Page 33 of The Duchess’ Modiste

“I always do, father.” She placed her hands on her hips. “Today, I had some time off, that is all. I took it to see my friend, Miss Chloe Green. You remember, father, I have spoken of her often?”

“Have you?” Alfred said rather distractedly. He began to circle the shop, clearly taking stock of some of his materials. He picked up a particular bolt of cotton and straightened it, ensuring it was flat.

“Yes. She was the head seamstress at the Duke’s estate.” Rosaline tried to prompt her father’s memory as she followed him around the shop. “She is a baron’s daughter too.”

“A baron’s daughter?” Alfred had something of an amused smirk on his lips. “How the mighty have fallen.”

“Father, that is not very kind.”

“Oh, I am not taking pleasure in one’s misfortune.” Alfred shook off the idea and turned his attention to straightening more materials. Once he was done, he straightened his own clothes, pulling down his waistcoat and adjusting the position of his sleeves. “I am merely remarking on what a fall it must have been for a baron’s daughter to work as a seamstress.”

“Sometimes people fall on hard times.” Rosaline followed her father as he continued around the shop. When she accidently bumped into a table, her father spent minutes together straightening the things on that table, including some silks that she was pretty certain had not been upset by the jolt. Something she had observed over the years was her father’s rather obsessive need to keep the shop trim and tidy. He would straighten non-existent creases and dust squeaky clean shelves. “Chloe has done very well for herself.”

“As a head seamstress? Yes, indeed she has.” Alfred agreed with a nod, still organizing the things on the table.

“No, father, it is not just that.” Rosaline shook her head with fervor. “She is opening her own shop. She is to be a modiste.”

“A modiste?” At last, Rosaline was relieved to see she had her father’s attention. With one hand still on the materials before him, his head angled in her direction. His rather puffy cheeks bulged outward on either side of his bushy mustache. “She has the money to set up such a thing?”

“Yes, she has. Father, do you not remember me speaking of her designs the other day? The very gown I wore to the Duke’s ball was one of her designs.”

“Oh, yes, I remember now.” He spoke slowly and lifted his hand off the materials, turning to face Rosaline completely. “It was just one event, was it not?”

“Yes, father, but it was also an exciting opportunity to introduce Chloe as a designer. Oh, father, you should have seen it.” Rosaline gushed and stepped forward, taking her father’s hands and using them to sway herself side to side. He stood rather woodenly, though he didn’t let go of her hands. “So many of her designs were being paraded. I’d wager there was not a person at the ball who did not know her name by the end of the night. Everyone wanted to know who had designed the gowns!”

“Everyone?” Alfred repeated.

“Yes. Is it not wonderful news?” Rosaline released her father’s hands and hurried across the shop. She reached the back, where her father usually sat on stool, and took the stool to use herself. After having run across Covent Garden with such great speed, the pads of her feet were rather sore. “Chloe has been a good friend to me. I would like to see her do well.”

Rosaline lost herself in a little imagining. It was a world where Chloe was embraced as the finest modiste in London. She was welcoming ladies into her shop with ease, designing such gowns for them that they practically glittered with gold. Rosaline was there to watch it all, admiring the ladies, and there was one other there.

Lord Gloucester waited for her outside of the shop.

Oh, I must learn to stop my imagination from running off!

Lifting her gaze from where she was rubbing her sore feet, she spied her father across the room. Unusually, Alfred hadn’t moved. He was no longer incessantly tidying or cleaning his shop. He stood perfectly still and stared forward, as if looking into an abyss.

“Father, is something wrong? I hope you are not unwell?” Rosaline said, about to step off the stool when her father turned round, a smile firmly in place.

“I’m perfectly well. All is fine.” He crossed toward her and leaned on the table that separated them. “Tell me more about your friend. It is plain to see how excited you are for her.”

“Very excited indeed! I can scarcely sit still.” Rosaline tried to make a conscious effort not to wriggle and clasped the seat of the stool. “She has so many designs, father. Enough to fill three notebooks at least. She looks at designing gowns in a different way, I think. She incorporates continently fashion with London styles to create something that feels very . . . fresh.”

“Do you have the gown you wore for the ball?”

“No.” Rosaline shook her head. “Would you like to see it? I might be able to draw it.”

“Yes. Do. Draw it for me.” Alfred was suddenly captured by vigor. He secured a pencil and paper from the back of his shop and then returned, urging Rosaline to lean on the counter and draw the gown.

It took some minutes, with Rosaline poking her tongue between her teeth in concentration. Once the gown was completed, the paper was as good as snatched from under her hand.

“I see you are intrigued by it too,” she laughed at her father’s eagerness. “Is it not a wonderful design? I was hardly expecting the number of compliments I received. Nor the attention. Lord Gloucester did not leave my side.” Rosaline giggled, until her father turned a rather heavy glare in her direction. The strength in those dark eyes made her laughter fade away. “What is it, father?”

“You have mentioned this Lord Gloucester more than once now. Be careful, Rosaline.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you are a seamstress.” Alfred’s tone was kind, yet firm. He lifted a hand and placed it on her shoulder in a comforting way. “Do not place your hopes on an earl, I beg of you. Far worse, do not let your heart become attached to such a man. He will not marry someone in your position. Caring for him can only end in pain. You know that. Do you not?”

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