She had to focus her efforts on Aphrodite’s Unmentionables and do everything in her power to ensure its success. Victoria opened her writing desk and retrieved a set of sketches she’d done. They were more modest undergarments, made from linen and the softest cotton.
“Now these are far more appropriate,” Margaret pronounced. “They are sensible, and any young lady could wear them without fear of being immodest.”
And they were like every other set of unmentionables. What made Aphrodite’s Unmentionables unique was the fact that they were impractical for anyone but the extremely wealthy. They were well made and offered a luxury that no other garments had. The women who bought them wanted to be different, more seductive to a man.
Juliette shook her head. “These don’t sell as well, I’m afraid. They may be beautiful, but the women want more revealing unmentionables.”
She glanced at Toria, and her sister reddened as if she understood what she meant. But instead of fear, there was a flush of interest in her sister’s face. She glanced at the bed as if she’d enjoyed the time with her husband.
“We should still make a few garments that are meant for younger women,” Victoria said.
Not too many, if Juliette had anything to do with it. She would ensure that only the finest, most sensual fabrics were used. Perhaps a few could be adorned with semiprecious jewels, to make them even more unique. They could be priced even higher. Her mind began calculating the greater profits, turning over the numbers, until Margaret interrupted.
“It’s getting late,” she said, reaching for her bonnet. “We should return, for Aunt Charlotte will be expecting us.”
Juliette put on her bonnet and gloves while Victoria rang for a footman and gave orders for a brougham to be brought for them. She hugged her sister farewell and went to join Amelia, while Margaret hung behind.
While the two of them spoke in whispers, Amelia leaned in to Juliette. “Aunt Charlotte is hosting a ball in a few days. You’re coming, aren’t you?”
“Perhaps.” She kept her answer vague, not wanting to agree to it.
“What if… you found someone you fancied at the ball? Would you steal a moment away with him?” The embarrassed flush on Amelia’s face sent a flare of warning through her. Was her sister plotting something? Guilt was written all over her face.
“No. And if you’re considering anything like that, put the idea out of your head. You’re far too young to be married.”
Amelia sent her a sad smile. “And you’re acting as if you’re a thousand years old.”
“I’m not.” Juliette forced a smile she didn’t feel onto her face, not wanting her sister to keep pushing.
Amelia drew her to the side. “You’ve been avoiding the parties, and you’re becoming the way Victoria was. I thought you promised totryto enjoy yourself. Even if you don’t want a husband.” The tone in her sister’s voice said she couldn’t fathom why Juliette would ever feel that way.
The truth was, shedidn’twant to live a life in this way. She did want a husband and children, like any other woman. It was her sense of honesty holding her back.
“I am content to go on as I have,” she said, to appease her sister.
“It shouldn’t be that way,” Amelia said with a sigh, hugging her.
No, it shouldn’t. But what else was there?
Juliette returned the embrace, knowing that her sister was only trying to help. “We’ll go to Madame Benedict’s tomorrow. I need to see how the unmentionables are selling, and you should find a new gown for the ball.”
Amelia beamed with happiness. But even through her sister’s smile, Juliette wondered what she wasn’t telling her.
Paul stepped into Colonel Lord Lanfordshire’s London town house, the scent of dust coating the air. The footman took his coat while the butler led them inside.
“These arrangements are only temporary,” Mr. Culpepper explained. “Once Lady Lanfordshire returns, you must acquire your own accommodations.”
“Of course,” Paul answered.
Each room revealed years of neglect. Most of the valuables had been sold off to pay debts, and what remained was an assorted collection of paintings, battered furniture, and worn carpet. It was clear that whatever servants remained in Colonel Lord Lanfordshire’s employ had failed to maintain cleanliness.
“Lady Lanfordshire said in her letter that you finished your medical studies.” The butler eyed him with the interest of a man who had his own ailments.
“I did.” Paul followed the man up two flights of stairs, knowing he would be placed in the servants’ quarters.
“You are a surgeon, I presume?” The butler kept his tone even, though Paul read the underlying assumption that he could do little more than amputate limbs.
“A physician and a surgeon,” he corrected. He’d earned licenses for each, and he fully intended to continue practicing medicine. Though he didn’t have to work, because of the allowance his uncle had sent, pride kept him from using it. This new life felt foreign to him, as if he didn’t deserve to be handed a fortune.
