Madame Fontaine towered over Marissa and every other woman milling about her establishment. Taller than most men, the modiste favored red painted heels which added several inches to her height. Along with her tower of hair which was often full of the pencils she used for sketching, Madame Fontaine resembled an overly large, fashionable porcupine. The gossips whispered the modiste had left France after murdering her married lover.
The story seemed suspicious, especially when the modiste’s accent slipped. No matter the truth of her origins, Madame Fontaine was one of the most sought after modistes in London. Her original designs were nothing short of stunning, her taste impeccable.
Marissa adored her.
Madame Fontaine plucked a pencil out from the mountain of her hair. Glancing first at Jordana and then back to Marissa, her tongue flicked over the end of the pencil, a small leather-bound notepad appearing from her pocket.
“May I present Miss Ives.” Marissa brought Jordana forward.
“Miss Ives.” Madame Fontaine peered down from her great height at Jordana.
“Madame.” Jordana’s eyes had widened to the size of saucers taking in the modiste.
“She will need a new wardrobe, from scratch, as I explained earlier.” Marissa produced a list from her reticule and handed the paper to Madame Fontaine. “Perhaps you have two or three dresses which can be fit for her today while the rest can be delivered later? Something appropriate for paying calls?”
“I have just the thing.” Madame looked down her long nose, studying Jordana while taking notes. “Blue-grays, perhaps. Or violet. Periwinkle. Her eyes are a most unusual color. We must take advantage.”
Jordana shot the modiste a defiant look.
Madam Fontaine laughed softly. “Oh, my dear Lady Cupps-Foster, I find your new charge very similar to Lady Malden in temperament.” She tapped the pencil against her temple. “I remember the dark colors so favored by your niece. I wept every time she came in for a fitting,” the modiste said dramatically. “Staid, matronly fashions which gave no hint of her lovely figure. Suchatrociouscolors for such a gorgeous creature. Now sheadorescrimson.” Madame Fontaine lowered her voice. “As does Lord Malden.” Her long graceful fingers waved in invitation as she began to move in the direction of the fitting rooms. “Come, come.”
Jordana hesitantly stepped behind the curtain as directed by Madame Fontaine, shooting Marissa a look of reproach.
Marissa gave her a not-too gentle nudge.
Madame Fontaine clapped her hands and two assistants immediately appeared, rushing forward to remove Jordana’s dress and take her measurements.
Jordana stood frozen, eyes looking up at the ceiling briefly before her gaze settled on Marissa with no small amount of hostility.
Marissa ignored her and settled herself on a damask-covered settee. Accepting a glass of wine, she began leafing through a pattern book as she waited for fabric swatches to be brought to her.
“Is this necessary?” Jordana blushed furiously on the small block while the two girls stripped her down to her chemise. She shifted on the balls of her feet, jerking as if in the throes of a fit, clasping what remained of her clothing around her.
Marissa was half-afraid Jordana would leap from the podium and run half-naked from the shop to avoid being fitted.Goodness. The last thing she expected from the girl was such extremeshynesswhat with her having three sisters, not to mention her unnatural interest in...body parts.
She lookedsomiserable.
“Jordana,” Marissa said, putting the wine aside. “If you tolerate being pinched and pinned without complaint, I will take you to Mr. Coventry’s. The apothecary.”
“Truly?” she said in a blissful tone, lips tilting up at the corners.
“Jordana, I’m shocked. You appear to besmiling.”
“Perish the thought, my lady.” Her mouth immediately resumed the usual tight-lipped scowl. “And I should like nothing more.” She slapped at the assistant who attempted to measure her waist. “Sorry,” she murmured to the girl. “You startled me.”
Marissa pressed her fingers to her forehead. Jordana would try the patience of a saint. “You must stay still, dear, and allow your measurements to be takenwithoutinjuring Madame’s assistant,” Marissa admonished. “In case I was not clear before.”
“Fine.” Jordana stoically fixed her gaze on something across the room, ignoring the small flurry around her. “You promise?”
“I do indeed. I must stop there and pick up something for myself, at any rate.” Marissa had mentioned Mr. Coventry’s establishment during one of the girl’s recent visits. Jordana had been in the midst of describing a drink the local midwife had mixed for Jordana’s mother after her sister Delphine’s birth when Marissa had brought up the apothecary. Jordana had been pestering Marissa to visit Mr. Coventry ever since.
Marissa regarded Jordana standing on the block, her shoulders stiff and unyielding, facing the world with a stubbornness few females her age possessed. She admired Jordana’s single-minded purpose in wanting to become a physician because she knew where it came from—the agonizing death of her mother. But society would not look kindly on Jordana or her interests if she were given freedom to pursue them.
Possibly I can find her a gentleman who would be encouraging of her passions.
Marissa had played matchmaker before with excellent results. But it would take some time to find the correct man for Jordana. One who was open-minded and would not be intimidated by her intellect or her dedication to helping women.
Jordana now had her arms stretched out and was glaring daggers at Marissa.
