“Oh…um…” Truly, she couldn’t think of a response.
Eva swiveled around. “Have you never been fitted for a dress?”
Only the truth would do. “No.”
“And you’re to be a marchioness in two days?”
“Aye.”
An assessing glint entered Eva’s eye. She’d intuited an intrigue afoot. Yet she chose to leave it and again bent to her task. “While you disrobe, Nell and I shall ready your new attire for the fitting.”
Well, this wouldn’t take long, as Hortense was only wearing two articles of clothing. She slipped her overcoat from her shoulders and folded it neatly before placing it on the bed. Sir Bacon leisurely rose to his four feet and gave the garment a good sniff before deeming its voluminous folds a worthy resting place for his nap. As the other women went about their business of setting out pins, needles, scissors, fabrics, and a few dresses that looked already mostly constructed, Hortense stood, awkward, wearing nothing but a chemise.
“Shall I move to the platform?”
“If you will.” Eva cocked her head. “The chemise, too.”
“Surely, I can wear my own—”
Eva held up her hand, staying the words in Hortense’s mouth. “The innermost layer of our clothing is as vital as the outermost. It is what lies next to our skin that gives us the most pleasure, no?”
Hortense’s mouth wanted to gape open. “I’ve never once in my life formed such a thought.”
“Well, slip this on”—Eva held out a bit of ivory muslin—“and tell me it doesn’t change your mind.”
Cheeks flaming, Hortense shimmied out of her well-worn chemise and accepted the new garment from Nell. A giggle on her lips, the girl wouldn’t quite meet her eye.
The new chemise slid over her head and down her body, reaching the middle of her thighs. Until this very moment, Hortense hadn’t been aware that cotton could feel so silky. Never had she experienced such luxury against her skin.
Eva’s mouth curved into a knowing smile. “You see?”
As Hortense accepted and donned layer after layer of clothing—chemise, stays, stockings, slippers, all constructed of the finest silks, satins, muslins and leathers—she could hardly countenance the change she observed in the mirror. To her stunned eye, she was truly beginning to embody the role she was to play.
Marchioness.
Eva held up a gown of pale blue silk shot through with silver. It was the most exquisite dress Hortense had ever beheld. “I am to wearthat?” she heard herself ask.
“Indeed.”
“I’ve been betrothed”—how strange that word felt in her mouth—“to the marquess for less than a day. How could you possibly construct such a…a—”
“Masterpiece?” asked Eva, disingenuousness dancing in her eyes.
That hadn’t been Hortense’s next word, but it fit. The dress was a glory. “But to sew it so fast. I don’t see how that’s possible.”
“Oh, it ain’t,” said Nell, who surely recognized Hortense from that long-ago June night. “It were goin’ to another lady.”
Eva shrugged. “She can wait.”
“You mustn’t lose business over me. I’m sure some other dress will do.”
Eva’s mouth curved into a smile that contained no small amount of guile. “You strike me as a woman who knows the workings of the world.”
“I like to think so.”
“Then you should appreciate that the other lady is the wife of a minor lord and you will be a marchioness in two days.”
Ah.
