Chapter Fifteen
The following afternoon, Gwen stood on a carpet-covered stoop in the center of the chamber she’d chosen as her primary workspace in Gideon’s home.
Her books, newspapers, journals, and article clippings had all been pushed to one side of the room to make way for Madame Eloise, the seamstress, footstool, fold-out mirror, and privacy screen she’d brought with her, and the entirety of the Ladies’ Literary Society.
Her friends sat in chairs one of the footmen had graciously arranged in a semi-circle. They sipped tea, nibbled cakes, and oohed and awed over the many gowns Madame Eloise had brought for Gwen’s fitting. Day dresses, morning gowns, evening gowns, plus one silk dressing wrapper and nightgown.
“I still cannot quite believe you managed to not only finish my dress for tonight, but fashioned so many others for today’s fitting, Madame Eloise.”
From behind her, Amelia spoke up. “I told you Madame Eloise could work miracles, did I not?”
Lady Harriet chimed in. “I knew when Gwen came to me in urgent need of a new gown for her first meeting with the Duke of Ashwood—”
“And let’s not forget the duchess,” Charlotte interjected.
Lady Harriet inclined her head and carried on. “That a visit to Amelia would set matters right.”
Lady Georgina grinned at Gwen. “Thank goodness Mr. Devereux made the suggestion. To be honest, dearest Gwen, whoever chose the dresses you arrived with appears to have been somewhat color-blind.”
Gwen felt her cheeks heat. She had been aware her wardrobe did not suit her. That had been the point. But admitting as much now would introduce a topic she would rather never discuss.
Georgina went on. “These fabrics and colors, especially the blues and pale greens, complement your fair complexion so well.”
“It’s more than the coloring,” Margaret said. “The cut of the new gowns, even half-sewn, flatter your lovely figure, whereas the ones you came to us with…” She sniffed meaningfully, evidently deciding no more words were necessary.
“Yes, well, I suppose I was due.” Gwen held herself motionless as the seamstress pinned the butter-cream evening gown she currently wore, tightening her unadorned bodice so that her breasts appeared more prominent.
What did you expect? Your manner, your way of dress. You practically offered yourself to me, and don’t deny it.
The unpleasant memory flashed in her mind. She bit her lip. “Do you not find this bodice a bit low?”
“No,” came several vehement replies. Gwen could not say which of her friends had spoken. Perhaps all of them.
Madame Eloise approached, hands on hips. “Madam, I do not mean to offend, but you ’ave come to us from a very, very backward village, no?”
Gwen pressed her lips together. It seemed everyone had formed the impression from her unfashionable clothing she came from a backwoods town.
A knock sounded on the door. A servant coming to check on their refreshments, no doubt. “Come,” Gwen called.
The door swung open.
A profound silence ensued. None of the ladies in the room spoke, no china cups clattered, no cart wheeled in or out. Even the seamstress had frozen in place.
Gwen half-turned on the stepstool to eye the doorway. Her face bloomed with heat when she saw who hovered in the threshold, motionless, and staring at her as if she were an apparition rather than a flesh and blood woman. She gave herself a mental shake. This would not do.
“Good afternoon, Gideon. Would you like to come in and meet everyone?”
She could have bitten out her own tongue. Come in and meet everyone, indeed, as she stood in the center of the room on a pedestal, not exactly clothed.
His gaze did a slow and thorough sweep of her. “I-I…” He stammered, then said nothing more. His already vital complexion darkened.
“Ouch,” the seamstress crouching near her hemline intoned.
Gwen wasn’t sure what caused the outburst, whether she’d pricked her finger, or whether it had something to do with Madame Eloise who’d sidled close.
Whatever the case, the seamstress went back to work and Gideon recovered from his inexplicable stupor. “I came to advise you about what time we shall leave tonight before diving into some paperwork that promises to tie me up for hours. I’m afraid I shall have to meet your friends another time.”
“Of course,” Gwen murmured.
He started to shut the door, then opened it again. “Seven,” he blurted.
“Seven?”
“The hour we’ll depart for Grosvenor Square.”
“Ah. Thank you. I shall be ready.”
He nodded. Swallowed. His gaze drifted over her again and Gwen’s internal temperature seemed to increase ten-fold. Out of nowhere, his words from last night echoed in her head.
Do you feel hot, here?
He cleared his throat. “Excellent. Ladies,” he said with a small bow and shut the door.
“I think it is safe to say Mr. Devereux approves of your new gowns,” Nancy said. She and Amelia, the two married women in the group, smiled knowingly at one another.
“What gives you that impression?” Gwen asked, twisting further to face them.
Amelia picked up the silver teapot. “Call it women’s intuition. More tea, anyone?”
Lady Georgina shook her head while scrawling furiously in her ever-present notebook. Everyone in their group understood she carried a notepad with her in order to jot down ideas for her romantic novels as they came to her.
“Please, madam. Face forward.” Madame Eloise’s tone brooked no argument.
Gwen complied. Still, she kept a watchful eye on her friends in the mirror in case one of them said anything further about Gideon’s apparent appreciation for her new gowns.
Charlotte sipped tea, her expression thoughtful. “I must say, Mr. Devereux is every bit as handsome as the gossip columnists claim.”
“Gossip columnists?” Gwen started to twist around again, then caught Madame Eloise’s sharp look.
She tried to recall what Amelia had said about him when they visited the modiste’s shop, right before Gideon’s acquaintance had introduced herself.
“There,” Georgina said with evident satisfaction and set her notepad aside. “Oh yes, Mr. Devereux has always been very popular, especially amongst…” Her words cut off abruptly.
Gwen tried to meet Georgie’s eyes in the mirror. The young authoress had developed a sudden fascination for the inside of her teacup.
Madame Eloise clapped her hands twice, as if calling everyone to attention.
“Only tonight’s gown left to try, Madame Devereux. We will make any final adjustments, and after, we will depart. You may expect ze ozzer gowns in one week’s time.”
Madame Eloise preened as Gwen’s friends murmured in amazement over her feat, while the seamstress helped Gwen from the stool, then held the dress’s unhemmed skirts aloft as she moved cautiously toward the privacy screen, trying not to dislodge any of the pins.
A few minutes later, she emerged wearing the shimmering, blue silk evening gown she would don this evening.
Gasps of delight greeted her appearance. Gwen could not contain her grin.
When she stood before the three-way mirror, however, her grin faded. She fingered the draping folds of silk, certain she had never beheld a more stunning gown. The elegant and frothy, and not-at-all-garish concoction made her feel pretty for the first time in a very long while.
Minutes later, after assuring herself Gwen’s dress needed no further alterations, Madame Eloise and her seamstress departed.
Once more outfitted in one of her apparently universally detested gowns, Gwen pulled a chair over to where her friends sat and collapsed onto it.
Amelia filled the lone, unused china cup on the tray and handed it to Gwen.
Gwen sipped the tea, a fine blend—of course, stocked by Gideon—that went down smoothly even tepid, as it was.
The curvy, petite Georgina rose and hurried to the door.
She poked her curly brown head into the corridor, peered left and right, then closed the door and hastened back to her seat.
“Now then, we must tutor you on the Duke and Duchess of Ashwood. I consulted an unimpeachable source—Mother.” She sent Gwen a brilliant smile.
Gwen reached for the younger woman’s hand and squeezed. She glanced around at her circle of friends. She had never had female friends, not close ones, like these. Gratitude blossomed in her chest.
“As it happens, I have gained some limited information,” Gwen said. “I know, for instance, that Gideon is the duke’s eldest son, but not his heir, and I recently learned his mother was of Anglo-Indian descent and died when he was a toddler.”
Amelia glanced between Georgina and Gwen. “That’s more than I knew. I gathered his birth mother and the duke had a relationship outside the bonds of marriage, but I had assumed she would have been of the British demi-classe.”
“Make no mistake, she came from the upper class,” Georgina said with an air of authority. “She was an heiress in her own right, albeit not a British citizen. Her father was British. He made his fortune in shipping. Her mother was the daughter of wealthy Indian landowners.”
“How on earth did your mother learn these things, Georgina?”
Georgina and Nancy spoke in tandem. “Servants.”
Amelia laughed softly. “I have some experience with that particular phenomenon.”
Gwen sipped more tea. “Apparently the duke traveled to India before he ascended to the title, where he met Gideon’s mother and the two fell in love.”
Nancy nodded. “The love connection explains much. They say the duke and Mr. Devereux are thick as thieves.”
“All true,” Georgina said. “The on dit is that the duke gave his wife of little more than two years no choice in the matter of whether she would raise his late mistress’s son. He simply brought him home from India and informed her of the arrangement—as she was giving birth to his heir.”
“Oh, dear,” Gwen said, feeling a degree of sympathy for the woman.