Chapter 2
Two
“Miss Alden!” the Dowager Duchess chided as she took Isabelle by the arm and pulled her from the pastel fabrics. “You are far too tanned for colors to suit your skin. You must look at the jewel tones.”
Isabelle bit back a sigh, trying to keep her comments to herself. Mama warned her that she must be on her best behavior while living with the Duke of Windham and his family, but she was already finding it to be an impossible task.
Lady Victoria patted a swath of deep blue silk. “This would match the ribbon and your eyes. The men at the ball will be unable to look away.”
The Dowager Duchess clicked her tongue, her pale blue skirts sweeping along the floor as she navigated around the red velvet chaise in the middle of the room. She reached a wall with little boxes of ivory buttons, pulling out ones that resembled miniature pearls.
“These will be perfect,” the Dowager Duchess declared, holding them out to a slender woman in a silk dress patterned with little green leaves and pink flowers.
The woman studied the pearls before glancing at Isabelle. “These are too large. She is a small girl. She requires something more delicate.”
Lady Victoria leaned closer to Isabelle. “Madame Renault was a designer to the Queen of France for several years before coming to England.”
Edith nodded as the modiste took the blue silk from the wall of silks. “We are lucky to have her in our duchy, but she will be travelling to London in a week’s time.”
Only seven days until I see London for the first time and the supposed husband hunt begins.
Perhaps she had taken too many liberties when speaking to the duke, but she would not be finding a husband this season.
Not one that she would enjoy. Mama used to speak of how stern and proper the men in England were, and how she had been lucky to find Papa.
Mama claimed that Papa was the only man in England with a sense of humor.
Isabelle believed her.
Madame Renault hummed softly to herself as she tilted her head in the direction of a white pedestal before a gilded mirror. “Please stand there and I will take measurements.”
Isabelle crossed the room, dodging Lady Hyacinth and Lady Evangeline as they held stunning patterned poplins against their bodies. She stepped onto the pedestal and it felt as if every pair of eyes in the small modiste shop turned to her.
She took a deep breath and tried to calm her nerves. “Something similar to what I am wearing but more suited to a ball would be lovely.”
The Dowager Duchess tutted, crossing her arms. “Miss Alden’s waistline needs to be raised to sit higher, just below the bust instead of close to the hips.”
Madame Renault put the silk to the side and picked up a length of ribbon with markings on it. “The skirts are too wide as well. And your sleeves are far too long to be considered fashionable.”
Her chest tightened as she looked down at the woman. Isabelle thought her dress was nice. She had seen her mother’s private seamstress nearly a fortnight before her travels and had the dress constructed. The seamstress was certain that the dress followed the latest styles in England.
It was only when Isabelle had stepped off the boat earlier that she noticed her dress was decidedly different, but she knew it didn’t take away from the beauty of it.
In fact, there was nothing wrong with a single dress in her wardrobe, whether the duchess believed that or not. Who was she to decide what was fashionable?
Isabelle’s nails bit into the palms of her hands. “There is nothing wrong with my dress. I rather like it.”
“There is nothing wrong with your dress for an American,” the Dowager Duchess corrected, her tone implying that she considered the word an insult.
Though Isabelle had anticipated the slur from others in society as she progressed through the season, she hadn’t thought that the woman sponsoring her would be the first to malign her.
When she agreed to travel to England, she had believed a new adventure awaited her. It had been a chance to escape New York and spend time immersing herself in the land her father and mother had once called home.
However, instead of finding a warm and welcoming hostess, this woman reminded her of the bite of an icy wind in the middle of December.
Madame Renault fingered the lace at the hem of the sleeves that fell to Isabelle’s inner elbows. “This will not do.”
“No, it absolutely will not,” the Dowager agreed, a smug smile tugging at the corners of her mouth and creasing the faint lines beside her eyes. “You are to be introduced into society, Miss Alden. You must look the part if you wish to find a husband.”
Isabelle’s cheeks flared with heat, red marks appearing high on her cheekbones. “If I am to change everything else about my dress, then I wish to remain with the cut of the neckline on the dresses I already own.”
“It is much too low!” the dowager was aghast, the color draining from her face. “You must raise the neckline.”
“No.” Isabelle stood still while Madame Renault measured her waist. “It is the one part of my dresses that I truly adore and I wish to see that reflected in the new dresses as well.”
Lady Victoria appeared beside Isabelle clutching a length of lace with white beads that matched the pearl buttons. “I think this would look best with the dress and I agree that you should keep the neckline. It is flattering.”
The Dowager Duchess’ nostrils flared. “It is improper and unfashionable.”
“And it is my dress that Papa is paying for. He would not be pleased to learn that you wish me to become someone I am not for the sake of fitting in with the ton,” Isabelle said, her tone firm, daring the dowager to continue pushing her.
Though she tried her best to be agreeable, Papa had raised her to be strong in her beliefs and in who she was. He would be disappointed if she gave in and agreed to a dress she did not like, just because another woman had declared it fashionable.
While she was in this foreign land, she would try her hardest to remain true to herself, even if that already seemed impossible within a couple of hours after docking.
The dowager scowled. “You simply do not understand. If you insist on continuing in this manner, your American personality is going to be your downfall. We must do all we can to distract potential suitors from that.”
“And that implies that you must dress me as if I’m a dowager instead of a young woman?
” Isabelle asked, glancing over her shoulder at the former duchess.
“While I appreciate the time and consideration you are putting into my dress, I can assure you that a neckline will not be my downfall any more than my personality.”
“How will you find a husband if you continue to act in such a way?” The Dowager Duchess planted her hands onto her hips while her daughters scampered in different directions.
Isabelle could not help her smile of amusement. She couldn’t blame the girls for disappearing to look at other beads and fabric in the shop. There was a part of her that wished she could do the same.
It was better that the duchess learned quickly that Isabelle could not be imposed upon. It would make for an easier relationship through the season.
Madame Renault looked at the Dowager Duchess. “The neckline is modest enough for a young woman of Miss Alden’s age. It will be suitable for the ball and I suspect that she will be one of the most beautiful women there.”
The Duchess sighed and pressed a hand to the side of her face. “She will not be if we cannot corral her into a more suitable dress. I do not know how Windham will find a husband for her.”
“I can hear you,” Isabelle said, keeping her tone light even though she wished to give the woman a proper lecture on manners. “And I have no interest in finding a husband this season.”
The duchess’ mouth dropped open before it snapped shut. She took several deep breaths and looked to the ceiling as though she was praying for strength.
Isabelle had seen Mama make the same face a thousand times.
“You must desire a husband.”
“I do not.” Isabelle clasped her hands in front of her, rocking on her heels. “Though I may find one, I will not be approaching every man that spares me a glance and trying to convince him that I am the woman of his dreams. It is rather impractical and makes for the worst matches.”
“Perhaps that is for the best,” the duchess sneered. “A husband will not be easy to find when you are outspoken.”
“If I do find a husband, he should know who I am from the very beginning of our relationship.” Isabelle dropped her hands, smoothing her skirts close to her side, trying to picture what a smaller skirt would look like. “Don’t you believe that as well, Your Grace?”
The duchess’ mouth became more pinched. “I should think that you are seeking to drive away a potential match, not show him who you are.”
“Believe what you wish, Your Grace, but if there is a man who wishes to marry me, I hope he knows me for who I am because I do not plan on changing that after marriage.”
“If this is how Americans behave, then I should be terrified for the state of that country,” the Dowager Duchess said as Madame Renault giggled and noted down some measurements on a scrap of parchment.
“It is unfortunate that the rumors from America have followed her to England,” a young woman whispered to her mother as she passed by.
Her mother stopped, chuckling and staring at Isabelle in the mirror. “It was quite the scandal from what I heard. Though, she is an American and not much can be expected from her. Certainly not good breeding or following proper societal standards.”
Isabelle scoffed, turning to face the women.
“In America we do not call it a scandal. I would consider it malicious gossip spread by women who know nothing of what they are speaking and seek to elevate their daughters by diminishing the reputations of other young women they consider to be competition.”
“Miss Alden!” the Duchess admonished.
Lady Evangeline laughed and handed her mother several bundles of embroidery thread. “Really, Mama, you cannot be upset with Miss Alden. Miss Fitzroy and Lady Fitzroy have come looking to insult Miss Alden. It is not her fault that she has bested them at their own game.”
Isabelle gave Lady Evangeline a grateful smile while the duchess stood in front of her daughter, shooting her a withering look that silenced her.
Lady Victoria and Lady Hyacinth appeared with little treasures of their own, standing to the side as Lady Fitzroy sniffed and lifted her nose into the air.
“Your Grace, I see that your ward is in desperate need of etiquette classes before your return to the ton.” Lady Fitzroy placed a hand on her daughter’s back, nudging her through the modiste.
The pair strode to the doors on the far side of the room. The bell chimed as they left the shop, passing the window with one last dirty look for Isabelle.
Madame Renault giggled and wrapped the measuring ribbon around Isabelle’s hips, pulling it tight against the hoops beneath her skirt. “I will need a better measurement without these skirts on. You may go into the private room and I will be with you in a moment.”
Isabelle nodded and stepped down from the pedestal, her stomach turning.
While she hadn’t expected her arrival in England to be smooth, she also didn’t think that she would make enemies within a day.