Chapter Two
It had to be fate. There was no other word for it. The day she noticed Seamstress Wanted written on the placard in the window of Madame Sybil Pembroke’s dress shop, La Femme à la Mode, was forever etched in her mind. Madame was known for selling beauty and perfection and had the busiest dress shop in London. She remembered staring at the placard. Madame had been in need of a seamstress, and she had been in need of employment.
Louise Hartfield still couldn’t believe her luck. Yet here she was, four years later, the new head seamstress sitting in a landau carriage, drawn by a pair of matched bays with Madame Pembroke, surrounded by gowns and accessories on their way to conduct a personal fitting.
Madame had an unwavering standard for excellence, yet her guidance was delivered with a gentle touch that included constructive instruction and sincere praise. It didn’t take Louise long to learn what was expected, and she was justly rewarded. She had saved enough for her younger, headstrong sister, Christina, to attend the prestigious Female Seminary in Sommer-by-the-Sea.
The stars were finally aligned.
The carriage rumbled and rocked as it made its way down Pall Mall, passing St. James’s Square. Louise stole a quick glance at Madame. The woman, sitting with an air of pride and sophistication, brimmed with a quiet confidence. Her understated elegance and warmth made her approachable.
Madame Pembroke’s appearance mirrored her refined attitude. She was a woman who understood the nuances of style and had a keen eye for detail. These were qualities that propelled Madame and her shop into playing an influential role in London. It was astonishing how, at first glance, one would never suspect Madame to be the most sought-after modiste. Louise did not doubt for a moment that she owed her success to her mentor and employer.
“I want to thank you for staying late these last several nights. Mrs. Dove-Lyon is a good friend and patron. I didn’t want to disappoint her.” Madame leaned toward her and gently squeezed her folded hands. “Without your help, it would have taken much longer to get everything done, and your delicate finishing touches would have been missed.”
Embarrassed at the accolade, Louise nodded. “Thank you, Madame. I enjoyed working with you on the garments and hearing the stories about you and your sister. I had no idea that she too was a modiste and has her own shop in Sommer-by-the-Sea.”
“She is quite good. When we were younger, we would compete. Our mother was the judge.”
“Who won?” Louise noticed the faraway, nostalgic aura.
“Mama always declared a tie. Which leads me to the fashion you created, the mauve and silver gown.”
Madame had glimpsed at Louise’s sketch and gave her the opportunity to make the gown.
“It looked wonderful in your sketchbook. It was more stunning when you finished making the gown. The woman who wears it will look like a princess. The silver embroidery and beadwork are delicate. I love the way lace and beads sweep down the skirt and pool in the back on the slight train.”
“I’m glad you like it.” A flush reached Louise’s cheeks. “Once I saw the silk and the beads, I knew how the gown should look.”
“And you were correct. You also did an excellent job with Lady Fitzroy’s riding habit, and she is not easy to please.”
Louise was confident of her design and sewing skills even when she first approached the modiste for the position. Her stitching was small, neat—almost invisible. Her mother had taught her how to fit a dress to a figure as well as the best way to alter simple or outdated gowns and transform them into fresh and timely styles.
“Sarah and I get along much like you and Christina.” Madame’s voice carried a wistful tone, filled with longing. “I miss my family. Every year, they have a reunion of sorts. I received the annual invitation the last time Mrs. Dove-Lyon visited the shop.”
“When will you be leaving?”
“I’m not attending. I would have to be away for three weeks. No. I’ve promised to finish a collection, and I do not want to disappoint.”
“Family is important. You shouldn’t miss such an opportunity.” As Louise pondered the possibility of Madame temporarily closing the shop for three weeks, she couldn’t help but feel a bit stressed. Even with her careful budgeting, three weeks without wages would be difficult, but not impossible. With prudent spending, Madame could embark on her well-deserved visit. She and her family would be fine.
“If I do close the shop, I hope you can take some time for yourself, socialize, enjoy yourself. You never know. You might find your Prince Charming.”
“Prince Charming. Eva, Lady Amherst found her prince. However, lightning does not strike twice.”
Eva, Madame’s former seamstress, had a unique circumstance. She was a lady whose family came upon hard times and Madame had been her family’s seamstress. When Eva’s mother, Lady Glenshire, passed on, Madame offered Eva a place to live and the means to take care of herself. All the while, Madame had made certain that Eva could reclaim her place in society and as a matter of fact, it had been with the help of Mrs. Dove-Lyon. But that was another story.
Louise chuckled. Prince Charming. The truth was she would have to marry in order for her younger sister Christina to marry. Her family may not be titled, but her mother still had standards and insisted that Louise, the eldest, must marry first. What was worse, Christina agreed.
“The last time your mother visited the shop, she was quite adamant about you finding a husband.”
“Sometimes, all she speaks about is my need to find a husband.”
“She’s right, you know. You won’t find a husband in a dress shop or fitting clothes.”
Their carriage rambled down Cleveland Row. The driver came to a halt around the corner of the lady’s entrance to Lyon’s Gate Manor, the home of the Lyon’s Den, the notorious gambling hell.
Louise gazed out the carriage window at the prominent blue house and St. James’s Palace across the road as the driver opened the carriage door and helped them down. Madame put on her gloves as the coachman stood ready to help her out of the carriage.
“I’ll go ahead and let them know we’re here while you make sure everything is brought in.”
Louise stepped out of the carriage. The street was like any other in the West End. Today, it was filled with carriages, pedestrians, and the typical chaos of the city. She carried her fabric swatches and design sketches. Encouraged by Madame, she was eager to present them to Mrs. Dove-Lyon. She gave the inside of the coach one last look, wanting to make certain nothing was left behind.
Nathaniel checked hispocket watch for the hundredth time. He shouldn’t have remained with Bessie so long. Now, he rushed out the main entrance, barely noticing his surroundings on his way to meet with his solicitor. He was caught up in his thoughts about his wager and the challenges Bessie was preparing.
He had read Bessie’s contract very carefully. She insisted on full control of the challenges and judging. No matter how he approached the subject, she wouldn’t budge on those items. In the end, they agreed on four challenges that would take place relatively close together. The challenges would progress in what Bessie called a natural order. The first two would take place at the Lyon’s Den. The next two would happen in more public surroundings. Once those were complete, she would decide if she had enough evidence to declare the outcome of the challenge.
In the midst of his hurried strides, Nathaniel collided with a woman, sending the pile of fabric swatches and sketches she held scattering like a burst of confetti across the pavement.
Louise gasped insurprise as she watched the fabric and drawings slip from her hands and tumble to the ground. She knelt and gathered the scattered pieces, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Thank goodness the streets were dry.
“Here, let me assist you.”
Louise glanced up and found herself locking eyes with a gentleman who had the most captivating gaze. She paused, unable to move until the sound of carriage wheels on the cobblestones broke her from the spell.
“That won’t be necessary.” She looked at the ground and continued to pick up the pieces.
“I insist.” The gentleman continued to rescue the swatches and drawings. “It’s the least I can do to make amends.”
She made quick work of it as he handed her swatches and continued to retrieve the sketches.
In her frenzy to put everything to right, their hands met as they both reached for the same sketch. They looked at each other, and for an instant, time slowed down.
The gentleman glanced at the last drawing. “LMH,” he said, remarking on the signature in the lower right-hand corner of the sketch. “Fate has a peculiar way of bringing two souls together, even if it’s through a minor mishap.”
She didn’t reply.
The gentleman handed the drawing to her, brushing her fingers. The small touch sent a subtle shiver down her back. He took her hand and helped her to her feet. For a moment, they were lost in each other’s gaze.
A small, dimpled smile played on the man’s lips while her cheeks warmed with a delicate blush.
“Thank you,” she managed to say, her voice no more than a whisper.
“You’re welcome,” the man replied, his voice soft and warm. He lingered for a moment longer, holding her attention.
Before they could say anything more, the bustling street around them burst with activity. The gentleman reluctantly stepped back, and Louise clutched her gathered creations.
With one final, lingering gaze, he tipped his hat and walked away.
“Miss Hartfield.” One of the staff stepped out from around the corner and approached her. He took the packages from the coachman. “I’m Boyet. This way, please.”
Louise stepped in behind him, but before she turned the corner, she glanced over her shoulder. In the distance, she easily made out the man with the piercing blue eyes. With a sigh, she gave her full attention to Madame, who waited for her by the door.
“Louise, Helena will meet us here at the lady’s entrance,” Madame said. “She is the gatekeeper. Don’t let her pleasant manner fool you. She has a mysterious ability to keep the undesirables away.” Standing at the door, Madame raised her hand.
The door opened before Madame reached for the brass knocker.
“Madame Pembroke.” The woman nodded her head in acknowledgment. This must be Helena, the woman Madame mentioned. The woman turned to her. “Miss Hartfield. Welcome to Lyon’s Gate Manor.”
“Thank you. Helena.” A few inches taller than Louise, Helena’s raven-black hair was pulled back into a chignon that rested at the base of her neck. Delicate, yet expressive, arched eyebrows framed her deep brown eyes. Her smile was open and pleasant. The light blue dress fit her well, but the soft coral gown Louise was working on would look lovely on her.
“This way to Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s sitting room. She is expecting you.”
They went up the ladies’ staircase to the second floor and found themselves in a hallway that led to a grand, imposing door.
Helena tapped twice before she swung the door open.
“Madame Pembroke and Miss Hartfield to see you, ma’am.” Helena stood to the side while she and Madame entered. Behind them, Mr. Boyet and the footmen paraded in with their arms overflowing with boxes of gowns and sewing supplies.
Bessie Dove-Lyon eagerly folded the scandal sheet she was reading, her eyes bright with anticipation. “Ah, Sybil, at last. I cannot wait to find out what you have created for me.” A radiant smile grew broader across her face as she put the folded sheet on her desk.
While Madame and Mrs. Dove-Lyon spoke, Helena orchestrated where the gowns and supplies were to be placed. Louise took a moment to appreciate the surroundings. The decor was elegant and tasteful, in shades of cream and tan with splashes of Prussian blue. The upholstery was cabbage roses in muted tones. The door to her right was ajar. The decor continued into the next room, Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s bedroom.
Once Helena had everything in place, she left quietly with the footmen in tow.
Louise helped Madame unbox the gowns they had made for her. They fluffed the skirts and, with a whoosh, spread them out for Mrs. Dove-Lyon to see.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon stood quietly with her hands folded in front of her. The only thing that gave away the woman’s excitement was her raised eyebrows and the rapid rise and fall of her chest. Louise had seen it before. Some of Madame’s patrons refused to disclose how much they liked a gown in the hopes that Madame might lower the price. Little did they know that she would never bargain with them. If one woman didn’t purchase the gown, there were countless others who certainly would.
“I was hoping you’d like this one.” Madame held up a lovely gown the color of a dark claret. The neckline was a bit risqué but included a fine transparent silk netting that ended with a fine lace high collar around the neck.
“Oh, yes.” Bessie glanced from the gown to her friend and stepped closer in order to examine the fine finishing work.
“This lace work with its embedded crystals is extraordinary.”
“It’s Louise’s design and execution. I knew the color and style would be perfect. All eyes will be on you as you glimmer walking past them.”
Bessie glanced at Louise. “It is a work of art. What else have you designed for me?”
Louise removed a black gown from beneath the pile. “Madame said this was the color you preferred. I made this less severe than a mourning dress and a bit more elegant.”
“But I am in mourning. For my dear Colonel Lyon. I wear complete mourning whenever I venture out of the house.” The woman glanced at the superb wine-colored gown and then back at her. “I won’t be able to wear that. After all, I am the Black Widow of Whitehall.”
Louise brought the dress in question to Bessie. “I understand you often have masquerade parties. You could wear the dress with a mask to match. No one would ever know it was you.”
Louise turned and put the dress down, away from the others.
“Would you wear it for your beau?” Mrs. Dove-Lyon asked Louise.
“Me?” The shock on Louise’s face started Mrs. Dove-Lyon. “Oh, I do not have a beau.” She put up her hand, warding off the idea. “Which is fine with me. But to answer our question, if I did have a beau, I would definitely wear a gown such as this.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon smiled sweetly, but for a moment, Louise sensed something change in the air. She took a breath and tossed the idea aside as ridiculous. She wasn’t one of Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s brides. Yes, she knew about the woman’s matchmaking but even if she were interested, she didn’t have the blunt required.
“You can put that dress with the ones I am taking. I would loathe seeing someone else wear it, especially since you made it for me.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s sharp gaze shifted between Madame Pembroke and Louise. From the gleam in Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s eyes, Louise was sure she had something on her mind. She was satisfied she had encouraged Mrs. Dove-Lyon to take the gown. Now, it was up to Madame to deal with the finances.
“If you like, I can press these gowns and have them hung in your wardrobe.” It was the tact Louise and Madame used so the business end of the transaction could be completed.
“Yes. Please bring them to the sewing room. It’s the last room at the end of the hallway. Helena will help you find your way.”
“Of course, Madame.” Louise gathered up the gowns and hurried out the door.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon waitedfor the door to close, then turned to her dear friend. “What is this? No beau. She is a lovely woman with stunning hair and expressive eyes. I suspect a fine mind if she’s been working with you. How long has she been with you, three years?”
“She has been with me for four years. Louise will have to deal with marriage soon enough, or her mother will force the issue. Her mother insists that Louise be married before Christina, her younger sister, can even think about settling down. I hope she isn’t forced into anything. Louise deserves a loving man and a happy life.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s eyes focused on the table but at nothing in particular. Her forefinger tapped repeatedly.
“I know that look. What are you conjuring?” The designer moved closer to her friend.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon lifted her chin, her hand at her throat. “Me? Conjure? Oh, Sybil, what on earth do you think I am?”
“An eternal romantic. If you’re not conjuring, then definitely you’re scheming.”
“Well, it seems you and Louise have arrived at an interesting moment. Perhaps we can discuss a proposal that might be beneficial to both you and Louise.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s voice was a measured purr, her gaze unwavering. “There is someone I’d like her to meet. He is similarly inclined about marriage. That’s enough for them to have in common to change their minds.”
“How do you plan to introduce them? And how will this be beneficial to me?” Madame asked.
“When I was at your shop last week, I saw your face when you received the invitation to your family’s reunion. The easiest thing to do is accept their invitation and visit them for a few weeks. You planned on finishing the collection for me. If Louise agrees to take that on, she can stay with me and finish seeing to my gowns. The gentleman has asked for my help with a special project, and I think Louise is the perfect person to assist him.”
“I didn’t want to close the shop and leave Louise without any income.”
“I understand. I will see to her income while she is with me.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon put her hand on Sybil’s. “You deserve to spend time with your family. You can leave this to me.”