Page 6 of The Design of Dukes
Under no circumstances could Romy actuallyworkfor Madame Dupree. The modiste had no desire to anger the Duke of Averell or cause a scandal; however, if Romy were to arrive several times a week to offer suggestions on style to the other young ladies patronizing the shop under the auspices of casual conversation, such a thing wouldn’t bring undue attention. Those conversations naturally led to Romy sketching out entire ensembles which the modiste would approve or make suggestions to before presenting them.
Finally, Romy had been able to express herself through the clothing she created. Madame Dupree had the assistance of another talented modiste. It had been a very satisfactory arrangement. Romy even made a small commission when her designs were chosen.
All of it had come abruptly to an end when the Duke of Averell’s health had declined sharply and Romy, along with her sisters and mother, had returned to Cherry Hill. She had continued to send sketches to Madame Dupree from her family’s country estate along with suggestions on accessories and trim, but it hadn’t been the same. In the end, the Barringtons had spent over a year at Cherry Hill, choosing to grieve for their duke away from the glare of society.
Now that Romy had returned to London, she’d resumed her previous agreement with Madame Dupree and hoped it would evolve into something more.
After assisting Miss Hobarth for the better part of an hour, Romy wandered over to the far corner of the shop where Miss Lucy Waterstone stood frowning over a selection of velvets. She knew Miss Waterstone but not very well and took the opportunity to renew their acquaintance.
Waving away one of Madame’s assistants, Romy struck up a conversation with the girl. Miss Waterstone explained she had been invited to a house party scheduled for the following month. Several eligible bachelors would be in attendance, an earl and a marquess among them. Her father wished her to make an impression, she said to Romy, lisping softly as she cast her eyes down.
Miss Waterstone was a shy, lovely young woman, a year or so older than Romy. She was the granddaughter of an earl, but fate had awarded her with a crippling shyness, in addition to her lisp, which accounted for her unmarried state. As well as the fact that Miss Waterstone’s father was a tyrant. Few wanted him for an in-law.
“I know just the thing.” Romy took her hand and led her around the corner. As she did so, her skirts caught on something.
“Drat.”
One of Madame’s assistants had carelessly left behind a pair of fabric shears, the sharp edges jutting out dangerously from a table laden with sample fabrics. The shears were wedged into a block meant to secure ribbons, lace and other trimmings while being cut. Thankfully, Romy herself hadn’t been sliced due to the thickness of her skirts. But when she tried to move forward, threads snapped along her waist.
“Oh, my lady.” Miss Waterstone put up a hand, her eyes widening.
Romy tugged on her skirts, all the while smiling at Miss Waterstone, until the sickening sound of thread and fabric popping apart filled the air. She turned and began trying to work out the edge of the shears without cutting herself, but the slightest movement tore more of her skirts, exposing a large portion of her petticoats.
Miss Waterstone’s gloved hand pressed against her lips as she tried to stifle a sound of anguish. As if tearing one’s skirts was the absolute worst tragedy which could befall someone.
“I’m sure it isn’t as bad as all that,” she assured Miss Waterstone. She twisted to the side only to watch the fabric slice again. A small portion of her corset showed through as the entire right side of her dress sagged open at the waist. She should never have used the seamstress in the small village outside of Cherry Hill. The stitches in the hem of her dress weren’t as small and careful as they should be, a sure sign the garment was not well-made.
Miss Waterstone looked quite upset, much more so than Romy herself was. “I fear this is my fault, Lady Andromeda.”
“Nonsense.” Romy gave a small laugh as the material of her dress dragged along the floor. She put her back to the counter so as not to expose the gaping hole in her skirts to Madame Dupree’s other patrons. “How could it possibly be?”
Miss Waterstone’s fingers tangled together. “Because,” she said in a solemn tone. “Things often are.”
“I was not paying attention.”
Madame Dupree came bustling forward. “Mon dieu. What has happened?” the modiste exclaimed, surveying the damage to Romy’s dress.
“I am a victim of my own clumsiness,” Romy stated sadly, giving Miss Waterstone a look cautioning her not to speak. “I stepped on my own skirts while backing up. This dress, I fear, is not well-made.”
Madame’s eyes widened.
“Because,” Romy stated somewhat loudly for the benefit of the other patrons, some of whom had turned her way, “it was not created here. I fear I purchased this from the local seamstress outside my father’s estate. In the country,” she clarified. “A mistake.”
Madame Dupree’s keen eyes took in the shears jutting out from the table. She discreetly plucked them from their spot, her polite smile never wavering as she sought to free them from where they’d been wedged. She cursed under her breath.
“My lady,” Madame Dupree said, still smiling. “Are you injured in any way?”
“Of course not,” Romy whispered. “But I would prefer not to return home with most of my dress sagging around me. I’ve no idea how long these poor stitches will hold. Do you have another dress I might borrow? Something ready-made? Or a very large cloak?” She was already trying to figure out how to sneak into the house without running into any of the servants or her mother, who all assumed Romy was out distributing books to the poor.
I was mobbed by the orphans; for the books, Mama, and my dress tore clean away.
“Anything,” Romy stated firmly. Her mother hadn’t seen her this morning and wouldn’t recall what Romy had worn, but she would question a torn dress.
“I do.” Madame’s brow wrinkled. “It was made for Lady Van de Burgh’s elderly aunt who, I’m sorry to say, perished before it could be given to her. You need not return it.”
Miss Waterstone looked thoroughly horrified.
“I’m sure it will be fine.” Romy took Miss Waterstone’s hand. “I’ll only be a moment and then I’ll return to help you. I think a shade of periwinkle to bring out the beauty of your eyes.”
