Chapter 4
The dressmaker’s rooms were too warm for the weather, every window clouded faintly at the corners from steam and breath.
Bolts of silk stood upright along one wall in shades of ivory, pearl, cream, and a yellow so pale it looked almost white until held against the light. Adelaide stood upon a low fitting platform while Madame Bellamy circled her with a mouthful of pins and the grave concentration of a surgeon.
Violet waited near the hearth with Adelaide’s gloves folded over one hand. She had been quiet since they entered, which meant she had been thinking far more than was comfortable for either of them.
“You may as well say it,” Adelaide told her as Madame Bellamy tugged the muslin toile more closely beneath her ribs. “You have sighed at least six times since Berkeley Square, and two of them were directed at the back of my head.”
Madame Bellamy glanced up, pins still pressed between her lips, but wisely returned to the hem. Violet moved nearer the platform and lowered her voice, though the workroom bustled behind the screen with assistants carrying lengths of ribbon and trays of hooks.
“It is very sudden, my lady. That is all.”
“So is a carriage overturning, but one does not improve matters by discussing the speed at which it happened.”
“That is an alarming comparison for a wedding.”
Adelaide sighed and shook her head as if Violet did not understand her at all, but she knew she did.
Her expression held the same careful concern she had worn all morning, softened only by the familiarity between them.
Two years ago, she would have swallowed such opinions rather than risk displeasing the lady who employed her.
Adelaide had cured her of that habit through persistence, improper tea arrangements, and the repeated assurance that friendship which required silence was hardly worth having.
“You scarcely know him,” Violet said. “One meeting in a study, half of which you spent believing him to be a secretary, does not seem sufficient preparation for marriage.”
“I learned that he dislikes people entering without knocking, knows more about drainage than most land agents, and can laugh when properly provoked. Some wives discover less in ten years.”
“That is not what I meant.”
Madame Bellamy stepped back, narrowed her eyes at the bodice, then reached for another pin.
Adelaide lifted her arms when instructed and endured a fresh tightening at the waist while an assistant knelt to arrange the train.
The gown itself existed only in pieces as yet, but its shape had begun to emerge.
Her father had insisted upon ordering the best fabric in London.
She had protested the expense, and he had coughed into his handkerchief until she stopped.
Violet came close enough to smooth a fold near Adelaide’s wrist. “You could still refuse.”
Adelaide looked down at her. “No, I could not.”
“You could.”
“And go where?” The question landed between them with none of the sharpness Adelaide might have used on anyone else. Violet lowered her gaze to the muslin sleeve beneath her fingers.
The distant cousin who would inherit the estate had written only once after hearing of the earl’s illness.
His letter had contained three paragraphs about legal efficiency, two regarding the consolidation of household expenses, and one brief remark concerning Adelaide herself.
A young woman with unconventional habits, he had written, would benefit from a more disciplined establishment.
“He has already told Papa what sort of household he intends to keep,” Adelaide continued. “A reduced staff, no unnecessary dependents, and no tolerance for what he called ‘blurred distinctions.’ We both know what that means.”
Violet’s face changed, not dramatically but enough. The hand holding Adelaide’s gloves dropped to her side. “He may have meant only to economize.”
“He asked whether your employment included the child.” The quiet that followed was filled by the snip of shears somewhere behind them. Madame Bellamy pretended not to hear, though her brows had risen slightly above the pins.
Violet turned toward the fire. “Elise and I have managed before.”
Adelaide stepped down from the platform before the dressmaker could stop her, forcing the assistant with the train to scramble backward. Madame Bellamy made an offended sound, but Adelaide caught Violet by the forearm before she could retreat farther.
“You survived before. That is not the same thing, and I will not send you out to prove how well you might survive again.”
“You are not marrying for me.”
“I am not marrying entirely for you,” Adelaide corrected. “There is Papa, and the estate, and the small difficulty of having nowhere legally secure to stand once the title passes. But you and Elise are not nothing in the calculation, so please do not ask me to pretend otherwise.”
Violet’s eyes shone, though she blinked the brightness away with an irritated little movement. “You should not have to bargain away your life to keep us safe.”
“Perhaps not. But women are forever being told what they ought not to have to do by men who have arranged the law so that we must.”
Madame Bellamy removed the pins from her mouth. “My lady, if you continue moving, your wedding gown will hang like a sail in poor wind.”
Adelaide released Violet with some reluctance and climbed back onto the platform. “Then you must save me from disgrace, madame.”
“I have been attempting to do so for forty minutes.”
Violet laughed under her breath and pressed Adelaide’s gloves to her mouth for a moment, but some of the strain had gone from her face. Adelaide allowed the dressmaker to turn her by the shoulders and pin the fabric at her back, though the topic at hand remained heavy in the air around them.
Eric Sullyard had not behaved as she expected a duke to behave. That ought not to have mattered, but it did. He had been severe at first, certainly, and had looked at her as though she were a problem no competent steward had anticipated.
Still, he had laughed. He had listened when she spoke of drainage instead of praising her in the vague, indulgent manner men used when they intended to ignore every word. Whether that amounted to safety was another matter entirely.
The front bell rang downstairs. A moment later, voices rose in the passage, one belonging to Madame Bellamy’s assistant and the other so familiar that Adelaide’s shoulders tightened before the door opened.
Loretta Sullyard entered in a wash of lavender silk and expensive perfume. Her bonnet carried enough artificial flowers to supply a small conservatory, and she paused just inside the room as though she expected everyone present to appreciate the effect.
“Lady Adelaide,” she said, surprise arranged delicately over every syllable. “How extraordinary.”
Adelaide met her gaze through the mirror while Madame Bellamy continued pinning the train. “London is full of extraordinary things, Mrs. Sullyard. Two ladies requiring gowns from the same dressmaker hardly ranks among them.”
Loretta’s smile did not shift, though one gloved finger traced the handle of her reticule. “Of course. I had only understood that you preferred causes to fashion.”
“One may support education reform without appearing naked in public. The two principles coexist remarkably well.”
Violet looked down quickly, but Adelaide caught the movement of her mouth. Loretta did as well. “I see your maid continues to enjoy unusual liberties.”
“She enjoys excellent judgment, which makes her company preferable to many ladies of the peerage, Mrs. Sullyard.” Adelaide was careful not to emphasize the lack of title in front of Loretta’s name.
Madame Bellamy bent lower over the hem, her shoulders trembling once. Loretta advanced farther into the room, examining the pale silk draped over Adelaide with slow attention.
“Is this for the season? It seems a little solemn for a presentation gown.”
“It is not for a presentation.”
“No?” Loretta’s eyes returned to Adelaide’s face in the mirror. “Then perhaps your father has finally decided to send you abroad. Continental dress is said to be more forgiving of eccentricity.”
“My father has decided nothing of the kind.”
“How reassuring. I had heard his health was poor, though gossip so often magnifies these things. One hopes he has made suitable arrangements for you. A distant cousin may not be eager to maintain the habits of the present household.”
The words were delivered gently, almost sympathetically, which made them uglier. Violet went rigid beside the hearth. Adelaide felt Madame Bellamy’s hands stop briefly at her waist before continuing. “You appear remarkably interested in my father’s arrangements.”
“Only as an old acquaintance. Society can be cruel to a woman left without direction, particularly one who has made herself so… difficult to place.”
Adelaide turned on the platform, pulling the unfinished train half around with her. Madame Bellamy protested, but she ignored it. “Then you will be relieved to know I have been placed, Mrs. Sullyard, and your concern is no longer needed.”
Loretta blinked once. “I beg your pardon?”
“My wedding is to take place within the month.”
The room behind them had gone suspiciously quiet. Even the scissors had stopped. Loretta recovered enough to smile. “How— That is quite fortunate. I confess I had not heard of any gentleman paying court.”
“He did not.”
That answer pleased Loretta for half a second before caution returned. “Then this is an arrangement?”
“It is.”
“To whom?”
Adelaide could have answered simply. Instead she let Madame Bellamy lift the edge of the train from beneath her shoe, took her gloves from Violet, and drew one slowly over her hand while Loretta waited.
It was plain as the nose on her permanently scowling face that the information due to be shared with her would ruin her day, so Adelaide relished in the uncomfortable silence a moment longer.
“The Duke of Wolverton.”
The color left Loretta’s face so quickly that even her rouge could not disguise it.