Page 1 of Refining the Debutante
Chapter 1
London, January 1816
What exactly was a mansupposed to do in a dressmaker’s shop? His mother’s headache, brought on by his sister Jane’s sour temper, necessitated an early return home. This left Ethan to retrieve Jane from her appointment. He suddenly felt envious of his youngest sister, who remained home at their country estate, and even his younger brother, who was at school. Ethan would rather be anywhere else.
With a fortifying breath, he entered the narrow building of the most popular modiste in London and removed his beaver hat. He grimaced at the rainbow of colors before him. His sister had better hurry. To say he was out of his element, with the crowded bolts of fabric and the framed sketches of women’s attire, was an understatement.
Jane was in the adjoining room, standing on a raised platform. Her back was to him, but through the doorway, he could see her staring at the reflection of her new gown in the long gilded mirror in front of her. He stepped closer to gain her attention but paused when he saw her expression. She looked as if she might cry. Was this dress the reason for his mother’s headache? Eyeing the gown, he wondered what part offended his sister. It seemed nice enough to him.
The shop’s front door opened to let in a woman. He shuffled to the side of the small vestibule and dipped his head in a polite greeting. The woman curtsied and smiled up at him. Ethan did not easily get his head turned by a pretty face, but when she boldly met his gaze, he could not look away. She wore a jonquil-yellow redingote with a brown velvet collar. She did not remove her heavily trimmed bonnet, but it did little to hide the golden-brown curls framing her large eyes, small nose, and full lips. While he had no intention of speaking to her, his mouth opened of its own accord. No sound emitted, and he floundered for a moment to close it again.
She looked away before he did, breaking the strange spell her presence had cast over him. He was still thinking about his reaction to this perfect stranger when she spoke in a near whisper.
“You really ought to tell your wife how wonderful she looks in her new gown.”
“Pardon?” Ethan stole a glance at the stranger. Had he imagined her soft words?
“It would do her a world of good,” she whispered again.
He looked at her. “Are you speaking to me?”
Her eyes snapped to meet his. “Who else would I be speaking to?” She motioned to Jane. “Look at your darling little wife. She is terribly insecure. She needs you to buoy her spirits with a compliment or two.”
He raised his brows in disbelief. Sisters did not care what brothers thought of their dresses, and he was nobody’s husband. “You are mistaken.”
“There is no mistake. Don’t be hurt that you cannot see what I can. A woman senses this sort of thing.” She gave him a look of pity. “It isn’t your fault. You were born a man; it is harder for you. But I do not mind helping. Go ahead. Look at her. See the way she stares in the looking glass? See the worry line between her eyes?” She leaned near him as if doing so would allow him to see what she did.
He had never met a more impertinent woman. “Why would she be worried? That dress cost a fortune.”
A sigh emitted from her mouth. “She needs tofeelbeautiful. Only you can do that for her. Tell her.”
“I don’t think—”
“Do it. Go on.”
Why had he agreed to come here in the first place? He cleared his throat, anxious for the woman to let him be, and stepped across the threshold of the adjoining room. “You look well,” he said to Jane.
“What are you doing in here?” Jane swiveled on the platform to face him. She batted at a dark ringlet by her face, then dropped her hands to her hips. “Wait outside. I am embarrassed you would speak to me in such a place.”
He shuffled backward.
The strange woman tsked her tongue. “You did a very poor job of it. A husband must learn the best way to compliment his wife. Let me demonstrate.” The woman stepped past him. She looked back at him once, shaking her head as if he’d disappointed her, then waltzed into the room as if she were the proprietor. “Excuse me, but I mustn’t stay silent for another moment.”
“What is it?” Jane asked.
“It’s your dress. It’s exquisite. I must have an exact replica.”
“You? But why? Your dress is far superior.”
“Nonsense. You can barely see it beneath my redingote. You are far too kind.” The woman put her hand out as if she were stroking the fabric of Jane’s dress but was not actually close enough to touch it. “This muslin is some of the finest I’ve seen so far this Season. You are a natural beauty, but do not underestimate the power of a beautiful gown.”
“You think so? It is rather pretty, I guess. I am not sure about the fit.”
The woman looked her over as if she were the mantua-maker. “You’re right. Madame Gillespie? A half inch at each shoulder.” The dressmaker pinned the material in the place where the stranger told her to. “Your shoulders are slender indeed. What do you think now?” She turned to Madame Gillespie before Jane could answer. “Fetch that gold shawl on the table.” The woman accepted it and draped it over Jane’s shoulders. “Stunning. Wear it a little lower. Just there.”
Then she crossed to a table and selected a green feather. She placed it in Jane’s hair. “Sometimes the little accents give a dress greater personality.”
Ethan stared. A little charm made the personality of a woman shine too. He turned his gaze from the vexing but delightful woman to see Jane’s reaction. His sister’s cheeks flushed with pleasure.
