Beatrix had been approached for conversation by no fewer than five ladies this evening.
While she might converse with that many ladies over the course of a night out in society, she didn’t within the first quarter hour of arrival.
As with gentlemen asking her to dance at balls for the last few years, she would’ve suspected a betting book wager of some sort—except she knew why she was being approached.
It was her mode of dress.
At the height of fashion, to put it simply.
Though she and Deverill were to create alittle sensationtogether this evening—during the intermission, to be exact—she was causing a little sensation all on her own.
“You must give me the direction of your modiste.”
“I’m afraid I can provide you her name, but not her address,” replied Beatrix. “She came to me.”
An intrigued lift of eyebrows conveyed no small bit of surprise—for the fifth time tonight.
And for the fifth time tonight—or five hundredth, more like—the feeling that she’d been caught up in a whirlwind fluttered and tumbled through her.
These last three days… How quickly her life had transformed.
The very afternoon after she’d entered into her arrangement with Deverill, a housekeeper, a maid, and a cook had arrived on her doorstep, along with a pantry’s worth of food.
It sounded like the beginning of a joke.
But apparently, it was no joke.
It was her life.
For his part, Cumberbatch observed all with a canny lift of an eyebrow and his mouth pressed into a flat line.
Blessedly, he hadn’t asked a single question.
Of course, he hadn’t needed to.
They both knew the answer.
Deverill.
Next arrived the modiste, Madame Dubois, who required nothing of Beatrix other than she strip down to chemise and stockings and allow her measurements to be taken. The woman hadoooed andahhed over Beatrix’s porcelain skin and dark sable hair.“And that black fringe of lashes… Oh, ma chérie,”she’d exclaimed.“Vibrant colors for you.”
“Erm,” replied Beatrix. It seemed the only thing she was capable of saying.
The woman hadn’t noticed, as she industriously set about her work of measuring and jotting notes.“You will stand out, rest assured.”
Stand out?
Beatrix had never stood out once in her life. At least, not for the right reasons.
The following morning, the new garments began arriving—everything from practical boots to satin slippers; from kidskin to silk gloves; gossamer stockings to sturdy stays. Then there were the dresses in a rainbow of bold colors. Riding habits…morning dresses…day dresses…evening gowns…ball gowns.
She’d been unsure she could wear such dresses, for they were bolder in other ways, too. The necklines lower…the fabric thinner… A lady held not a single secret while wearing such dresses. Yet she couldn’t deny they were in the first stare of fashion. No one would look askance at her, beyond idle curiosity about Lady Beatrix St. Vincent’s sudden new sense of style.
As for further evidence that her life had utterly altered… This morning, the maid had served her hot chocolate in bed.
That hot chocolate was the most delicious thing she’d ever tasted.
Divinewas the only word that fit.
