“I wasn’t going to bother him,” Georgie protested. “I just wanted to thank him for my shoes.”
“What shoes?” Bertha demanded.
Georgie lifted her skirts to her ankles, exposing the beautiful leather, and Bertha shook her head in disapproval. “Where’d he get those?”
“I expect from Cooby and Sons. They’ve made shoes for me in the past.”
“And where’s all this money coming from, I’d like to know!” Bertha snapped. “We’ve got two new maids, enough food to feed an army, and God knows what he’ll bring back whenever he decides to reappear.”
“It can’t be his money,” Georgie said. “He was a penniless beggar when I found him.”
“Well, maybe he’s your fairy godmother or something, because this house is starting to look like it used to, and a new shipment of gowns was delivered just an hour ago.”
Georgie felt a pang of envy. “Norah already has too many gowns,” she protested.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Georgie.” Her mother swanned into the room, a predatory expression on her ageless face. “A girl can never have too many gowns her first season. We wouldn’t want to look so desperate that she had to wear the same dress twice.”
“I wear the same dress all the time,” Georgie protested.
“Yes, dear, but the situation is very different. Norah was born with extraordinary physical endowments, and we need to take advantage of those while we can. In the meantime, your clothes will have to wait.” Her eyes narrowed as she spied the elegant walking shoes, clearly visible beneath the too-short hem of Georgie’s dress. “And where did those come from?” she demanded.
“Rafferty arranged for them,” she said.
Liliane frowned at the footwear. “I wonder if Norah could fit in those? They’re awfully cunning, and she could do with a new pair of walking shoes.”
“They’d be too big,” Georgie said quickly. She was not giving up her shoes for the sister who already had everything. “She’d trip in them, and you know she can’t afford to look clumsy.”
Liliane stared at the shoes a moment longer, then shook her head. “No, you’re right. I wonder if they’d fit me—I have slightly bigger feet than you...”
“No!” Georgie snapped. “They’re mine, and I intend to hold on to them.”
“Really, Georgie, it’s not like you to be so selfish. I’ve a good mind to tell your father.”
“Her father would tell her to keep the shoes,” Bertha piped up, earning Liliane’s look of displeasure. “Let the poor lass have something of her own.”
“I’m hardly going to argue with a servant about what I consider necessary as far as my daughter is concerned,” she said haughtily. “And exactly where is Rafferty at the moment?” She cast her sharp gaze around the kitchen, as if she expected him to pop up from one of the large pots on the stove.
“Off seeing to things,” Bertha said, giving the same answer she’d given Georgie. “Best leave him alone—there’s no quarrelling with success.”
Liliane opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again. “I’ve had them put the new dresses in the mauve bedroom. It should have the least dust of all the rooms...”
“The maids have already seen to it, my lady,” Bertha said sullenly. “And when’s Miss Norah going to be going through them? There might be something she’s willing to pass on to her little sister.”
“They’re not the same size, silly!” Liliane said. “Besides, why would Georgie need ball gowns? She’s not out yet.” She sighed, temporarily lost in her own thoughts, then became alert again. “I suppose we can thank Rafferty for the dresses. The modiste had refused to extend us any more credit, and then suddenly a large order appears, which I’m certain are the ones I ordered. There are even two or three that might do for me.” She looked quite pleased with herself. “I think I’ll wake Norah so we can go through them and decide what she should wear tonight. Viscount Rothschild will be attending tonight’s rout, and while we might decry some of his heritage, his fortune is breathtaking, worthy of our darling Norah.” She glanced at Georgie. “The Islingtons are not the height of society—you’ve been invited to attend, though I doubt you have anything to wear. Your one evening gown smells of goat.”
Georgie looked at her in surprise. This was the second time she’d been invited to go out with her family, and for a moment she wondered if they were trying to marry her off without the expense of a season.
It didn’t matter—her mother was right. She had nothing to wear. And she needed to remember not to wear her new shoes in front of her sister, or size or not, she’d lose them.
The shriek could be heard from several stories overhead, a scream of pure rage filtering down to the kitchen. “It’s Miss Norah,” Bertha said dryly.
“So it is,” Liliane said with a sigh. “I would have thought she’d be happy with her new clothes, but then, her temperament is so sensitive. She feels things so dreadfully.”
Another shriek, and it was enough to get Georgie moving. “Something’s wrong!” she said worriedly, pushing through the baize door, Liliane and Bertha following close behind as she raced up the two flights of servants’ stairs to the mauve bedroom.
Norah was standing in the doorway, her beautiful black hair pointing in all sorts of strange directions, an expression of such fury twisting her face that Georgie almost thought she might explode. She was wearing a dress completely unsuited to her—it was a soft rose, much simpler than the usually fussy gowns Norah preferred, and the dress was slipping down her narrow shoulders. “These are all wrong!” she said, and behind her Georgie could see the shambles of what had once been a modiste’s pride and joy. Gowns lay tossed about, the colors muted but glowing, and Norah was already tearing at the dress she wore, yanking it off her tiny body, throwing it on the floor and stamping on it.
“But how could Madame Racette be so mistaken?” Liliane cried. “Those aren’t even your colors, much less your size. I might fit them, but they would be entirely unsuitable. Those are the dresses for a young girl just making her debut...”
