The Countess' Lucky Charm (23 page)

“Joanna?” Temple waited for his sister in law to clear her mouth.

“Yes?” Lady Joanna dabbed butter from her chin with her napkin.

“Lady Simone needs clothing. We’ve been travelling and I’m afraid her wardrobe is sadly depleted.”

“Wonderful!” Joanna clapped her hands. “There is nothing I enjoy more than a trip to the
modiste’s
shop. Although that’s been sadly curtailed.” She cast a rueful glance down at her sombre dress and sighed.

“Joanna.” Temple paused, carefully considering his next words. “Simone’s upbringing has been rather unorthodox, shall we say. Are you game for a challenge?”

“The challenge being?” A mouth full of ham and bread muffled Joanna’s words.

“Readying her for presentation to London society. I’ve done quite as much as I can but I’m not female and have a limited point of view on how some things are properly done.”

“Of course,” Joanna agreed before shovelling another forkful of ham into her mouth. Her chewing slowed as she scrutinized Simone. Joanna swallowed hard then pursed her lips before answering. “There is nothing more I enjoy than a good challenge.” Her voice was doubtful, as if she had just now taken a thorough look at Simone.

“Splendid,” Temple said, ignoring Joanna’s scepticism. “What’s the first step?”

“The first step?” Joanna paused and took another critical look at Simone. “As you suggested, decent clothing. That dress belongs in the rag bin.”

Simone looked down at the blue seersucker, freshly laundered and pressed. “What’s wrong with it?” she said defensively. “It’s a pretty colour.”

“Yes, well I’m afraid not even laundering can help that dress,” Joanna said. “Frayed hems and cuffs are just not the thing this season. Neither is that particular shade of blue. This season we are leaning more toward yellow. Which may or may not look good with your colouring but we shall see what we can find at Mme
Langlois
’ shop.”

“Excellent.” Temple picked up the paper again. “Now, if you ladies will excuse me, I have a bit of catching up to do with the going’s on in Parliament these days.”

“You men,” Joanna exclaimed. “Why, your goings on bore me to tears. Now you, Simone,” she patted Simone on the hand, “are going to be fun. We shall go to the dress shop this morning.”

* * *

Jauntily swinging his umbrella, Gentry Ted strode briskly down Bond Street and the shops, a favourite haunt of his. A gent could get lucky if a lady needed help with her bags and earn a quid or two with deliveries.

He rounded the corner just in time to see a fine, shiny black carriage pull up in front of Mme
Langlois
’ establishment. Perfect timing on his part—the fancier the carriage, the more items purchased. Disappointment filled him when he saw the two footmen standing on the footboard—they wouldn’t need his help after all.

He pulled back to wait while one of the footmen opened the door to help a young lady with tousled blonde curls. She looked vaguely familiar and he inspected her for a few seconds.

Astonishment cascaded through him. Mona, was that Mona stepping down from that fine carriage? He sidled over to take a closer look. The face was clean, the hair curled and styled but indeed, it was Mona Dougherty.

He edged a bit closer to the young woman perusing the fabrics and gewgaws displayed in the shop window while her female companion was being helped out of the carriage by the footman.

“
Psssst
.”

The young woman ignored him.

“
Pssst
. Mona, it’s me, Gentry Ted.”

The young woman deigned to glance at him. Recognition flashed through her eyes followed by a look of absolute horror, which offended him a tad.

“Ted!”

“Mona! Where ye been all this time? Me and the boys been worried about ye.”

“Go away, Ted,” she whispered, face scarlet red. “You’ll ruin everything!”

“Why, Mona,” Gentry Ted said shrewdly, looking at the fine carriage and the heavy gold signet ring she wore on her finger. “
Ye’ve
landed
yerself
a gentry cove, haven’t ye?”

“Yes, now please go away. That life for me is over.”

“Why of course, ma’am.” Gentry Ted tipped his hat and bowed as three ladies drifted by, eying the pair curiously.

Mona had landed herself a plum gig. Well, he wouldn’t expect anything else from her. That Mona, always landing on her feet. Far be it from him to ruin her chance at a decent life.

With another tip of his hat, he walked away, whistling his favourite tune. Wait till he told the boys.

And if he played his cards right, maybe he could count on her if money got tight. A pleasing thought.

* * *

A relieved Simone watched Gentry Ted saunter away.
Oy
, had anyone noticed him conversing with her. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment.

“Are you feeling well?” Joanna inquired. “Who was that fellow?” Her lips were compressed with concern. Or suspicion, Simone couldn’t decide which.

“I don’t know. Such a funny gentleman although I hesitate to call him such.” She sent a thought to Gentry Ted begging his forgiveness. He would understand, surely he would.

“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost. You’re flushed—are you catching a fever?”

“I’m quite well, thank you,” she responded automatically. Yes, she had seen a ghost. A live ghost who could ruin everything for her before she even got started.

It had been a close call but if Joanna was suspicious, it did not show. For that, Simone was grateful—the always proper Joanna would be appalled if she knew the truth about Simone.

“Then shall we go inside?” Joanna asked. “I do so love this shop. Mme
Langlois
is the finest seamstress in London and pampers her clients with tea and cakes.”

“How lovely,” Simone murmured.

So passed a pleasant morning. While Simone pored over fashion plates of one high-
waisted
dress after another, Joanna, with a critical eye, offered her opinion and encouragement.

As luck would have it, Mme
Langlois
had several frocks from a cancelled order that only required a stitch here or there to alter for Simone to take that day: a butter yellow, soft twilled silk frock with stand-up collar and long, puffed sleeves tied with blue ribbons at intervals down the arms so that the sleeves ballooned between each ribbon; one of robin’s egg blue muslin eyelet, collarless and with short puffed sleeves, its hem trimmed with fresh white ribbon and ruffles; and a pale lavender linen frock with long, tightly fitting sleeves, embroidered along the neckline with a pattern of pink beads above a low décolletage.

The latter Simone was sure was shockingly improper for, not only did the dress expose her back to the bottom of her shoulder blades, her breasts peeped over the neckline!

Not only frocks, but kid gloves, silk undergarments, satin slippers, even a satin-lined, fur-trimmed black felted cloak with matching bonnet found their way into the steadily growing pile.

At length, a weary Simone climbed into the waiting carriage and fell back against the cushions. She now had a wardrobe.

Maybe she wasn’t quite yet comfortable with being a lady of quality but at least she would look like one.

Chapter Eighteen

“Look!” exclaimed Joanna as the two young women walked through the entrance hall of the Leavenby town house, followed by the footmen almost bowed under by the numerous boxes and brown paper parcels tied up with the distinctive striped ribbon that signified Mme
Langlois
’ establishment.

“I must beg pardon?” A bewildered Simone looked around, not seeing anything.

“Calling cards.” Joanna pointed to several creamy white cards and an envelope stacked carelessly on the silver tray on the table by the door. “Word has spread that the new Earl of Leavenby is in London.”

Curious, Simone peeked over Joanna’s shoulder. “I’m not certain what it all means,” she admitted.

“Aha,” proclaimed Joanna with satisfaction, picking up the envelope and turning it over to inspect the seal. “This is from the Lady Belmont, Duchess of
Crossfield
.” She ripped it open eagerly and withdrew the page within, scanning it in a matter of seconds. “She’s having a ball on Friday next and would like the company of you and Temple. The dear thing has also invited me but I shall have to decline.”

“Not you?” Simone asked, hoping that Joanna would be there to bolster her courage.

“No, not yet. I’m still not ready for social engagements.” She closed her eyes, and grief weighed on her features briefly, making her look old.

“I am sorry,” murmured Simone. The show of sorrow surprised her. Joanna truly missed her husband but she hid it well under bright chatter. Simone squeezed Joanna’s shoulder in understanding.

“But what fun it will be to get you dressed.” Joanna’s brief moment of melancholy had passed. “Was I not correct in insisting that we order you a ball gown?” She threw the invitation back onto the tray.

“I suppose.” Simone’s heart began to thump. How exactly did one dress for a ball? Too, presumably one would dance at a ball. Therein lay a problem: she didn’t know how.

“Let’s see what there is for tea.” Joanna took her arm. “I believe Lady Frederica is out paying calls this afternoon. We shall be able to chat at our leisure.”

They entered the sitting room to find it occupied. Temple sat, tea at hand, nose buried in a ledger.

Delight filled Simone at the sight. She gazed at him, appreciating the fine figure he presented with his crisply starched shirt collar, lawn cravat, brown tail coat and fawn coloured trousers tucked into glossy black leather boots. With every breath, her excitement grew. He was hers. And she would be accompanying him to an honest to goodness London ball!

She fair flew toward him, sliding to an unladylike stop beside his chair.

“We’ve been invited to the Duchess of
Crossfield’s
ball,” she said eagerly, dropping a hand onto his shoulder. Beneath her fingers, his muscles flexed as he closed the ledger with a snap, sending a thrill clear up her arm and stirring the butterflies of desire.

Temple
remained silent, merely raised his eyebrows.

“It will be such fun, will it not?” Simone said uncertainly. The butterflies of desire fluttered off at his unenthused reaction. Puzzled, she took a closer look, noticing the set lips and tense expression.

 
“Oh yes, it will be an amusing evening. When are we invited?” His voice was dry.

“Friday next.”

“Can you dance?” The stark question hung in the air like an axe waiting to fall.

“Oh.” Simone shook her head. “No. No, I can’t dance.” She tried to keep the regret from her voice. “Do we need to dance? Could we not watch?”

Tears sprang to her eyes and she swiped at them impatiently. Silly tears, they popped up more of late. She stifled her disappointment. Of course they wouldn’t attend the ball. Temple wouldn’t want to take her out any more than he absolutely had to.

“You don’t know how to dance?” asked an incredulous Joanna.

Simone nodded miserably.

 
“Where did you find her.” Joanna poked Temple in the chest. “She arrived without a proper wardrobe and now she admits she doesn’t know how to dance.”

“I was lucky enough to find her during my travels in North America. I wager Simone never had the opportunity to learn how to dance.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Speaking of the wardrobe, was your trip to the
modiste’s
successful?”

“Yes, although just outside the shop, the strangest fellow accosted Simone. I thought she would fair faint when he spoke with her.” Joanna shook her head in disgust. “Really, the boldness of the man was most uncalled for.”

Simone jerked her head at the mention of Gentry Ted and her heart started thumping. Did Joanna suspect she and Ted knew each other? She sent an alarmed glance toward Temple. He shook his head imperceptibly as if to reassure her before turning to answer Joanna.

“Next time send the footmen to clear the riff raff. But enough of that.” Temple patted Simone’s hand. “Apparently the next item in your education shall be to teach you how to dance.”

“Today is Wednesday, that gives us what, nine days of dance lessons. We’ll start this evening,” Joanna declared. “In my bedroom, Simone. I’ll teach you the steps. When you know them, you can practice with Temple in the music room. I can play the pianoforte passably well, enough for dance lessons, I should say.”

Pleased with her suggestion, Joanna snagged a square of pink frosted cake and several cookies and sat down, plate on her lap.

“Shall I pour?” Without waiting for an answer, she filled her own cup then those of Temple and Simone. “To the dance lessons.” She lifted her cup. “Do not think for a moment you are getting off easy, Temple. In a day or two, Simone will need a real partner and you shall have to step in.”