Gwendolyn's Fair Baron (Seven Perfect Days #1)

Prologue

The honorable Miss Gwendolyn Burroughs entered the pretty salon where noted modiste, Madame Beaufort, entertained her elite customers.

No one had come to open the front door when she and her companion entered, even though the echo of the little silver bell could still be heard.

Gwendolyn’s exquisite face was marred by the sour twist of her mouth.

“Where is Mme Beaufort? I know Mama made an appointment for us to see her this morning.”

Gwendolyn’s companion, a girl about the same age, whose soft brown hair and slight figure made her almost invisible in contrast with the effusion of her cousin’s golden hair and vivid coloring, said quietly, “Perhaps she is attending to another customer. Do you think we muddled up the time?”

Gwendolyn tossed her head, her curls bouncing prettily around her face. “Tush, we aren’t more than ten minutes late. It is very rude of her not to be here to greet us. Mama would not tolerate such an affront.”

“Lady Burroughs would not tolerate our being late for an appointment,” Mariana countered. “We did loiter rather long in Regent’s Park.”

A delightful grin transformed Gwendolyn’s face into a vision of loveliness. “Those squirrels were so adorable when they came right down to get the nuts we had for them. No wonder we forgot what the time was.”

Mariana grinned back, the smile brightened her somber face and made her look almost pretty.

“They were cute, especially the one who took the nut straight out of my hand.” A clock somewhere in the house struck the hour and both girls looked guilty.

“We’re almost an hour late,” Mariana pointed out.

“Do you think we should go home and ask Lady Burroughs to make a new appointment for us?”

“No.” Gwendolyn’s eyes darkened and she tilted her chin stubbornly.

“We have an appointment now and I think it’s jolly bad of Mme Beaufort to see other clients in the time set aside for us.

Besides,” her voice dropped and she looked steadily in front of her, “next time we might not be so lucky and Mama will be with us. She doesn’t often suffer from a headache and it wasn’t easy to slip away from Hettie, either.

I don’t know why Mama says we have to have a maid with us when we go out.

We are quite capable of looking after each other. ”

Mariana, who was often mistaken for a companion rather than a cousin of Gwendolyn’s, knew better than to respond to that comment and when Gwendolyn sat down on an elegant cream and gold sofa, she did too.

The tinkling of the silver bell at the front door rang through the house again and Mariana grabbed her cousin’s hand as she whispered fiercely, “Maybe we should go.”

Gwendolyn pulled her hand away and sat absolutely still, eyeing the group of ladies who entered the salon as if they were beggars seating themselves at the king’s table for a banquet.

The three ladies were laughing and chatting as they shrugged off their capes.

“I’m so glad you’re getting married, Grace,” the youngest one said.

She was about seventeen years old and pretty in the kind of schoolgirl way of young ladies not yet used to being in society.

Her dark hair, pert nose, and sparkling blue eyes were sufficiently similar to those of the woman she was talking to, to mark them as sisters.

The older sister smiled. “I’m glad, too.”

But the schoolgirl hardly heard her sister as she continued blithely.

“Mama always insisted she wouldn’t let me come out until I turned eighteen, and here I am only just turned seventeen and visiting a real modiste for the first time because you’re getting married.

It’s so exciting to choose new dresses to wear to all the balls and dinner parties that are being arranged. ”

Grace laughed. “There is that, I suppose.” She stopped when she noticed Gwendolyn and Mariana on the sofa and gave a quick bow. “Good day.” Her voice was low and elegant but with just enough authority in it to convey dignity.

Mariana returned the greeting but Gwendolyn simply dipped her chin down sufficiently to show she had heard Grace.

Miss Constance Saunders, a pleasant-faced young woman who had been governess to Grace Blythe and her younger sister Bernice, usually called Bonnie, for the last five years, looked at the two young ladies seated on the sofa and then glanced around the room.

“Is Mme Beaufort here? I am sure we have the time right. I heard the bells of St. George’s chime eleven o’clock as we entered.

” She was used to being in charge and Mrs. Blythe had entrusted her to oversee the girls’ visit to the modiste.

Mariana blushed and was just about to explain why they had not yet seen the modiste, when the bell over the front door tinkled again and another young woman entered.

Neatly dressed in a simple and practical blue dress that was well-made but clearly the work of a country seamstress, her brown hair sleekly pulled back into a neat bun, she radiated confidence and a no-nonsense air that made her appear much older than she was.

She glanced around the crowded room, gave a neat bow of her head, and said, “Good morning. I am Isolde Haywood.”

Bonnie giggled. “This is quite a party. Although I don’t think there are enough seats for all of us.”

At that moment, Madame Beaufort, the celebrated modiste, entered the elegant gold and cream salon which she had decorated in the kind of feminine taste that would attract the wealthiest clients.

The dressmaker was dressed in a simple black gown of exquisite cut and followed, at a respectful distance, by two of her acolytes, also elegantly robed in gowns of black that mimicked hers but didn’t quite have the same splendor of jet spangles and fine lace edgings that set her apart as the owner of the establishment.

Madame Beaufort pursed her lips and wrung her hands.

“Oh, la la! Quel disastre! There is a terrible mix-up here.” Her carefully cultivated French accent hid her humble origins in a Yorkshire town where she had worked as a lady’s maid for the wife of a baron.

The baroness had been so pleased with Mary Bedford’s taste and workmanship that she had bequeathed her a substantial sum in her will.

Armed with her bequest and recommendations from the baroness, Miss Mary Bedford had become Mme Beaufort and opened a lucrative business on Bond Street in London.

Miss Saunders stepped forward. “Bonjour, Mme Beaufort. Miss Blythe is here to discuss her wedding clothes, and Miss Bernice needs some suitable evening dresses. I trust you will be able to attend to us as arranged.” The slight emphasis on the last two words caused Mariana and Isolde Haywood to squirm, although it had no palpable effect on Gwendolyn.

“Of course, of course. Oh, la, la, Miss Burroughs has, unfortunately, mistaken the time of her appointment, but I can assist all of you. If you and the two Miss Blythes would take your seats here, my assistants will bring you the pattern books.” She pulled out an elegant chair at a round cherry wood table and clapped her hands.

Two assistants, neither quite as elegant as the modiste herself but clearly women of style and taste, hastened forward carrying large volumes of pattern books.

Mme Beaufort’s sharp mind was rapidly assessing which rooms she could use to show her latest models to all the ladies needing dresses from her and which of her assistants would best suit each of her customers.

Then the silver bell chimed once more, and a parlor maid hurried forward to usher in two more ladies, clearly a mother and daughter.

The mother, a woman with a kind face and elegant air, stepped forward.

“Mme Beaufort, I can see you are very busy today, and I must apologize for arriving unannounced. I am Lady Maynard.” She nodded towards her daughter.

“And this is my daughter, Freya. We had not expected to be in London until May, but this is my daughter’s first Season and she must have dresses of the very best quality, which Lady Weston assured me you could provide. ”

Mme Beaufort was not immune to flattery nor to the not very subtle reference to one of her best customers, and she swept forward with a jangle of jet beads.

Her eyes quickly assessed the outfits worn by both Lady Maynard and Freya.

The cloth that had been used for their pelisses was of the highest quality and their bonnets were ornamented with silk bows and real lace.

She had too much business savvy to turn away such potentially lucrative customers.

Her eyes swept over the other women in the room with a calculating eye.

At a glance she could tell that all of them would be good for her business and she needed to ensure that none were offended, but this crowd of people was unprecedented in her usually well-run business.

“You are welcome, Lady Maynard. I am afraid I will have to ask you to wait, but refreshments will be served and you can discuss your needs with one of my assistants while I talk to Miss Blythe about her wedding clothes, and discuss the ball gown Miss Burroughs requires.”

For a few minutes there was a bustle in the room as additional chairs were brought in and the ladies sorted themselves in the best places to peruse the volumes of patterns.

When they were all settled, Mme Beaufort noticed, for the first time, the young woman who had been hidden behind the larger groups of ladies.

She had moved towards the table where the Maynards were preparing to sit down but was stopped by Mme Beaufort.

“Miss, if you are ’ere to interview for a position, then you ’ave entered by ze wrong door and zis is not a convenient time.

If you ’ave samples of your work, you can leave them with my head seamstress.

” The modiste’s voice lost the warmth she had used when addressing Lady Maynard and Miss Saunders.