ma’am.” Clara stood up and retrieved her lady’s most conservative robe. Then she began to edge toward the door and Miss Betsy’s bedchamber; she certainly wouldn’t be dressing Miss Peggy in front of these two men.
“No, Clara, you stay with me, wait until you see what they’re bringing.” Peggy tossed the dressing gown onto the bed. “Send them in at once, Mrs. Quigley.” Peggy clapped excitedly, dancing in her flimsy shift.
“But my lady.” Mrs. Quigley looked as scandalized as Clara felt. “You’re not wearing anything but your nightclothes! Hadn’t you better put on a dress first?”
“Yes, Mrs. Quigley,” Peggy said, unruffled by the old woman’s modesty, “but they are coming with my dress. Send them in.”
The two men entered, carrying with them a splash of color that seemed to brighten the entire room. The china merchant, Joseph Stansbury, paraded in wearing a tightly tailored suit of canary yellow, with an ornamental neckerchief and a chalky white wig. Behind him walked the tailor, his figure slumped under what appeared to be fifty pounds of white and scarlet silk.
“There it is.” Peggy marveled, outstretching her hand to her friend, the merchant. Clara’s eyes took in the mountain of bright scarlet and cream-colored silk that had been fashioned into this gown.
“My dear lady.” Stansbury kissed Peggy’s hand solicitously. “ Voilà , it’s the gown of the season.”
“Miss Shippen?” The tailor looked from the calico-clad maid to the nearly nude lady in her shift, apparently unsure of which lady was the intended recipient of the delivery.
“Me,” Peggy replied. Turning to Stansbury, she grumbled, “Does he really not know my face?” The merchant shrugged.
The two men, aided by Clara, helped Peggy step into her layers of costume. The dress was of white silk with long sleeves, with a rich scarlet sash tied around the waist to match the color of her knight’s garb.
When it came time to fit the turban onto her head, they had difficulty, as Peggy was adamant that her blond curls must remain visible. After several attempts, the tailor withdrew in silence to the corner of the bedroom, crossing his arms as if to observe the scuffle from a safe distance. Clara appeased her mistress by tugging loose several ringlets of hair to frame her face. When Peggy was satisfied, she glided to the full mirror, admiring the effects of her costume.
“I look like quite the Turk, don’t I?” She turned to Stansbury, her face teeming with excitement.
“I’m not sure there were many Turks with blue eyes and blond hair,” the merchant answered, adjusting one of her feathers. “But you look divine !” He winked, and Peggy erupted in laughter.
“Divine—or devilish?” Peggy cocked her head, her turban tilting to the side.
“Can’t you be both, Peg?” Stansbury asked.
“Father is going to faint when he sees me. And Mother, oh, I don’t even want her to know I’m wearing this.”
Just then, the door to the bedroom swung open and Betsy appeared. “I’ve waited long enough, and now I wish for Clara to help me dress!” Betsy stopped midstride, gasping at the sight of her younger sister. “Oh, Peggy.”
“Betsy!” Peggy performed a theatrical twirl for her sister, all merriment and good cheer this morning. “What do you think, am I quite ready to dance the night away à la Turque ?” Peggyturned to Stansbury. “Betsy is going too, but since she’s engaged to Neddy Burd, they didn’t invite her to be one of the Turkish maidens.”
“I wish I could wear one of the costumes.” Betsy stared at her younger sister, not attempting to conceal her envy.
“Well, you should not have taken yourself off the market at the height of the social season.” Peggy shrugged her shoulders, turning back to her reflection in the mirror.
Another knock on the door and a weary-looking Mrs. Quigley appeared. “My lady, Major André is here to see you, accompanied by his
“No, Clara, you stay with me, wait until you see what they’re bringing.” Peggy tossed the dressing gown onto the bed. “Send them in at once, Mrs. Quigley.” Peggy clapped excitedly, dancing in her flimsy shift.
“But my lady.” Mrs. Quigley looked as scandalized as Clara felt. “You’re not wearing anything but your nightclothes! Hadn’t you better put on a dress first?”
“Yes, Mrs. Quigley,” Peggy said, unruffled by the old woman’s modesty, “but they are coming with my dress. Send them in.”
The two men entered, carrying with them a splash of color that seemed to brighten the entire room. The china merchant, Joseph Stansbury, paraded in wearing a tightly tailored suit of canary yellow, with an ornamental neckerchief and a chalky white wig. Behind him walked the tailor, his figure slumped under what appeared to be fifty pounds of white and scarlet silk.
“There it is.” Peggy marveled, outstretching her hand to her friend, the merchant. Clara’s eyes took in the mountain of bright scarlet and cream-colored silk that had been fashioned into this gown.
“My dear lady.” Stansbury kissed Peggy’s hand solicitously. “ Voilà , it’s the gown of the season.”
“Miss Shippen?” The tailor looked from the calico-clad maid to the nearly nude lady in her shift, apparently unsure of which lady was the intended recipient of the delivery.
“Me,” Peggy replied. Turning to Stansbury, she grumbled, “Does he really not know my face?” The merchant shrugged.
The two men, aided by Clara, helped Peggy step into her layers of costume. The dress was of white silk with long sleeves, with a rich scarlet sash tied around the waist to match the color of her knight’s garb.
When it came time to fit the turban onto her head, they had difficulty, as Peggy was adamant that her blond curls must remain visible. After several attempts, the tailor withdrew in silence to the corner of the bedroom, crossing his arms as if to observe the scuffle from a safe distance. Clara appeased her mistress by tugging loose several ringlets of hair to frame her face. When Peggy was satisfied, she glided to the full mirror, admiring the effects of her costume.
“I look like quite the Turk, don’t I?” She turned to Stansbury, her face teeming with excitement.
“I’m not sure there were many Turks with blue eyes and blond hair,” the merchant answered, adjusting one of her feathers. “But you look divine !” He winked, and Peggy erupted in laughter.
“Divine—or devilish?” Peggy cocked her head, her turban tilting to the side.
“Can’t you be both, Peg?” Stansbury asked.
“Father is going to faint when he sees me. And Mother, oh, I don’t even want her to know I’m wearing this.”
Just then, the door to the bedroom swung open and Betsy appeared. “I’ve waited long enough, and now I wish for Clara to help me dress!” Betsy stopped midstride, gasping at the sight of her younger sister. “Oh, Peggy.”
“Betsy!” Peggy performed a theatrical twirl for her sister, all merriment and good cheer this morning. “What do you think, am I quite ready to dance the night away à la Turque ?” Peggyturned to Stansbury. “Betsy is going too, but since she’s engaged to Neddy Burd, they didn’t invite her to be one of the Turkish maidens.”
“I wish I could wear one of the costumes.” Betsy stared at her younger sister, not attempting to conceal her envy.
“Well, you should not have taken yourself off the market at the height of the social season.” Peggy shrugged her shoulders, turning back to her reflection in the mirror.
Another knock on the door and a weary-looking Mrs. Quigley appeared. “My lady, Major André is here to see you, accompanied by his
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