Page 16 of An Alleged Rogue

“I am so glad you are here,” she said. “Please come in and join us.” She gestured to the lady sitting across the room with a new knitting project and a fresh ball of wool on her knee. “You remember Miss Glover, I’m sure.”

“Of course,” Phoebe said. “Good afternoon.”

“And to you, Miss Hadford.” The older lady’s prim voice lacked warmth. Phoebe chose to ignore her tepid welcome. She had not come to visit Miss Glover. Taking a seat on one end of a pale-green sofa, Phoebe was pleased when Miss Norton joined her there.

“I confess, I was not sure that you would come.” Miss Norton averted her eyes. “After my appalling showing at the Palmers’ dinner party, I must seem a hopeless cause.”

“Not at all.” Phoebe surprised herself by reaching out and taking the young lady’s hand in hers. “You must not think so poorly of yourself. You conducted yourself perfectly well.”

Miss Norton grimaced. “I floundered repeatedly when attempting to maintain a conversation with Lord Forsnes, my gown was twice the width of any other lady’s in the room, and my hair was a waterfall.”

“I shall tell you a secret if you promise not to tell another soul,” Phoebe said, leaning a little closer.

Miss Norton nodded, her eyes wide.

“I have yet to meet a lady who does not struggle to maintain a conversation with Lord Forsnes. If one’s interests do not including fishing or hunting, there is very little to discuss with the gentleman.”

Miss Norton smothered a giggle. “I managed fairly well through the first three courses because I had once read a book about the River Severn. I should have guessed that his interest would wane when the subject moved from the fish beneath the river’s surface to the flora along its banks.”

“There. You see.” Phoebe squeezed her hand. “You were quite magnificent. I should have been at my wits’ end before the first course was over.”

“You are kind to say so. But I will not believe it if you tell me my appearance was equally magnificent.”

Phoebe smiled gently. “Then I will forbear. But the next time you go out in public, you will be.” She looked across the room to where her maid stood patiently waiting. “Would you bring me the basket, Lucy?”

Her maid set the basket at her feet and then retreated to her former position near the door.

“Please be seated, Lucy,” Miss Norton said. “You should not have to stand this whole time.”

Miss Glover pursed her thin lips in disapproval. “She is the hired help, Miss Norton.”

“So I suppose,” Miss Norton said, wholly unaffected by her senior companion’s pointed reminder. “But she should not be made to wait the entire afternoon upon her feet.”

Based on Miss Glover’s expression, standing at attention was exactly what the older lady thought a maid should do, and Phoebe’s admiration for Miss Norton rose still further as she calmly stood her ground regardless.

Lucy hesitated, looking to Phoebe for approval. Phoebe nodded, and the maid edged closer to an elegant Hepplewhite chair and slowly lowered herself onto its upholstered edge. It was the first time Phoebe had given conscious thought to the furnishings in the drawing room. There was nothing that looked to be very new, but everything—from the chairs to the drapes to the chandeliers to the pianoforte—was of the highest quality, and the pastel color scheme was tastefully done.

“What do you have in the basket?” Miss Norton’s question brought Phoebe back to her primary purpose with a start.

“Copies of The Ladies’ Cabinet of Fashion.” Phoebe smiled and reached in to pick up a handful of the small magazines. “You see,” she said, opening the one on top to show the young lady beside her. “Each one includes fashion plates that illustrate the newest fashions in London.”

Miss Norton’s gaze moved from the small pile of magazines on Phoebe’s lap to the larger pile still sitting in the basket. “How many do you have?”

“I’m not sure that I can count that high,” Phoebe said with a laugh. “But I brought them all because I wished you to see how fashions have changed over the years.”

Miss Norton’s expression brightened. “You make fashion sound like the grand rivers I have read about in my geography book that have completely changed their course over time.”

“That is exactly it,” Phoebe said. “Tiny alterations that, when combined, form something utterly different.” She pulled a faded magazine from the bottom of the basket. “Look at this one. It was printed in 1747.” Phoebe opened to a fashion plate of a woman wearing a dark-red gown. “You see how wide the panniers are. She has an open bodice with a separate stomacher, and the fabric is a heavy, dark silk.”

“It looks much like my mother’s dress,” Miss Norton said. “The one I wore to the Palmers’.”

“It does indeed.” Understanding came with painful clarity. No wonder Miss Norton’s gown had been an odd mix of exceptional quality and dated style. “If your mother wore a gown such as this in 1747, she would have been dressed in the height of fashion.” Phoebe opened the magazine she’d received only last month. “Now look at this one.” She pointed to the fashion plate of a woman wearing a cream-colored gown. “You see how the wide panniers are gone. A bodice with edges that meet at the center front has replaced the open bodice, and the extravagant powdered hairstyles and white wigs are rapidly disappearing. Women need no longer hide their natural hair color, and the more curls they can achieve, the better.”

“This gown looks far more comfortable than the one I wore.”

“Oh, it is. And to be free of those awful sky-high coiffeurs and wigs . . .” Phoebe shuddered dramatically. “It is every lady’s dream.”

The enthusiasm in Miss Norton’s eyes faded as she studied the printed picture. “It may not be so elaborate as the first, but I fear even that hairstyle is beyond our housekeeper’s capabilities.”