Richard’s brows went up. Mrs. Hutchins closed her eyes, looking pained. Evangeline burst out laughing, that all he could compliment was the stitching.
“Yes,” she finally allowed, “that is the best I can say for it as well. Alas!” She smoothed one gloved hand down the Devonshire brown carriage dress with knotted gold floss fringe. It was eminently respectable and appropriate for a woman of her age and rank, and Fanny would shake her head in pity over it. “It’s from a very fashionable shop.”
“Bah.” Mr. Salvatore threw up one hand as if to shove the dress away. “Any one of my boys could do better!”
“But it’s not your place to say so, Sal,” put in Mrs. Hutchins firmly. “You don’t make lady’s garments.”
“I could do better than this,” he said to her. “You know it!”
“Of course,” she agreed, to Evangeline’s further amusement. “But the lady didn’t ask you to make a dress for her, did she?”
He turned to Evangeline. “I could do it,” he insisted. “I will show you.” Without another word, he turned on one heel and strode into the back, flinging aside the curtain with a certain drama.
Mrs. Hutchins lowered her voice. “Never mind him, my lady. A bit hot-tempered, he can be.”
“Is this dress so dreadful?” Evangeline asked.
The woman pressed her lips together, just as Mr. Salvatore had done. “It could be more flattering to your coloring and figure, is all. It’s very staid for a woman of your looks—don’t you think, Sir Richard?”
Richard, who had been watching with interest, started. “To my eyes, Lady Courtenay is a vision of beauty in anything she wears.”
She gave him an appraising look. “Then you’ve never seen her in something better, have you?”
Richard blinked and said nothing.
Mrs. Hutchins waved her hands. “Never mind! None of my business, is it? Here’s your pelisse, madam. Good day to you!”
When they reached the pavement, Richard paused. “Have I committed a grievous sin?”
Evangeline looked at him in surprise. “Such a guilty question!”
He glanced over his shoulder as they strolled away from the shop. “When I answered her question.” He looked at her. “You are beautiful to me no matter what you wear—or do not wear.”
She blushed in spite of herself. They were walking down a public street, for heaven’s sake. He shouldn’t say things like that, things that made her want to throw her arms around him and kiss him. She pressed his arm in both warning and gratitude. “Oh, no. Not in my opinion.” She heaved a sigh. “I have accepted that I am not favored by fashions of the moment.” She tipped her head to one side. “Would that I had been born in a Tudor century! I believe I would have looked quite splendid in a farthingale.”
Richard laughed. “And a ruff? Is that the correct era?”
“With high-heeled shoes and codpieces.” She put up one hand artfully beside her head. “And the false hair. Especially the false hair!”
“In that case, I am vastly relieved that we were both born in this era, for all its fashion shortcomings. I am very fond of your hair.” They paused to wait for a sweep to guide them across Piccadilly.
“What kind of gown could he make, do you think?” she asked suddenly, unable to stop thinking about it.
“I haven’t the slightest idea,” said Richard warily. “I only buy coats and waistcoats from him.”
“Hmm.” She gave a quick laugh and waved one hand. “What a lark! I suppose he’s never made a woman’s garment in his life.”
She was still thinking about it several days later when Solly brought a letter out to her in the garden. She opened it to see a sketch of a dress. For several minutes she stared at it. It was not fashionable. There were no ruffles, fringe, or rosettes. The woman in the sketch was lushly curved, like her, and the gown emphasized every curve, clinging boldly where fashion expected a discreet drape of fabric. The colors were bold and surprising.
“Solly,” she said, holding it out. “What do you think?”
Solly inspected the sketched gown, tinted green, with a skirt that cut away in front at a rakish angle to reveal a yellow underskirt. The bodice was formed of elaborate folds turned back, almost like a man’s jacket, edged with silk ribbons to frame the neck and bosom.
“Blue would be a better color for it,” was all she said.
Evangeline took the sketch back. “Do you think so? This shade of green is very bold, so bright?—”
“Blue,” said Solly firmly.
