Chapter Nineteen
Who would have guessed Josie would enjoy an afternoon outing with four toffs and a lady’s maid? But surprise! She was having a delightful time chatting with her companions.
She sat between Diana and the loquacious Bridget. Nicolas, Agatha, and Jonathon reclined on the carriage squabs across from them.
Adding to Josie’s excitement was her newest revelation. She wanted to wear a gown that stole Nicolas’s breath. She wasn’t comfortable allowing him to purchase it while his family struggled financially, but she would pay him back even if it took her a long time.
Occasionally, she caught Nicolas’s gaze, and he’d send her a subtle smile.
Not wanting to alert their party of her attraction to him, she aimed for nonchalance.
But feigning indifference was impossible while giddiness bubbled beneath her skin.
Therefore, Josie’s cheeks heated, and she bit her lip to avoid giggling.
Damnations, she hated giggling chits. And here she was, silly and missish. Although perhaps one could be forgiven the night after being kissed senseless.
Certainly, Agatha would be horrified if she had any inkling of the things Josie and Nicolas had done in her drawing room.
Which begged the question, why had the Davenports left her alone with Nicolas?
Did they think a pugilist’s reputation wasn’t worth protecting?
Did they believe her so unfeminine and lumbering that Nicolas wouldn’t find her attractive?
If so, they were dead wrong. She knew without a doubt that Nicolas was drawn to her.
If Bridget hadn’t barged into the drawing room, she was certain he’d have continued whispering sweet sentiments while kissing her.
And the things he had done with his fingers. Good Lord, he’d sent her soaring high above her body. Of course, she’d been most indecent and blown in his ear. Why? She had no idea other than she liked when his breath tickled her ear.
Perhaps swearing off men and pledging to be a life-long virgin had been a mistake. But how was she to know she would someday meet Nicolas? And at least now there was a silver lining because she could offer him her maidenhood.
Agatha and Jonathon had stayed out late the previous evening, making a ruckus in the hallway before entering the drawing room with matching mischievous grins.
Josie detected disappointment in Agatha’s expression upon seeing Nicolas’s sister.
However, seconds later, she hugged Bridget and insisted that since it was late, she stay the night.
“We will have a lovely breakfast,” Agatha said. “And then you shall go to Oxford Street with us. We have an appointment with my modiste.”
“A modiste…” Bridget’s eyes clouded over, and she sighed.
“Josephine requires a gown for Lady Helena’s ball,” Agatha said.
“A ball?” Studying a high corner, Bridget placed her finger on her cheek. Seconds later, she lowered her gaze. “Forgive me for being frivolous, but I would love to attend a ball. I need some excitement in my life.”
Stupendous. Then she could take Josie’s place.
“Of course, you shall go,” Agatha said. “We will all go. I will write to Helena tomorrow.”
Nicolas rubbed his temple as Agatha and Jonathon repeated details of the jumble they found themselves in.
Bridget took in every nugget of information and then squealed with delight. “I thought female pugilists looked like men with big noses and big ears, but you are beautiful, Josephine.”
Josie’s cheeks caught fire.
“I cannot wait to tell Isabelle that I am going to a ball with a female pugilist,” Bridget said. “She will die of envy. Not over the ball. She detests them. But that I get to spend time with a woman who punches people for a living.”
Nicolas scowled at his sister. “Bridget, you mustn’t tell anyone.”
“Oh, bother.” Bridget half-heartedly stomped her foot.
Nicolas pinned her in his intense, no-nonsense gaze. “Bridget, I am deadly serious.”
“Relax, brother.” She rolled her eyes. “I will never repeat a word. I am just so happy to be here. Things have been terribly boring and depressing at home. This shall be so much fun.”
The carriage halted on a side street, jolting Josie to the present.
“Ladies, we have arrived,” Jonathon announced.
There was a flurry of activity as the carriage door opened. The two men hopped down. With assistance from a footman, they helped the ladies from the vehicle.
“Four hours, Mother?” Jonathon asked.
“Perfect,” Agatha said.
“We shall relax at White’s until then.” Jonathon bussed his mother on the cheek and grinned at Bridget.
She beamed at him, earning herself a glare from Nicolas. Still smiling, Bridget kissed Nicolas’s forehead.
Nicolas tipped his hat to the four of them, his gaze lingering on Josie. “Enjoy your afternoon, ladies. When we return, I will give you the money, Agatha.”
Jonathon and Nicolas climbed back into the carriage and the women waved goodbye as the vehicle rolled away.
“Come along,” Agatha said. “Madame’s shop is around the corner.”
Bridget linked her elbow with Josie’s and leaned close to whisper in her ear, “I dare say, my brother fancies you, Josephine Martin.”
Modiste Auberte was painted onto the brickwork of the three-story building, and the large green letters ran almost the entire length of the front facade. Colorful bonnets and befeathered, flowered hats adorned the display in the charming bow window.
Bridget dragged a gawking Josie into the establishment.
The second Josie entered the shop, she gasped.
Every color and type of fabric cascaded from the numerous racks.
More silk, satin, muslin, lace, damask, linen, and velvet filled the massive shelving units.
A long glass counter glistened beneath the chandelier and an ornate oak staircase toward the back of the space added to the room’s elegance.
Well-dressed ladies and shop girls bustled about.
“Madame is behind the counter,” Agatha said as she subtly waved to an impeccably dressed, dark-haired woman.
Josie’s gaze darted about the lively room as they waited for the woman to approach. Once she reached them, she took Agatha’s hand in hers. “Lady Davenport, you look as lovely as ever.”
Agatha chuckled as she waved off the compliment. “And you are as kind as ever, Elise. This is Lady Bridget, Lord Shiredale’s daughter. And this is my cousin, Miss Josephine Martin.”
Madame Auberte regarded Josie and then Bridget. “Lovely. And you both require gowns for Lady Siddons’s Spring Blossoms Ball?” she asked, with barely a hint of a French accent.
Bridget frowned. “I don’t, but Josephine does.”
How unfair. Nicolas should be buying a gown for his sister instead of her. Pointy spikes of guilt poked Josie’s chest.
“Why don’t you peruse the fabrics?” Madame said. “Find something you love, Josephine, and I will be with you momentarily. Mayhap a satin or a silk?”
“So, you will be able to make something in time?” Agatha asked.
“For you, my lady, of course. You are my favorite customer,” Madame said.
Although Elise Auberte probably said this to all her customers, Josie suspected the sentiment was sincere.
The dowager countess was beyond generous and kind.
As suspicious and critical as Josie could be, she would gladly put up with the viscountess’s endless lessons if only she could truly be a cousin to such an endearing matriarch.
“Diana, come with me,” Agatha said. “We shall look through fabrics over there.” She pointed to a large open-faced cabinet.
Bridget guided Josie toward a display of rainbow-colored silks.
Josie ran her hands over the fabrics as if petting a kitten. They were soft and decadent—and all wrong. She was not satin, lace, and silk; she was muslin, linen, and wool.
Was it too late to change her mind? Could she simply refuse the loan from Nicolas and borrow a gown from his sister? If so, then Bridget could have the new gown made.
“I am so very sorry,” Josie said.
“Whatever for?” Bridget asked.
“That Nicolas has offered to purchase my dress,” Josie said. “I am afraid it will be a waste of money and would be much better spent on you. You have a chance of making a match at the ball. I do not.”
But if you don’t look lovely, you don’t stand a chance of piquing the duke’s interest, and then he will not propose, and Nicolas will lose everything.
With all of this fretting, Josie’s common sense had turned to faulty logic.
Even if she willed it with all her heart, it simply did not matter.
Dukes did not propose to pugilists. Well, except for Lord Paulsgrove.
But Lady P. was the daughter of a wealthy baron, so she didn’t count.
And Lord Ashleyshire. But his wife was an earl’s sister.
Nicolas and Bridget Wentworth were about to lose everything. Josie swallowed a silent scream.
Wearing a dreamy expression, Bridget fingered a bright red silk that suited her brown hair and blue eyes.
“I think ’tis extravagant to have a new gown made for every ball,” Bridget said. “And I have no intention of making a match.”
It wasn’t Josie’s business, but she asked anyway. “Because you are attracted to Jonathon?”
Bridget’s eyes widened. “Not at all. Jonathon is quite charming and exceedingly handsome, but I have no desire to marry some aristocrat and be a broodmare. The thought of being Jonathon’s fiancée is utterly ridiculous.
” She chuckled. “I simply enjoy tormenting my brother, and it vexes him when I show Jonathon favor.”
Josie choked on her laugh.
“I’m sure you noticed my brother frets and worries. A lot.”
What an understatement. Trying to hide her yes-I-noticed face, Josie made her way to the green silks, Bridget by her side.
“Did you see the lovely book Nicolas purchased for me?” Bridget asked.
Images of Nicolas sauntering into the drawing room, looking as handsome as any fairytale prince, a package under his arm, swarmed Josie’s mind. “He told me about it.”