swatches. She appeared to be in her late forties and was dressed in an elegant blue gown, her graying hair pulled back in a stylish braided twist.
“Mrs. Bernard?” Madeline murmured while the shopgirl took her cloak and gloves.
“So you're Nell Florence's protégée,” Mrs. Bernard remarked, surveying her keenly. “Nell sent me a letter about you, saying you wanted to catch a certain gentleman's eye but hadn't the proper attire.…” She gave Madeline's modest gown a disparaging glance. “Well, you won't be landing any well-heeled protectors with that , for certain.” Gesturing to the shopgirl, she directed Madeline toward the back of the establishment. “Ruth will help you try on some things. I'll be along soon.”
Madeline glanced over her shoulder as Ruth ushered her away. “Mrs. Bernard, I must tell you how much I appreciate—”
“Yes, yes. I was going to have Ruth remodel some clothes in any case—she needs the practice. You must be a worthy cause if Nell has taken such a liking to you. I owe her several favors, as she has steered many good clients my way.” She paused and called after the shopgirl. “Ruth, make certain to bring out the brown velvet and the yellow Italian silk. I think they'll do nicely for Miss Ridley.”
Madeline had never visited a dressmaker before. Her mother had always summoned a local seamstress to their country estate, where they planned and designed five or six new gowns for each upcoming season. Often they had referred to the most recent ladies' periodicals for questions of style…but in Madeline's case, that never seemed to make much of a difference. She hungered for stylish gowns, but her mother had deemed them inappropriate. “After your marriage to Lord Clifton, you may select your own gowns,” her mother had told her. “Although he is a conservative man, and I am certain he will not want his wife to flaunt herself.”
“I don't wish to flaunt myself, Mama,” Madeline had replied in exasperation. “I just want the kind of clothes my friends have, gowns with pretty colors and perhaps some lace trimming—”
“You have no need for such clothes,” her mother had said calmly. “Those are designed purely to attract men's attention…and you are already promised to Lord Clifton.”
As she remembered her mother's steely insistence and her own despair at being an old man's intended, Madeline's resolve hardened. She would do whatever was necessary to make Mr. Scott see her in a new light.
At the shopgirl's bidding, Madeline removed her clothes and stood in her wrinkled cotton chemise and long drawers. Ruth gave a dubious glance at the undergarments and murmured something indistinguishable as she disappeared. When she returned a minute later, Mrs. Bernard was with her. The dressmaker recoiled at the sight of Madeline's knee-length chemise.
“Dreadfully out of style,” Mrs. Bernard commented, folding her arms and shaking her head. “You can't wear those things under my gowns, Miss Ridley—the lines will be spoiled.”
Madeline gave her a glance of mingled alarm and apology. “Everything I have is like this, ma'am.”
“Where are your stays?” the dressmaker continued. At Madeline's blank look, she became slightly impatient. “Your corset, dear. Don't you wear one? For heaven's sake, how old are you?”
“Eighteen, but I've never—”
“Every girl your age should wear stays. It's only decent, not to mention healthful. I'm surprised you haven't got a curve in your back, going without support like that.”
Anxiously Madeline strained to see her own back in the reflection of the mirror, half-expecting to see a grotesque hunch.
Mrs. Bernard sighed and spoke to the shopgirl. “Ruth, bring me three sets of the personal garments from Lady Barkham's order. We'll run up some new ones over the weekend. And fetch a set of stays from the box on the second shelf.”
“Ma'am,” Madeline said regretfully, “I'm sorry, but I can't afford—”
“It's all
“Mrs. Bernard?” Madeline murmured while the shopgirl took her cloak and gloves.
“So you're Nell Florence's protégée,” Mrs. Bernard remarked, surveying her keenly. “Nell sent me a letter about you, saying you wanted to catch a certain gentleman's eye but hadn't the proper attire.…” She gave Madeline's modest gown a disparaging glance. “Well, you won't be landing any well-heeled protectors with that , for certain.” Gesturing to the shopgirl, she directed Madeline toward the back of the establishment. “Ruth will help you try on some things. I'll be along soon.”
Madeline glanced over her shoulder as Ruth ushered her away. “Mrs. Bernard, I must tell you how much I appreciate—”
“Yes, yes. I was going to have Ruth remodel some clothes in any case—she needs the practice. You must be a worthy cause if Nell has taken such a liking to you. I owe her several favors, as she has steered many good clients my way.” She paused and called after the shopgirl. “Ruth, make certain to bring out the brown velvet and the yellow Italian silk. I think they'll do nicely for Miss Ridley.”
Madeline had never visited a dressmaker before. Her mother had always summoned a local seamstress to their country estate, where they planned and designed five or six new gowns for each upcoming season. Often they had referred to the most recent ladies' periodicals for questions of style…but in Madeline's case, that never seemed to make much of a difference. She hungered for stylish gowns, but her mother had deemed them inappropriate. “After your marriage to Lord Clifton, you may select your own gowns,” her mother had told her. “Although he is a conservative man, and I am certain he will not want his wife to flaunt herself.”
“I don't wish to flaunt myself, Mama,” Madeline had replied in exasperation. “I just want the kind of clothes my friends have, gowns with pretty colors and perhaps some lace trimming—”
“You have no need for such clothes,” her mother had said calmly. “Those are designed purely to attract men's attention…and you are already promised to Lord Clifton.”
As she remembered her mother's steely insistence and her own despair at being an old man's intended, Madeline's resolve hardened. She would do whatever was necessary to make Mr. Scott see her in a new light.
At the shopgirl's bidding, Madeline removed her clothes and stood in her wrinkled cotton chemise and long drawers. Ruth gave a dubious glance at the undergarments and murmured something indistinguishable as she disappeared. When she returned a minute later, Mrs. Bernard was with her. The dressmaker recoiled at the sight of Madeline's knee-length chemise.
“Dreadfully out of style,” Mrs. Bernard commented, folding her arms and shaking her head. “You can't wear those things under my gowns, Miss Ridley—the lines will be spoiled.”
Madeline gave her a glance of mingled alarm and apology. “Everything I have is like this, ma'am.”
“Where are your stays?” the dressmaker continued. At Madeline's blank look, she became slightly impatient. “Your corset, dear. Don't you wear one? For heaven's sake, how old are you?”
“Eighteen, but I've never—”
“Every girl your age should wear stays. It's only decent, not to mention healthful. I'm surprised you haven't got a curve in your back, going without support like that.”
Anxiously Madeline strained to see her own back in the reflection of the mirror, half-expecting to see a grotesque hunch.
Mrs. Bernard sighed and spoke to the shopgirl. “Ruth, bring me three sets of the personal garments from Lady Barkham's order. We'll run up some new ones over the weekend. And fetch a set of stays from the box on the second shelf.”
“Ma'am,” Madeline said regretfully, “I'm sorry, but I can't afford—”
“It's all
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