Page 35 of Her Rake Fiancé

Richard inhaled sharply and kept his eyes on the opposite side of the street. “I wish I could promise you that. But I can’t. If it comes to my brother’s life or your brother’s freedom, my choice is clear.”

That broke her heart a little. Damn him. She should really stay away from him. Not think about how much she understood him, how she felt sorry for him, and how happy it made her to just talk to him.

That was all a lie, she reminded herself. A rake’s game.

“Well,” said Richard. “Are you going to enter the shop?”

Jane looked at Madame Dubois’s shop. Even the curtains were delicate, fashionable, and pretty.

Despite herself, the idea of her wearing the finest fabrics and the best, most flattering designs made her strangely excited. She remembered the day she’d gone to a modiste to get her gown made for Almack’s. She’d stood looking at her reflection as two women bustled about her, measuring her, writing things down. Then the first fitting where she was poked with pins and needles. And then that exciting day when the new frock had finally arrived—how she had held her breath as she undid the ribbon over the box and lifted the cover and gasped.

For five years, Ruby had sewn her dresses. Not because Thorne didn’t give her money. On the contrary, he had insisted she go to the modistes in Mayfair. But she couldn’t imagine wearing fashionable gowns in Whitechapel while children on the streets didn’t eat for days in a row. She’d rather spend her dress allowance on the school or give it to charity.

But, she guessed, the old Jane, the one born in Mayfair, wasn’t dead yet. The old Jane’s stomach actually squeezed in anticipation at the idea of walking in.

Two ladies exited Madame Dubois’s shop.

“Come, Ruby,” Jane said without looking at Richard. “Let us hasten to conclude this matter.”

Feeling Richard’s attentive gaze scorching her back, Jane crossed the road with Ruby by her side.

“I’ll be in the snuff box shop,” he called after her, but she didn’t turn around.

A few moments later, Jane walked into Madame Dubois’s, Ruby on her heels. The bell over the door chimed. The scents of fabric, wood, and rose perfume with a hint of lavender tickled Jane’s nostrils.

The front of the shop was large. Two dress forms were dressed in the frocks of gentle peach and pastel lilac, the fabric looking more like silk than muslin. Another showcased a pretty, elegant pelisse with artificial flowers in a shiny fabric that resembled mother-of-pearl. The fourth dress form displayed a riding gown of a rich royal blue without any glistening or sparkling accessories, but of a cut so pretty it was clearly an accessory by itself. Shelves with countless fabrics, organized by the shades of rainbow, covered two walls to the left and to the right. In front, there were sideboards bearing flowers, ribbons, feathers, pearls, crystals, and lace that no doubt served as accessories.

A lady in her fifties, dressed in a gown of pale pink and a high-collared spencer of cream silk, and two younger, dark-haired ladies in gorgeous gowns of lavender and pale orange quieted as they frowned at Jane and Ruby.

Three other women were gathered around the fifth and final dress form as they worked their magic over a very different frock than anything Jane had ever seen. Unlike the pastel, gold, and silver shades that most in the ton wore, this gown was crimson and so bright, one couldn’t come into the room and look at anything else. All three women looked respectable and fashionable. All of them had needles in their hands. One sewed red crystals onto the gauze hem of the dress. The second sewed red silk flowers onto the bosom. And the third was crouching and attaching lace onto the bottom edge of the gauze layer.

The woman attaching the lace looked over her shoulder, then put the needle through the fabric and straightened up, facing Jane with her eyebrows raised and an indolent gaze crawling over Jane’s figure. The woman was pretty, in her forties, with dark almond-shaped eyes, and thick straight black hair. She wore a striking, rich forest green dress and a pretty necklace with a single emerald. The two others stopped what they were doing as well and stared at Jane with expressions that bore barely concealed judgment.

The lady in a pink gown and her pretty companions, who must be her daughters, also stared openly, and not in a friendly manner.

Unease crawled up Jane’s spine. She glanced down her brown dress to make sure she had no dirt on it from the streets of Whitechapel. But it was clean. So it couldn’t be the dress. Her spectacles felt too tight on her nose, her shoes—too old. Her bonnet—cheap and common.

“You must be lost,” said the woman in the green dress with a thick French accent. That must be Madame Dubois.

“Good day, Madame Dubois,” said Jane, clutching her hands. The woman didn’t contradict her, so Jane must be right. “I’m not lost, no. I’d like to order some gowns and was hoping you may have something unclaimed that you might finish on me for tonight. There’s this soirée—”

The modiste turned her back to Jane as she began fussing around the red dress, straightening it, correcting the flowers, checking the crystals. She peered over her shoulder at Jane with a look of disdain and interrupted with an unceremonious huff. “Clearly you never heard of me if you think I have unclaimed, unfinished dresses. Besides, the duchesses of the ton are on a waiting list to acquire my services. I cannot take new orders from just anyone who walks into my shop.”

Heat rushed to Jane’s cheeks as humiliation scalded her whole body. Next to her, Ruby stepped from foot to foot, her face somber.

Jane was right to have hesitated about coming here. She should leave. Clearly, she was unwelcome. But she and Richard must attend tonight’s soirée, must make an appearance in the ton after this morning’s announcement in the paper.

Only, she had absolutely nothing pretty to wear. She had outgrown her Almack’s dress a long time ago.

So she had to try again. “But perhaps—”

“I’m afraid I have no openings in my schedule,” Madame Dubois said without bothering to turn to Jane. “I do not take new clients. My current clients occupy all my attention. As you see, Lady Fairchild and her daughters are waiting for a fitting.”

The lady in the pink gown cocked a single black eyebrow at her.

Jane had never felt more like dirt. The unspoken truth was evident.

You are not good enough for my shop.