Matilda stared after them, her cheeks flushed with shame and her fingernails digging into her palms.
None of that had been necessary. Miss Charlton had been hurtful because she wished to be. To display her dominance and exert her superiority over… a piglet from the smallest shire in England. She swallowed hard.
Perhaps there was nothing Matilda could do to make people like her.
But she could at least try to blend in a little better.
She grabbed Buttons and dragged her out of the botanical gardens and onto the street.
“Back to the inn?” the lady’s maid asked.
“No. I need to look less rustic,” Matilda said in a rush. “Where’s the closest modiste?”
Buttons’ eyes widened. “I’ve no idea. I’m new to Marrywell.”
“Someone has to know.” Matilda stopped the next five passers-by, until she got her answer. Marrywell had exactly one seamstress fit for the upper classes. Matilda certainly wasn’t a Lady Anything, but she needed to look the part. She couldn’t keep making herself an easy target—or embarrass the earl. “Come on, Buttons.”
They had to walk for over twenty minutes, then wait inside a well-appointed drawing room for over an hour, but eventually it was Matilda’s turn to have an audience with Mademoiselle Henriot.
It took less than thirty seconds to ascertain that even if there was time to sew Matilda a gown before tonight’s dancing—and there was not—at these prices, Matilda couldn’t even afford a new bonnet.
“Please,” Matilda begged. “I’ll take whatever you have lying about. An old sample, anything.”
“Child—”
“I’ll pay double. I come into my inheritance in three weeks—”
“I’m to take your word?”
“Would you take the word of… the Earl of Gilbourne?” she blurted out.
The modiste didn’t bother to hide her amusement. “Do you think I was born yesterday? Spare me your tall tales. Even the fanciest of courtesans cannot keep his attention for long. He’s surely not trifling with you.”
Matilda’s face went bright red at the misunderstanding. “I’m not his mistress. I’m his— Oh, forget it.”
Somehow, she stumbled out of the dressmaker’s shop without bursting into tears. The sun did not make her feel better. Its brightness seemed to highlight everything that was wrong with her hair and shoes and gown. Everything that was wrong about Matilda.
“Back to the inn?” Buttons asked hesitantly.
“Yes,” Matilda snapped, the word cracking in her throat and giving away her emotion. “You win. Everyone but me wins. I don’t belong here.”
They trudged back to the main road in single file, Buttons refusing as usual to walk by Matilda’s side, for propriety’s sake.
Or perhaps because she, too, was mortified to be seen next to her.
When they arrived at the inn, there was no need to climb the stairs and enter the suite in search of Lord Gilbourne. He was standing in front of the hotel.
Wild-eyed and furious.
“Where the devil have you been?” he roared, grabbing her by the wrists. “When you didn’t come back… I looked everywhere. Your aunt is in her room, and you had vanished completely.”
“I…” Matilda’s eyes stung, then she shook her head and lowered her gaze. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? I could shake you for making me think something dreadful had happened to you. If you run away again, stay gone! I’m not chasing after you a second time.”
“I didn’t run away,” she said in a small voice.
“Maybe you should have,” he said harshly. “Perhaps if you’d succeeded at it, you would’ve done us both a favor—”
