Chapter Two
“Would you like to know about my modiste?” Daphne asked after the carriage pulled away from Jameson House.
“Yes, I would.”
“Mrs. DuBois is French and spent many years working in a shop in Paris. Her husband accepted a job with the French government, which is how they ended up in London. Her husband died about five years ago and she decided to open this shop.”
“She didn’t want to return to Paris?” Harriet asked, her eyes staring at the floor of the carriage.
“No. She thought London needed an authentic French modiste to help the women keep ahead of the rest in their dress.”
Harriet nodded. “She must be extremely popular and in demand.”
“Yes, she is. Sometimes one must wait months to get in to see her,” Daphne replied. “In fact, I don’t believe she’s taking on new clients.”
The carriage began to slow down. Harriet looked outside to see if it was traffic or if they were arriving at the modiste’s shop. She didn’t have an idea of where the modiste was located so she couldn’t be sure.
“We’ve arrived,” Daphne announced. She reached across to Harriet and placed her hand on top of Harriet’s.
“Harriet, I know this is all new to you and with what your mother did you’ve got to be a little overwhelmed.
Try not to be too quiet. Engage in conversation and let your likes and dislikes be known to Mrs. DuBois.
This is your day. You’re in charge of what you want. Not your mother. She isn’t here.”
“You’re right. I need to make a better effort, and I’ll try.”
Daphne patted Hariet’s hand and let go of it. “I know you’re shy, but that’s something we’ll see if we can work on. I want you to walk away from today’s experience feeling accomplished and proud of what you’ve selected.”
The door opened and one of the footmen dropped the steps and waited for them to exit. Harriet waited for Daphne to descend the steps before joining her. The same footman followed them, bringing the gowns they had brought for possible alterations.
They walked into the shop. The first thing Harriet noticed was how neat it was.
A table with the latest fashion plates. Bolts and bolts of fabric lined the wall in neat rows.
She imagined they were in some sort of order.
Color for sure. After that she wasn’t sure.
Type of fabric, perhaps? She’d never noticed any sort of order at the modiste her mother used.
How the woman who owned the shop knew where things were, she had no idea.
“Your Grace, welcome,” a very French accented voice said from out of nowhere. “Your message said you needed gowns for the upcoming season. For the duke’s cousin?”
“Yes. Mrs. DuBois, may I present Harriet. Harriet, this is Mrs. DuBois,” Daphne said, introducing the two.
“Very nice to meet you, Mrs. DuBois,” Harriet replied.
“You’ve had your first season I understand?” Mrs. DuBois asked.
“Yes, and it was a disaster,” Harriet said, shaking her head.
“It couldn’t have been that bad. You’re a beautiful young lady.”
“We brought two of the dresses she wore last season. Of the gowns from then, there were only two we felt might be able to be repurposed,” Daphne said.
“Let’s start with those. I believe I saw them brought in.”
The dressmaker led them to an area in the back where fittings and alterations happened. As they walked into the space, the first thing the trio noticed was the two dresses hanging up. Mrs. DuBois rushed over to the pair and shook her head. “You wore these?” she exclaimed.
“Yes. They were of my mother’s choosing,” Harriet replied softly.
“Is there any hope for either of them?” Daphne inquired.
“No. There is far too much that has to be removed first. It would be time consuming and costly. I don’t get a fondness from Lady Harriet to spend the time and money. I do have a couple of dresses already made that would be perfect for her complexion.”
“Why don’t we start with those first?” Harriet said.
“That was what I was going to suggest. Afterwards, I’ll show you some fashion plates I thought you might like and would look good on you.”
Mrs. DuBois clapped her hands and two women appeared, one carrying a soft-pink gown and the other had ahold of a periwinkle dress. “What do you think of these?”
“They’re lovely,” Harriet replied.
“Why don’t you take off your dress, and we’ll slip one of these on. First, however, I need your measurements.”
Harriet did as requested and stood perfectly still as a young woman named Vivian took a tape and measured everywhere while Mrs. DuBois wrote them down in a notebook she carried.
Once she was finished, Vivian helped her into the periwinkle dress and had her walk in front of a mirror and see what she thought.
Harriet gasped as she stared at her reflection.
It was amazing the difference that a well-made dress could make her look.
“I assume that gasp meant you approve?” Mrs. DuBois laughed.
“Oh my, yes! Words cannot describe how much I like it,” Harriet replied.
Mrs. DuBois turned to Daphne. “Your Grace, what do you think?”
“She looks beautiful. No one will outshine her. Should we get this one?”
Harriet nodded, smiling. “Yes. Please.”
“That takes care of one. Let’s try the other, and then you can look at other designs from Paris,” Mrs. Dubois said.
Her dark-brown hair was pinned up in a bun at the back of her head.
She dressed simply, and for comfort for all the hours she spent on her feet.
“In fact, while you’re changing I’ll go get the drawings and have some tea brought. ”
“Thank you,” Harriet replied lowly.
When she stepped into the pale-pink gown all Harriet could do was stare at herself. How could her mother not have known what colors flattered her? Her dressmaker did her a huge disservice by not advising her mother to the correct shades.
That was part of her past now, and she would not be going back there ever again.
The upcoming season was going to be her best and most successful.
She just needed to overcome her shyness.
She didn’t need to become the most talkative among her peers; she just needed to be able to contribute to conversations, not stand around like a mute person.
Men wanted a woman they could carry on a conversation with, and Harriet wanted a man who didn’t treat her as though she didn’t have a brain.
She was roused from her daydream by Daphne. “Are you ready to go? Mrs. DuBois will have the gowns ready for a fitting next week.”
The modiste was across the room going over fabric with a striking young woman with hair that reminded Harriet of sunshine. Her gaze moved back to Daphne. “Yes, I think so.”
“Excellent. I thought if you’d like we could stop at Gunther’s and have tea and an ice.”
“That would be wonderful. I’ve never been but have always wanted to go.”
Just as Daphne was about to reply to Harriet, Mrs. DuBois came across the room to where they were standing.
“I will see you both next week.”
“I can’t wait to see what you come up with,” Harriet said.
The modiste noticed the packages Daphne and she were carrying. Daphne had picked up some undergarments and included Harriet to pick up some. “Let Eloise take these to your footman.”
Harriet wasn’t sure, but when Daphne gave in and handed both of these packages to the young lady, she knew not to argue with Mrs. DuBois. The lady’s customers were quite important to her and she wanted them to have the best experience when they visited her shop.
Gunther’s wasn’t that far a ride through the streets of London. They probably could have walked, but the weather looked intimidating, as a storm lingered nearby.
“Do you think we’ll have to wait long for a table?” Harriet asked as the carriage pulled up outside the shop.
“I shall have a footman find out,” Daphne replied.
When he came back and told Daphne there were a couple of tables open, the two women exited the carriage and walked right in.
They were immediately escorted to a table that was off to one side out of the path of people.
It would not only give them some privacy but also would allow them to carry on conversation without having to speak loudly.
“What do you recommend?” Harriet asked, glancing around the room at other diners.
“I was thinking a pot of tea with one of their variety plates. Once we finish that, we’ll each try an ice.”
“I hear their lavender ice is wonderful.”
“It is. Arthur brought me here before we were married and that was what I got. It was divine.”
Harriet smiled. “Why don’t we each get a different flavor so we can both try them?”
“Excellent idea, Harriet!”
Daphne ordered for them both while Harriet looked outside a nearby window. The black clouds were slowly moving over them. She imagined soon the rain would come and it would be heavy. She turned her attention back to Daphne only to find her watching her.
“We’re in for a storm,” Harriet announced.
“Yes, we are, and by the look of those clouds a bad one.”
“I can’t believe we were at the modiste for three hours. We were lucky to leave before the storm sets in.”
“I was surprised we weren’t in there longer with all the dresses she’s going to have to make,” Daphne replied.
“I didn’t realize it took so many gowns. Mother had six made and after I’d worn all of them, she had alterations done to make the gown appear as though it were new.”
Tea was brought and set down on their table. Daphne poured them each a cup and Harriet examined the pastries and sweets. She picked up a plate and made her choices of a scone and slice of lemon cake.
“Their lemon cake is excellent,” Daphne said with a smile and began to make her own choices.
The sound of rolling thunder caused them both to look up from their plates. Many other patrons looked up at the loud sound before going back to eating their treats.
“Arthur and I have been discussing hosting a ball. We haven’t done that since we’ve married. We’ve had few dinner parties both here and at our home in Kent. How would you feel about it?”