Candice Hern (7 page)

Emily's back straightened, the only sign of increased tension. "I hope you feel you may always be frank with me. Lady Bradleigh."

"Well, then. It is about your clothes."

"My clothes?"

"Yes. My dear, I am afraid they simply will not do. In London I will expect you to accompany me to many social engagements and to join me in my own entertainments at Bradleigh House, not to mention the engagement ball. I must insist that you be properly turned out."

Emily squirmed slightly in her straight-backed chair as she mentally reviewed her wardrobe. "I do have my gray silk gown which I could update with new ribbons," she said hesitantly. "And I suppose I could modify the blue sarsnet with a new flounce or lace at the hem. And—"

"No, no, my dear," the dowager interrupted with a wave of her hand. "I did not mean that you must go to any extra work yourself. You have too much to do as it is. I want you to be fitted by Madame Dubois tomorrow so that she can have a few dresses made up for you before we leave Bath. Once in London I will take you to Madame Cécile for a complete wardrobe."

Emily jumped to her feet. "Oh, no, my lady. I could not—"

"Oh, yes, you could, and please sit down so I don't have to crane my neck."

Emily sank stiffly back into the chair, frowning furiously. She did not like the direction of this conversation. She had just today been pondering the fortunate circumstance of her position with the dowager countess. But she would walk away from it all if she was made to feel a charity case.

"Now, Emily," the dowager continued in a serious tone, "I will listen to no arguments. I realize that you have never wanted to accept any gifts from me in the past, but this time must be an exception to your self-imposed rule. I simply cannot have you marching around London in those plain round gowns of yours."

"But, my lady, I cannot accept your charity. If I am unable to provide myself a wardrobe appropriate to your requirements, then I am unfit for this position. I am—"

"Balderdash! Emily, my girl, I will
need
you in London. I cannot take on the preparations for a ball without your help. So let's not have any ridiculous talk about resigning your position. That is most definitely out of the question. Besides, I've grown quite fond of you, my dear, and will sincerely enjoy having you with me in Town. But we absolutely
must
update your wardrobe."

Emily heaved a sigh and looked up at the dowager with knitted brows. Her lips were drawn tightly together, and her spine was rigid with tension. She loved the old woman, but she was beginning to feel like a trapped animal, helpless to escape from an intolerable situation. There was nothing more repugnant to her than to receive unsolicited offers of what could only be considered charity. She had fought hard the last seven years to make her own way in the world, without relying on any sort of charitable assistance, no matter how well meant. If she accepted a new wardrobe—and Emily was not unaware of the expense involved—what would be next?

The dowager reached over and took Emily's hand in her own. "Emily, my love, you are a proud young woman. I understand what kind of life you've been saddled with, and, as much as I detest what your heartless father has forced you to endure, I cannot but admire your courage in facing the realities of your life. But, my dear, you must take care that your pride does not intrude on your good sense. It would give me great pleasure to provide you with a wardrobe that is, after all, appropriate to a woman of your background. You must never forget that you are the granddaughter of an earl. Please indulge an old woman and allow me to do this small thing for you." She gently squeezed Emily's hand.

What could she do? How could she reject such a sincere offer? Emily knew that a rejection would hurt the old woman's feelings. She dropped her gaze to the floor as she considered her position. If she refused this offer, she would likely have to give up her position. She knew that the dowager was right, that her current pitiful wardrobe would not be appropriate for London. And she did so want to go to London. Perhaps just this one time she should swallow her pride and allow herself this indulgence.

Emily raised her eyes and smiled at her elderly employer, blinking back the tears she was on the verge of shedding. How could she deny this sweet old termagant anything? She reached over and kissed the dowager's cheek.

"Thank you, my lady," she said as she reluctantly came to a decision. "You are too kind to me. I shall never forget your generosity."

Chapter 5

The next day the dowager's barouche took Lady Bradleigh and Emily from Laura Place to Milsom Street to the establishment of Madame Dubois, one of Bath's most well-respected modistes. Madame's showroom was one of many bow-windowed shop fronts that lined the popular thoroughfare, tucked between a print seller and a plumiere. The dowager had long been a good customer of Madame Dubois. Emily was aware that the tiny Frenchwoman held the dowager in much awe due to her past association with the court of Louis XV and in particular her friendship with the Marquise de Pompadour. But today Madame seemed especially pleased to be asked to outfit Emily.

"Such a fine figure and graceful carriage," Madame said with heavily accented enthusiasm, as she circled Emily and eyed her from head to foot.

As Madame tossed bolt after bolt of fabric on the counter for inspection, the dowager had unfailingly voiced her preference for the brightest colors and the boldest patterns. Emily, however, stood her ground. She had agreed to accept the new wardrobe, but she would not be bullied into colors that made her look like a circus tent. She was firm in her selection of clear blues and greens in fine cambrics or textured sarsnets. She had also selected one simple printed India muslin. As she and her employer perused the fashion plates in the latest issues of
La Belle Assemblée
, the dowager was wont to select those dresses with the most flounces, the most ruffles, and the most elaborate trimming. Again, Emily stood firm. She had no desire to be thrust upon the
ton
looking like a Bartholomew baby. Ever conscious of her position, she preferred the simplest styles.

"Here is a lovely confection," the dowager said as she pointed to a hand-colored engraving of a very elaborate evening full dress of pink satin trimmed at the bodice with swags of seed pearls and with countless tiny ivory satin bows at regular intervals along the long sleeves. "You would be just the thing in this dress, my dear."

Emily studied the fashion plate and looked up to catch Madame Dubois's wary eye. "I am sorry, my lady," she said to the dowager, "but I think I would prefer something much simpler. Like this, for example." She indicated a plate showing a soft green half evening dress trimmed at the neck and waist with pink ribbon embroidered with a green leaf pattern.

"Hmph!" the dowager snorted. "You may choose as you like, my dear, although please remember that our purpose is to have you appear fashionable during the height of the London Season."

"
Mais, oui
, my lady," Madame Dubois interjected. "And this design," she said, pointing to the fashion plate in Emily's hand, "is
la dernier cri
. In the right fabric it will be stunning on Mademoiselle, accentuating her height and graceful neck." She pulled out a length of pale green silk and with a flourish swiftly draped it across a very startled Emily. "
Voilà
! See how it matches the green of her eyes."

Emily, amused at the Gallic enthusiasm of the modiste, raised questioning brows to the dowager.

"It will do," the older woman snapped. "Proceed, Madame."

Emily was then taken to a private room, where for the next two hours she was subjected to endless poking, prodding, measuring, and pinning. The dowager sat nearby, her brows furrowed skeptically throughout the fitting. She was still opposed to the simple styles Emily had selected.

"In my day," she said at one point, "we prided ourselves on achieving the most elaborate styles. Why, our bodices were literally covered with bows. I will never understand, Madame, how we came to these simple vertical designs. And, Emily," she scolded, "you disappoint me in your conservative selections."

Emily kept quiet, determined to maintain a simple, albeit fashionable, appearance, in keeping with her position. She had an unexpected ally in Madame Dubois.

"Ah, but Mademoiselle has excellent taste," she crooned. "You are very wise not to be—how do you say?—a slave to fashion. You must define your own style. Simple, uncluttered elegance will serve you best. Fine fabric in a clean line is more becoming to your height and bone structure. Follow my advice and avoid all furbelows, fruit, or flowers.
Jamais, jamais, jamais
! Let the fabric speak for itself,
n'est-ce pas
?"

Emily was quite overwhelmed when they left the modiste's, having ordered two morning dresses, two evening dresses, a walking dress with matching spencer, a carriage dress, and a pelisse. After much protestation Madame Dubois promised to have everything ready in ten days. She also happened to have a simple evening half dress already made up for another customer who had changed her mind at the last moment. With the most minor adjustments, the gown fit Emily perfectly, so that she was able to take it with her. To Emily's amazement, the dowager informed her that this new wardrobe would take her through perhaps their first week in Town, and that many more dresses would be required for the remainder of the Season. The dowager intended to make a visit to Madame Cécile's soon after their arrival in Town.

Lady Bradleigh then tugged Emily along Milsom Street to shop for slippers and half-boots to match the new dresses, as well as gloves, stockings, bonnets, reticules, and undergarments. Emily was self-conscious about the expense but kept her own counsel. When the carriage at last deposited the two ladies back at Laura Place, two footmen were required to carry in the band boxes and packages.

It was a typical at-home afternoon at Laura Place, with the drawing room crowded with friends and admirers come to pay court to Lady Bradleigh, who was something of an institution in Bath Society. Sir Percy Whittaker was among the callers and did his best to pluck Emily from the background. She was staunch, however, in maintaining her position against the wall, and Sir Percy was forced to join her there in order to have conversation with her. Most other callers simply nodded to Emily in polite acknowledgment while she maintained her place and made no move to join in the general conversation.

After the last caller had departed, the dowager, Lord Bradleigh, and Emily remained in the drawing room, drinking fresh tea and reviewing the day. The fast banter between the dowager and her grandson, as they discussed each of the departed guests with wicked amusement, had Emily in tears of laughter. She had never seen anyone match wits so well with her sharp-tongued employer. And she had never seen the dowager so enjoy herself. It was clear that the two had a very close, very special relationship.

When the discussion reached Sir Percy Whittaker, Robert began teasing Emily about her conquest. "It is clear the man is besotted with you, Miss Townsend. When are you going to put him out of his misery?" he asked, grinning at Emily.

"Sir Percy is merely a good friend, my lord," she replied shyly, "nothing more. Our conversations generally go no further than a discussion of his latest novel."

"You can forget about Whittaker, Robert," the dowager interjected. "We can do better than that. We have spent the morning with Madame Dubois, preparing a new wardrobe for Emily. I have no doubt that her new look will have gentlemen falling at her feet. More interesting specimens than Sir Percy, you can be sure."

Emily stared at the dowager in astonishment.

Robert flashed her a roguish grin. "Yes, I can think of several gentlemen of my acquaintance who might be willing to oblige."

Emily suddenly sat up even straighter than usual, and she felt her jaw tighten as she tried to hang on to her composure. She studied her two smiling companions with narrowed eyes. "Excuse me," she said very quietly, "but if I am correct in sensing there is matchmaking afoot, I beg you to leave me out of it." She turned stiffly to face the dowager. "My lady, I very reluctantly accepted your generous offer of a new wardrobe because I thought—"

"Yes, yes, my girl," the dowager interrupted, "the new wardrobe's purpose was exactly as I stated it to you. I simply required that you appear more fashionable when you accompany me to Town. However," she continued as she flicked a nonexistent piece of lint from her sleeve, "if it also results in drawing eligible admirers to your notice, then I will be doubly pleased."

"Oh, dear," Emily said, her voice cracking in her distress. She could no longer look either of her companions in the eye. Anger and fear immobilized her. These people had lived in the highest echelons of wealth and privilege their whole lives. They could have no idea what it meant to be dependent upon others for one's very existence. They could surely never understand the humiliation that would result from active matchmaking on her behalf, the shame she would feel if presented to Society as an impoverished gentlewoman on the hunt for a husband.

Years ago, when her father's death had left her destitute, she had made a conscious decision not to present herself on some distant relative's doorstep, to be taken in as a poor relation. She would certainly never have approached her mother's hateful family. Instead she had chosen a life in genteel service, which had allowed her to maintain some degree of dignity. She suddenly felt that that last scrap of dignity was was about to be torn away from her.

She knew the dowager's determination was sometimes an unstoppable force. If the old woman had decided to find her a husband, she would be tenacious in achieving that end. She must think. Her mind was in a whirl, but she must think. Somehow she must not allow the dowager to place her in such an awkward position.

Lord Bradleigh apparently noted the distress on Emily's face and jumped into the fray before his grandmother could cause more damage. "Don't worry. Miss Townsend," he said in a soft croon that caused Emily to look up again and meet his eyes, "I can assure you from experience that Grandmother is not given to matchmaking. She has left
me
alone for years. Although," he added with a wink at his grandmother, "I suspect now she wishes she hadn't."