits you perfectly. Bon. Marie, pin the waist to mark it. Estelle, you do the same to the hem. Not too low. It must not drag the ground.” Stepping back, Angelique surveyed Violet, mounted precariously on a chair, while the assistants bustled about in a flurry of work. Madame Angelique was a hard taskmaster, it seemed.

“It will need trimming. Gold braid with pearls, I think. Make note of that, Estelle.” Angelique beamed at Violet. “I understand you will need complete outfitting, mademoiselle. Seigneur Trevor is a most generous man. Remove that one, Marie. There are still the cream print and the coral red jacquard to try.” She turned back to her box.

“I don’t think I need so many gowns, Madame.” Violet ran her fingers over the expensive blue silk before the servant unfastened it. How could she repay Lord Trevor for even one such gown, much less two or three?

“Nonsense, petite. Le seigneur informed me you had no suitable clothes.” Dipping into the box again, Angelique produced a beautiful cream-colored gown, figured with medallions of red and blue flowers. “He is a man who enjoys a well-dressed woman, non? I have worked for him several times in the past to outfit his mistresses.”

Violet froze. Of course he had told the seamstress she was his mistress. Her cheeks flamed. What must Madame Angelique think of her? She longed to tell the woman it wasn’t true. But she couldn’t let the secret out yet. And niggling at the back of her mind was the question: Would he ask her to be his mistress in truth? Perhaps it was wrong to be so suspicious of his motives. Still, why else would he go to such expense for her?

Angelique helped coax her arms into sleeves frothy with costly lace at the edges. “He expects me to provide one or two simple gowns today. After these fittings, we will sit with the sketches and fashion dolls I have brought and plan what you need, down to chemises, stays, panniers, stockings, and shoes.”

“But this is too much, Madame.” Violet couldn’t breathe. She would never have been able to afford such luxury.

“Of course it is not. You please Seigneur Trevor, he rewards you. C’est trés facile.” Catching her look, Madame frowned. “Do you not like this one, petite? You look as though you have swallowed a fly. I assure you, the gown is quite becoming with your coloring.” She turned Violet so she could see herself in the mirror.

The beautiful gown did make her skin glow. It was so soft she scarcely knew she had anything on. How she would love to wear it out shopping, or to church, or to pay a call. All the normal things a lady did. She longed to be ordinary again, although an ordinary woman could scarcely afford such gowns. Unless…

“Madame Angelique. I could not help but notice your two seamstresses have been extremely busy all during my fitting.”

“They are slower than a slug in a spring garden, mademoiselle. Marie, this hem will not do. It is more crooked than an old man’s back.” The seamstress bounded up and finished pinning it, glaring at her assistant as her fingers flew. “They come to me as refugees from France. I take them in, teach them valuable skills, and what repayment do I get? Crooked hems and huge stitches. Look at this. Such stitches you can put your finger through.” She shook her head and glared at Marie, who lowered her gaze and continued with the alterations.

“Perhaps you would be in the market for an additional seamstress?” Violet tried not to reveal her eagerness, but it was very hard. If she could get the mantua maker to agree to take her on, she would have an income, and access to materials to make clothes for herself at a fraction of the cost of fine ladies’ wardrobes.

“Oh, oui! Absolutement. Do you know such a person? If they do the work quickly and well, I can be very generous.” She stripped the gown off Violet, leaving her in a very short chemise. “Was this mademoiselle’s previous maid? Tell her to come to my shop, immediatement.”

“No, it’s not my maid, Madame Angelique. It’s…me.”