Chapter Eleven
No sooner had Gwen shared her predicament with Lady Harriet than the older woman whisked her from her Dove Street mansion to the home of Lady Amelia.
Upon learning of Gwen’s plight, the raven-haired beauty, a pillar of fashion herself, fairly vibrated with excitement. “You require a new wardrobe? By tomorrow?”
“A new gown, by tomorrow,” Gwen corrected. “And several others following that. My husband,” she said, stressing the word in case any servant lurked about hoping to pick up a vein of gossip, “seems to think I dress more in the way of a governess.”
An impoverished governess.
Amelia’s genial smile and conspicuous silence said she quite agreed.
In a matter of minutes, Amelia bustled Gwen into her carriage, and off they went to Bond Street.
Throughout the drive, Lady Amelia explained how everything from the choice of a gown’s fabric, to its color, cut, and sleeve length made a statement, not to mention the time of day one wore a gown also played a role in which type one must choose.
“What do you mean?” Gwen asked, fascinated despite herself.
Amelia happily expounded. “There are round gowns for day wear, not to be confused with morning dresses, or walking dresses. There are evening gowns, ball gowns, and riding habits.”
“I knew about the riding habits,” Gwen assured her, hoping to allay any anxiety on Amelia’s part over having befriended a complete fashion dolt.
Amelia patted her hand. “Very good, dear. For best effect, the fabric of a woman’s gown must flow. Silk or finely woven muslin or lawn all work nicely, depending on the gown’s purpose.”
“And what of satin?” Gwen asked.
Amelia pursed her lips. “A silk satin works well for ball gowns and such. For day wear, never.”
She had known those gowns Reggie’s mother had chosen were inappropriate day dresses, despite her assertion to the contrary. Reggie will not want to let you out of his sight once he glimpses you in them.
In fact, Reggie had not seemed overly impressed by the low-cut, overly embellished, form-fitting dresses.
Quite the opposite, if his arched brows and pinched lips were anything to go by after she modeled the first, though he’d done his best to cover.
Reggie would not have wanted to hurt her feelings, or his mother’s, who had insisted on their shopping expedition.
His friend—and hers for a time, Mr. Landry—had very much enjoyed seeing her in them. She shook off the unpleasant memory as Amelia went on.
“All gowns should fall in an elegant drape, from the bodice down,” Amelia explained, with a sweep of her gloved hand. “As for the bodice, it must be wide and low, especially an evening gown.”
Here Amelia paused to eye Gwen’s current attire. Her expression said she did not care for the gray, high-necked, unadorned day dress any more than Gideon had. “Gwen, dear, do you actually like this shade of gray?”
Gwen plucked at her skirts, feeling like a girl being tutored by her older sister in the ways of the world. “Not particularly. Why do you ask?”
Amelia smiled across the divide, her expression gentle. “Three of the last four times I’ve seen you, you’ve worn a gown in this exact shade. I would have thought it the same dress, save for the differing lengths of sleeves.”
Gwen smoothed her skirts. “I fear I do have several in this shade.”
“I see. Are you, perhaps, wearing the staid styles for a purpose? Say, because you feel you must?”
“I don’t follow.”
“If you are dressing for mourning, I must point out—”
“Oh, that. I’m not.” She bit her lip. “I chose this particular style because…” She broke off, neither wanting to lie, nor to discuss the unfortunate incident that precipitated the change in style.
She opted to share a truth, if not the whole truth. “For the last several years, aside from a period of deep mourning, I spent the bulk of my time working with my father. I didn’t see the need to purchase new gowns for which I had no use.”
“You must have loved your husband very much,” she said gently.
For the second time that day, Gwen’s eyes stung. She nodded.
Amelia sent Gwen a brilliant smile. “You are very brave, starting anew, Gwen.”
With effort, Gwen pulled her mouth into an answering grin.
“It helps to have friends. I haven’t had many, you know.
Little Giddingford is vast, but sparsely populated.
Reggie’s family owned most of the land. My parents purchased the only other manor house in the vicinity.
As he and I were both only children, we had just each other for company much of the time. ”
Amelia reached for her hand and squeezed. “I understand more than you can imagine. I, too, treasure the friendships I’ve made at the Ladies’ Literary Society.”
After a moment, Amelia released her hand and glanced out the small window.
“Now then, as we are almost arrived at Madame Eloise’s shop, let us discuss your most pressing need.
For a meeting with the Duke of Ashwood, we must dress you to the nines.
We’ll need a gown, slippers, and something to showcase your lovely hair. ”
Gwen flushed. “All that?”
“Would I tell you how to edit a manuscript, madam? Fashion is one of my fortés.”
“Very well. Do you think your modiste can manage an evening gown in what amounts to a matter of hours?”
“Never fear, Madame Eloise can work miracles.” She cast Gwen a sidelong look. “The cost, however, will reflect that.”
“I’m on this quest at Gideon’s insistence. He said, in no uncertain terms, to charge everything to him.” She grinned at Amelia who grinned right back. “It’s his own fault if he goes bankrupt outfitting me.”
Sparkling laughter burst from Amelia’s lips. “From what I hear, it will not come to that, dear. Leave everything to me.”
To Gwen’s surprise, the entire process of choosing fabrics, trim, and accessories was not nearly so painful as she had anticipated. In fact, with Amelia to help her, she found she quite enjoyed herself.
More importantly, Madame Eloise assured her she would have a proper gown in time for tomorrow’s meeting with the duke.
To that end, Gwen, wearing a nearly complete, pale-blue silk evening dress which Eloise had kept in reserve for just such an occasion, stepped up onto a pedestal facing a three-fold mirror.
“Arms out,” Madame Eloise commanded.
Gwen complied, marveling at the shimmering folds of fabric that caught the light. She had never seen, much less owned, a more beautiful gown.
Eloise held varying colors and widths of trim before Gwen, eyeing the effect in the mirror until, finally, clucking her tongue in approval, she chose a cream velvet ribbon and matching lace.
“Not too much?” Gwen asked, dismayed. She did not want to ruin the elegant gown with an overabundance of adornment.
Eloise glowered.
Gwen caught Amelia’s silent warning in the mirror and pressed her lips together in contrition.
The modiste went on. “Madame Devereux, we will deliver your gown tomorrow in ze afternoon for ze final fitting.”
Amelia clapped her hands in glee. “What time? The ladies in our club will want to be there.”
Gwen gawked at her over her shoulder. “They will?”
“We will,” Amelia answered. “We are your friends, Gwen. Witnessing your transformation for tomorrow night’s event will be almost as much fun for us as it will be for you.”
Madame Eloise exchanged a knowing look with Amelia. “Your friend, she is beautiful, no? But she ’as ’orrible taste in clothing.”
Minutes later, Gwen reluctantly allowed the seamstress to help her out of the pinned gown and back into her gray muslin dress.
Before exiting the modiste’s workshop, she flicked a brief glance at herself in the fold-out mirrors.
She had to admit, the gray did not flatter her. But then, that had been the point.
“Come,” Amelia said, hand outstretched. “Let us peruse the hair adornments before we leave.”
Back on the shop floor, they joined several women milling about, fingering fabrics, eying merchandise.
Amelia led Gwen to a display of hair combs, away from the other patrons. She surveyed the assorted offerings. “Gwen,” she began in a low voice, “may I ask you about Mr. Devereux?”
Gwen inched nearer, dropping her voice to match Amelia’s. “Of course. What about him?”
“I have never met him. What’s he like?” To Gwen’s amazement, Amelia blushed. She, who never seemed discomfited by anything or anyone.
“He’s…well, he’s quite tall.”
Amelia chuckled. “I’d heard that. It’s more…As I understand it, the women of the haute ton, especially the widows, and more than few married women who do not worry overmuch with fidelity, find him irresistible.”
“Married women?” she squeaked, appalled.
Amelia sent her an approving look. “I see we are of the same mind concerning the sanctity of marriage, but that is not de rigueur amongst London’s elite.”
“I see.” She absorbed Amelia’s inference. “Are you saying my husband is a willing participant in these extramarital affairs?”
Amelia looked aghast. “Oh, dear. There I go, putting my foot in my mouth. No, not at all. At least, not as far as I know. I more wondered if he’s as…” She glanced over her shoulder.
Gwen saw her magnificent violet eyes widen a fraction.
In the next instance, she picked up a set of blue hair combs, adorned with small blue flowers. “These, I think, will do nicely.” Her tone was no longer conspiratorial. She held the ornate combs up as if gauging how they might look.
“Pardon me, ladies,” a dark-haired, dark eyed woman said, approaching them.
She was taller than Gwen by several inches, and curvy in that way Gwen had always admired, especially as she lacked said curves. She had an arresting look about her. Not pretty, but certainly attractive.
“Lady Culver, are you not? And, would I be correct in assuming you are Mrs. Gideon Devereux?”
Amelia gave the woman a polite smile. “You are correct, madam, I am Lady Culver, and my friend, here, is, indeed, Mrs. Devereux. I’m afraid you have me at a loss. You are?”
“My name is Mrs. Trent. Although we have never met, Lady Culver, we have chanced to attend more than one fête in common over the years.”
“I see,” Amelia said. “How good of you to introduce yourself Mrs. Trent.”
Mrs. Trent turned her attention to Gwen. “I am especially pleased our paths have crossed, Mrs. Devereux. I understand you recently wed Gideon.” She paused. Frowned. “Mr. Devereux, that is. Felicitations are in order.”
Gwen flushed, inwardly cursing her tendency to do so. “Thank you. I take it you are acquainted with my husband?”
The woman’s broad mouth curved in what should have been a warm smile.
The smile did not reach her dark eyes, however.
If anything, the temperature in the shop seemed to drop by several degrees.
“Indeed, though I have not seen him in quite some time. Likely due to his voyage to Calcutta, several months ago.”
“He has recently returned to London,” Gwen said, uncertain how else to respond.
“So I heard,” Mrs. Trent said. “Please give him my regards, and my heartfelt congratulations on your marriage.”
“Certainly. I appreciate you taking the time to introduce yourself, Mrs. Trent.”
“Perhaps we shall meet again, Mrs. Devereux.” A moment later, the bells hanging over the door jangled as she exited the shop.
Amelia’s gaze narrowed on the closed door. “I did not care for that woman, for some reason. Did you?”
Gwen shook her head. “I can’t say precisely why.”
“She seemed most keen to meet you. A bit too keen. Now then.” She grasped Gwen’s shoulders, turning her so she faced in the opposite direction. With deft fingers, she plucked Gwen’s hair pins free and finger-combed the length of her hair. “I shall just…and then…”
Gwen’s head bobbled slightly with Amelia’s gentle tugs and twists as she, evidently, fashioned her hair into something other than its usual sedate knot. She finished, securing her work with the matching combs she’d taken from the display case.
“There. Let us have a look.” She guided Gwen to a floor mirror, waving at one of the seamstresses to bring a hand-held mirror, then held it up for Gwen to see.
Amelia had, in swift order, rolled her hair into two, intersecting coils which she secured with combs, leaving the length of it to hang over one shoulder.
“It’s softer,” Amelia said. “Less severe. It suits you and your lovely robin’s-egg blue eyes.”
She laughed self-consciously at the unexpected compliment. “Thank you. I am dismal at anything related to styling my hair. Perhaps Clara can replicate what you’ve done here. Gideon shall have to purchase these, as well.”
Amelia laughed. “My treat.”
“Didn’t you say my husband could afford the lot?” She started to turn toward the counter.
Amelia stayed her with a touch to her shoulder. “Gwen, you never answered, earlier, about Mr. Devereux. I was trying to ask, apparently in a too-convoluted manner, if he is as alluring as they say?”
Gwen swallowed, remembering how her body had reacted to Gideon’s nearness earlier, his gentle touch, when he’d swiped his thumb along her upper lip. Heat had poured through her, intoxicating and enthralling in its intensity.
Too, last night, entering his bedchamber, she’d struggled to steady her breathing.
Before departing for her own chamber, standing close to him, she’d felt an almost overpowering compulsion to touch him and to be touched by him…
She couldn’t express it better than that, even in the privacy of her own thoughts.
She’d had to order her legs to carry her back to the safety of her own chamber.
Were her unfamiliar sensations due to this reputed allure? She opened her mouth to ask Amelia’s opinion, then closed it with a snap. What would the younger woman think?
Besides, it was just as likely her heated skin and bouts of breathlessness in Gideon’s presence owed to his oddly brusque manner, at times.
And your fingers itching to touch his cheek?
She shushed the confusing little voice in her head.
“I hadn’t noticed,” she said, very definitely.
She meant to leave it at that, but found herself continuing.
“He does have a tendency to take charge that leaves me…” She searched her mind for how best to describe the sensation.
“Oddly lightheaded and overheated at times.”
A considering expression played over her friend’s face. “I think I know exactly what you mean,” she said slowly.
Pleased, Gwen met Amelia’s eyes. “You do?”
She smiled. “My husband also has a strong personality that tends to leave me rather warm and dizzy at times.”
“Extraordinary.” For no reason she could think of, a flush stole up her neck. “Shall we go?”
Amelia linked arms with her as they moved toward the counter to finalize their purchases.
“I must say, Gwen, I can hardly wait for tomorrow. If we are very lucky, the others and I shall witness Mr. Devereux witnessing your unveiling. One wonders if he shall have occasion to display his brusque manner, then.”