Chapter 19 #2
“Something that moves,” Cassie said decisively. “I want to be able to dance properly.”
The next quarter-hour passed in a blur of fabric samples and measurements, Cassie standing perfectly still on the dais while Madame LeClair and her assistant circled her with pins and tape measures.
“She’s grown so much,” Hudson murmured, the words escaping before he could consider them.
“She’ll grow more,” Augusta said softly. “One day you’ll look up, and she’ll be a grown woman, with a household of her own and opinions on everything from politics to poultry.” Her smile held a hint of sadness. “It happens in the blink of an eye.”
“I’m not ready for it,” Hudson admitted. “Any of it.”
“Few parents are.” Augusta’s hand moved, as if to touch his arm, then settled back in her lap. “But readiness isn’t required. Only presence.”
The moment stretched between them, taut with possibility.
Hudson was aware of her breath, which was slightly faster than it had been a moment before. Of the small pulse beating at the base of her throat, of the way her lips parted as if in unconscious invitation.
“Miss Norton,” Cassie called from the dais, breaking the spell. “What do you think of the white one?”
Augusta turned, her attention shifting with the ease of long practice. “I think it’s perfect,” she said.
Cassie beamed, then turned back to the modiste. “We’ll take it. And now,” she added, hopping down from the dais with the energy of the very young, “it’s Miss Norton’s turn.”
“I’ll find something suitable, nothing too ornate,” Augusta said hesitantly. “Perhaps a dress in slate-blue? Or a deep green?”
“But that’s not—” Cassie began, then stopped. “At least try one of the ballgowns,” she suggested. “Just to see. Please? For me?”
Augusta hesitated, then sighed. “Very well. One. But I’m under no obligation to purchase it.”
The next few minutes passed quickly, with Madame LeClair and her assistants bringing out bolts of silk and satin, Cassie exclaiming over each one with the unstudied enthusiasm of a child who had not yet learned to mask her preferences.
Hudson remained in his chair, ostensibly reviewing the household accounts he had brought with him but in reality watching the play of expressions across Augusta’s face as Cassie held up one fabric and then another.
“Please, Miss Norton?” she begged again, holding up a shimmering gown of silver. “Just to see?”
Augusta hesitated, then nodded. “Very well.”
She disappeared into the dressing room with Madame LeClair and an armful of fabric.
Minutes later, the dressing room door opened, and she stepped out before Hudson could gather himself.
The world stopped.
The dress was made of silver-gray silk, gathered beneath the bust in the fashionable high-waisted style. She looked, Hudson thought, like a creature from another world, something between woman and myth, too beautiful to be real and too real to be dismissed as mere fancy.
“Oh,” Cassie breathed. “Miss Norton, you’re…”
Augusta’s gaze found Hudson’s in the mirror. “I couldn’t possibly—”
“It’s beautiful,” Cassie interrupted. “You look like the heroine in The Mysteries of Udolpho. The one who escapes the castle and finds true love at the end.” She clasped her hands beneath her chin. “Please say you’ll take it. Please?”
Augusta’s hand rose to the neckline, adjusting it slightly higher. “I’m not the heroine, Cassie,” she said gently. “I’m the governess. And governesses don’t wear dresses like this to balls.”
She disappeared back into the dressing room, the silver silk swirling around her ankles as she moved.
The moment the door closed, Cassie turned to Hudson, her expression a study in exasperation.
“You didn’t say anything,” she accused. “Not one word. Not even that she looked pretty.”
“She did look pretty,” Hudson said carefully. “Very pretty. But Miss Norton is right. The dress isn’t… suitable for her position.”
“Suitable,” Cassie scoffed, the word clearly leaving a bad taste in her mouth. “That’s what Mrs. Beale says about the green wallpaper in the morning room. Suitable.” She shook her head. “Miss Norton deserves to be beautiful, not just suitable.”
The rest of the fitting passed in a blur of measurements and fabric samples. Hudson remained in his chair, answering when spoken to but otherwise silent, his thoughts occupied with the image of Augusta in silver silk.
When the final decisions had been made and the orders placed, Cassie declared herself in need of lemonade and biscuits.
“There’s a confectioner just down the street,” she said. “Miss Norton and I can walk there while you finish with Madame LeClair.”
Hudson nodded. “I’ll join you shortly.”
He watched as they left, Cassie’s hand tucked confidently into Augusta’s, their heads bent together as they discussed some aspect of the ball that had captured Cassie’s imagination.
They made an odd pair—the girl with her boundless enthusiasm and the woman with her careful dignity—but there was something in the way they moved together, in the ease of their conversation, that made Hudson’s chest ache.
He turned back to Madame LeClair. “I’ll take the silver gown,” he said. “Along with the blue one.”
The modiste’s eyebrows rose. “Both, Your Grace?”
“Both,” Hudson confirmed. “And I’d like them delivered to Oakhart House tomorrow. With a note.” He paused, considering. “Beautiful women deserve beautiful dresses. Choose whichever one you wish. They both belong to you.”
Madame LeClair’s expression remained carefully neutral. “Very good, Your Grace. Will there be anything else?”
Hudson shook his head. “That will be all.”
He left the shop a few minutes later, stepping out into the bright summer sunshine with the distinct feeling that he had just crossed some invisible line.
Behind him, in the quiet of the modiste’s workroom, a dress of silver-gray silk lay folded in tissue paper, waiting to make its journey to Oakhart House and the woman who had no idea it was coming.