Lilianne Manning was shallow and selfish, but no one ever accused her of being stupid. She turned to look at Georgie, her face like a storm cloud.
Norah didn’t miss that look, and after kicking the dress one more time she advanced on Georgie, her face contorted with rage. “What are these doing here?” she demanded, her voice still loud and strained. “These plain, dumpy things are clearly for you. What did you have to do for Rafferty in order to get a whole new wardrobe? I warned you, Mother, that he was up to no good. How dare he buy clothes for Georgie?”
But Lilianne’s anger had vanished, and she was looking at Georgie with a thoughtful expression. “You know, you might look quite presentable in one of those gowns, Georgie,” she said slowly.
“I didn’t have anything to do with them...” she protested, keeping a wary eye on Norah in case she decided to pounce. Norah was very adept at slapping and hairpulling.
“Of course you didn’t, dearest. It’s merely a case of our very zealous butler seeing to things we’d let slide. Stop your caterwauling, Norah!” she snapped. “We were ready to accept the clothes if they were meant for you. We shall count ourselves very fortunate if Madame Racette was moved to an act of charity.”
“It’s not fair!” Norah whined.
“Nonsense, my dear. And I’m sure this is not a complete loss—that shade of lavender would look quite striking with your eyes. We could see to getting it altered for you, if your sister doesn’t mind.”
Georgie did mind, but she was in too much of a daze to say so. Rafferty had done this? How could he possibly have arranged it in so little time? And why?
“I’m not giving up my dresses for Georgie!” Norah said. “They’re entirely inappropriate—she can’t even go anywhere important!”
“In fact, she’s giving up one of her dresses for you, darling,” Liliane corrected her. “I’m certain you’ll look charmingly in it. And Lady Islington has been kind enough to invite her tonight. She can wear one of them.” Lady Manning looked Georgie up and down with a calculating expression.
Words had failed Norah—she made a sputtering noise as she stared at her mother. Finally she spoke. “We need to send the dresses back,” she announced flatly. “You know as well as I do that Papa can’t afford wardrobes for both of us. If you think a pudding face like George can attract as wealthy a husband as I can, then you’ve taken leave of your senses. We need to send the dresses back and request the ones you ordered.”
“I don’t think your father’s paying for these dresses,” Liliane said slowly.
“Then who is? The butler?” Norah demanded with a hoot of laughter.
“I neither know nor care,” Liliane said. “If we’ve run into a sudden streak of luck, I’m not about to argue with it. Take your dresses, Georgiana. We need to see if any of them need to be altered. I expect Madame Racette would be happy to make certain her artistry is well-displayed.”
Georgie wasn’t going to give her a second chance. A moment later, she was heading to her room, her arms full of silk dresses and petticoats, the lavender one hidden between them as she went.
Bertha, who’d been an interested witness to all that melodrama, followed her into her bedroom, closing the door behind them. “Now let’s look at what we’ve got, Miss Georgie,” she said briskly. “If there’s something that needs a little adjusting, I can probably manage it.”
“They’ll fit,” Georgie said, spreading them out on the bed to admire them.
There were five in all—three day dresses in soft shades of rose, blue, and, most surprisingly of all, pale yellow. Her mother had always insisted that most women could never wear yellow, but Georgie took one look at it and fell in love.
There were two elaborate ball dresses, one in a rich, creamy shade and the lavender one that Norah had coveted. She should probably let her have it—the neckline was lower than anything Georgie had ever worn, and probably indecent for a young girl.
Except she wasn’t a young girl. At age twenty, she was closer to a spinster. And she was going to wear the lavender dress, eventually, and shine in it.
She picked up the yellow dress and held it out. “I’m wearing this,” she announced pugnaciously.
“What’s stopping you?” Bertha said.
Stripping down to her worn petticoats, she reached for the dress, pulling it over her head. As the yards of fabric floated down around her, she emerged, pulling the neckline down. And down. And down.
“It’s too low!” she said in shock.
“Not for a young lady, it’s not,” Bertha announced, moving behind her to begin fastening it. “Your sister wears day dresses that are much lower than that. You’ve got a fine bosom—it suits you.”
Instinctively, Georgie clasped her arms around her torso, trying to hide the wide expanse of flesh, but Bertha simply batted her hands away. “I can’t...” Georgie said.
“Don’t be missish. Your mother may be a crack brain, but if I say it’s all right, then you know you can trust me. Don’t you?” Bertha eyed her with a dangerous glint in her eye.
“Yes, Bertha,” she said meekly.
“Good girl.” Bertha spread the skirt over her petticoats. “Now I want you to walk in this dress like you own it. Back straight, young lady.”
Georgie had hunched over in an effort to minimize her chest. In truth, she wasn’t that large, but her breasts were bigger than Norah’s, and her sister had always mocked her. She straightened up, then caught sight of herself in the mirror and froze.
