Page 7 of The Design of Dukes
“Oh, but you mustn’t waste any more of your time on me,” she lisped softly. “I’ve already caused you enough trouble.”
“You caused me no trouble, nor are you a bother. I’ll only be a moment,” Romy assured her before following Madame Dupree to the back of the shop through a narrow doorway.
“You are so kind not to be upset, especially since you could have been hurt. Monique is on the floor today. She is lazy and knows to put these away.” Madame pulled the shears from the pocket of her gown. “I never thought to find such uses for pockets. I am glad I took your suggestion on them.”
“I am perfectly fine,” Romy said again. “Truly. There has been a crush of ladies in your shop today, and I don’t think Monique was intentionally careless. Please don’t sack her on my account.” Monique supported two younger siblings. Romy would feel terrible were she to be the cause of the young woman’s loss of employment.
“Iambusy. Incredibly so. All the society mamas have flooded my shop because of the gorgeous new designs...fromFrance.” She shot Romy a bland look before they both burst into laughter.
The designs were all Romy’s, sent to Madame Dupree while Romy had been at Cherry Hill. She’d paid the courier extra to keep the sender’s identity a secret lest her mother become suspicious. Madame had not actuallysaidthe designs were from France; the modiste merely did not correct her patrons’ assumptions.
Romy’s merriment filled the back room. It was good to laugh. There hadn’t been enough amusement in the last year, and being back in London, especially at Madame Dupree’s shop, had lifted Romy’s spirits. “I have an entire stack of new sketches. When will you visit Beston’s?”
Beston’s was one of London’s premiere linen drapers, purveyors of the finest fabrics in all of England. Madame Dupree and Mr. Beston were business associates and likely much more, based on the way the modiste blushed when speaking of him.
“I will go next week and replenish our supplies.” She moved into another room. “Mr. Beston is expecting a new shipment of exotic fabrics.”
“I could go with you,” Romy said hopefully.
“My lady, you know you cannot. Especially in my company. If you were to go on your own and order dozens of bolts of fabric?Mon Dieu. They would ask why, of course. Then wonder at you visiting my shop three or more times per week, conveniently helping the young ladies. Someone would guess. I do not think you are ready for that to happen. You may never be ready for such a thing. And your brother, the duke? He would be most angry with me.”
“You’re right, of course.” The idea that a duke’s daughter was secretly designing clothing for her peers would be a decent-sized scandal. Tony, who had conveniently disregarded his own tattered past, would not approve.
Papa would have.
A brief flash of pain crossed her heart. She missed her father.
Madame Dupree walked over to a large cabinet stuck in the corner, pausing to wave at a gown being pieced together. “I have had my girls working day and night on this.” She pointed to a gown of cream silk patterned with a gold geometric design draped over a dressmaker’s dummy. “Is it what you envisioned when you chose the silk?”
Romy stood before the gown, admiring the work of Madame’s team of seamstresses. The silk alone was stunning, the texture and feel of it like butter between her fingers, but an unusual pattern in gold had been added to the fabric, elevating the gown to something royalty might wear. Romy’s design called for alternating underskirts in pale amber which would flash and sparkle when the wearer walked across a ballroom. The neckline would skim the shoulders, the bodice smooth and flat with tight puffed sleeves. An ambitious design. One of her best.
Madame Dupree continued. “Adding the underskirts in various shades of gold was true inspiration. I am jealous I did not think of it myself. You have an eye for such things.”
Romy gently brushed her fingertip along the hem, relieved to see the stitches were tiny and placed perfectly. “You taught me well.”
“My lady, you have far surpassed my talent. It is I who now learn from you.”
What would Romy have done without Madame Dupree? The modiste had given Romy the only means to do what she loved most. She had also become a dear friend.
“I have created clips to adorn the hair of the young lady who wears this,” Romy said over her shoulder as she admired the tiny pleats along the neckline. “Suns.” It had taken her weeks to get the clips correct. She’d spent hours with bits of metal and wire strewn around her, a pair of tiny pliers clutched in one hand.
Madame clapped her hands. “Stunning. No other adornment will be needed. Our client is a difficult young lady, but I think this gown will please her. That and the proposal she expects to receive while wearing it.”
Before Romy could question the young lady’s identity, the modiste opened the armoire and pulled out a day dress the color of mud spotted with white. Upon closer inspection, the small dots appeared to be flowers. Daisies, maybe? The dress buttoned all the way up to the wearers neck, ending with an extravagant ruffle of cream lace.
Madame took note of the frown on Romy’s face. “I’m sorry, my lady. Truly. It isawful. But this dress is all I have. Everything else is in various stages of being pieced together. You will only have it on a short time to finish with Miss Waterstone and then a brief walk to your carriage, yes? A shawl, perhaps, to cover the worst?”
“I doubt anyone will notice,” Romy assured the modiste. “It is far too late in the day for the shop to become busy again. I’ll change and finish with Miss Waterstone.” Madame opened her mouth, likely to offer her own help so that Romy could leave, but Romy held up one hand. “I’d like to finish helping her. I think she is in need of a friend.”
“At least she did not bring in her chaperone today.” Madame made atsksound. “A sour woman. I believe she was persuaded to wait in the carriage.”
“Miss Waterstone is eager to make an impression at a house party she’ll be attending. I’ll do anything I can to help her. I’ve not met her chaperone, but I have met her father, Mr. Waterstone.”
Madame Dupree clucked her tongue. “A most unpleasant gentleman. I cringe when I must send him a bill, especially since he balks at the cost of clothing only where his daughter is concerned.”
“Who else would he buy gowns for?” Romy cast a suspicious glance at Madame Dupree. “Do not tell me he has a mistress?”
“My lady, you should not know about such things.”
