cushion. “What is it?” Ava asked.
“A trial of sorts,” Phoebe said wearily. She dropped the gown and walked to the windows overlooking
the courtyard, reached behind the long, heavy burgundy drapes, and withdrew a basket that was spilling
over with fabric.
In anticipation of their coming out of mourning, Phoebe had been taking their late mother’s gowns and cutting them down to fit herself or Ava. In some instances, she took two gowns and combined them into one.
“Are those gowns?” Ava asked as Phoebe picked up a green silk she had combined with gold brocade. She quickly took it from Phoebe’s hand and held it up to her body. “What on earth will you do with so many? There are more here than we could possibly wear in a Season.”
Phoebe shrugged. “I find n eedlework comforting,” she muttered, and turned away.
Ava believed her, but at the same time, she was highly suspicious, for when Lucy or Sally would enter
their rooms, Phoebe would quickly shove the gown she was working on under the bed, behind a cushion,
or now, it would seem, in a basket behind the drapery.
“All right, let’s have it, shall we?” Ava demanded as she turned and looked at the other gowns piled in the basket. “What on earth are you doing, hiding these gowns?”
“I am not doing anything at al l. I am only sewing,” Phoebe insisted.
“Yes, darling, I can plainly see that you are sewing. But why are you hiding it?”
Phoebe looked at her sister, chewed her bottom lip a moment, then glanced at the door of the salon. She suddenly rushed across the room and pushed a heavy ottoman against it and fell onto it, as if she were exhausted.
“What are you about?” Ava demanded.
“All right, if you must drag it out of me, I’ll tell you.” She lifted her chin. “I fancy myself a decent seamstress.”
“Phoebe, you are an extraordinarily talented seamstress! Just look at this!’ Ava exclaimed, holding the green and gold gown up to her aga in. “I always rely on you to take the gown from our modiste and alter
it to make it more flattering.”
“That’s just it, Ava. I can do that. I can make my own creations. Therefore, I decided I should make them for purchase.”
Ava blanched. “For purchase? Oh dear heart, you can’t sell them. Where would they be purchased?” “On Bond Street.”
“Bond Street?” Ava cried. “Are you mad? A trade? A trade, Phoebe? You cannot possibly think to entertain a trade, not after all the work we’ve done to maintain appearances! If you were to take up a trade, it would relegate us to the very bowels of the ton, for no one will tolerate a loss of fortune and a trade! No,” Ava said firmly, shaking her head and throwing up a hand when Phoebe opened her mouth to speak. “Your idea is not without some merit, but it is absolutely insupportable.”
And with that, she tossed the gown aside and folded her arms implacably.
“If you are quite finished,” Phoebe said with a snort, “you’ve not yet heard the brilliance of my plan. No one, save you—and Greer, when she returns, naturally —shall know that I have made gowns to be sold.”
“Indeed? And just how do you propose to perform this bit of magic?”
“You may laugh if you will,” Phoebe said indignantly, “but I know which Bond Street shops would be
happy to sell such fine gowns!” She suddenly stood up. “Just imagine it, Ava: Suppose you were to wear
my gown and patronize one such shop,” she said, sweeping up the green and gold gown Ava had tossed aside and holding it up to her sister. “After man y compliments are made—and how can they not be
made, for this is beautiful, if I do say so myself —then you might casually mention to the shopkeeper that you happen to know the very reclusive and exclusive French modiste who has made the gown.”
Phoebe thrust the gown toward Ava, forcing her to take it, then began to pace, her hands clasped behind
her back, her brow furrowed. “There certainly will be gossip
“A trial of sorts,” Phoebe said wearily. She dropped the gown and walked to the windows overlooking
the courtyard, reached behind the long, heavy burgundy drapes, and withdrew a basket that was spilling
over with fabric.
In anticipation of their coming out of mourning, Phoebe had been taking their late mother’s gowns and cutting them down to fit herself or Ava. In some instances, she took two gowns and combined them into one.
“Are those gowns?” Ava asked as Phoebe picked up a green silk she had combined with gold brocade. She quickly took it from Phoebe’s hand and held it up to her body. “What on earth will you do with so many? There are more here than we could possibly wear in a Season.”
Phoebe shrugged. “I find n eedlework comforting,” she muttered, and turned away.
Ava believed her, but at the same time, she was highly suspicious, for when Lucy or Sally would enter
their rooms, Phoebe would quickly shove the gown she was working on under the bed, behind a cushion,
or now, it would seem, in a basket behind the drapery.
“All right, let’s have it, shall we?” Ava demanded as she turned and looked at the other gowns piled in the basket. “What on earth are you doing, hiding these gowns?”
“I am not doing anything at al l. I am only sewing,” Phoebe insisted.
“Yes, darling, I can plainly see that you are sewing. But why are you hiding it?”
Phoebe looked at her sister, chewed her bottom lip a moment, then glanced at the door of the salon. She suddenly rushed across the room and pushed a heavy ottoman against it and fell onto it, as if she were exhausted.
“What are you about?” Ava demanded.
“All right, if you must drag it out of me, I’ll tell you.” She lifted her chin. “I fancy myself a decent seamstress.”
“Phoebe, you are an extraordinarily talented seamstress! Just look at this!’ Ava exclaimed, holding the green and gold gown up to her aga in. “I always rely on you to take the gown from our modiste and alter
it to make it more flattering.”
“That’s just it, Ava. I can do that. I can make my own creations. Therefore, I decided I should make them for purchase.”
Ava blanched. “For purchase? Oh dear heart, you can’t sell them. Where would they be purchased?” “On Bond Street.”
“Bond Street?” Ava cried. “Are you mad? A trade? A trade, Phoebe? You cannot possibly think to entertain a trade, not after all the work we’ve done to maintain appearances! If you were to take up a trade, it would relegate us to the very bowels of the ton, for no one will tolerate a loss of fortune and a trade! No,” Ava said firmly, shaking her head and throwing up a hand when Phoebe opened her mouth to speak. “Your idea is not without some merit, but it is absolutely insupportable.”
And with that, she tossed the gown aside and folded her arms implacably.
“If you are quite finished,” Phoebe said with a snort, “you’ve not yet heard the brilliance of my plan. No one, save you—and Greer, when she returns, naturally —shall know that I have made gowns to be sold.”
“Indeed? And just how do you propose to perform this bit of magic?”
“You may laugh if you will,” Phoebe said indignantly, “but I know which Bond Street shops would be
happy to sell such fine gowns!” She suddenly stood up. “Just imagine it, Ava: Suppose you were to wear
my gown and patronize one such shop,” she said, sweeping up the green and gold gown Ava had tossed aside and holding it up to her sister. “After man y compliments are made—and how can they not be
made, for this is beautiful, if I do say so myself —then you might casually mention to the shopkeeper that you happen to know the very reclusive and exclusive French modiste who has made the gown.”
Phoebe thrust the gown toward Ava, forcing her to take it, then began to pace, her hands clasped behind
her back, her brow furrowed. “There certainly will be gossip
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