From Rose’s description, Lord Kilcairn hadn’t been nearly as accommodating toward the household’s previous governesses. Alexandra glanced at Wimbole. “Has the earl risen yet this morning?”
“Yes, Miss Gallant. He rode out just after you left. I don’t expect him back until this evening.”
Blast it. “I see. Thank you.”
“He did leave you a note, Miss Gallant.” The butler produced a silver tray from the hall table, the missive lying neatly across it.
With effort she refrained from snatching it off the salver. “Thank you, Wimbole.”
Opening the note as she and Shakespeare climbed the stairs, Alexandra noted that Kilcairn’s handwriting reflected her view of him to perfection: dark, elegant, and scrawling. She could hear his deep, cynical voice as she read the words. “‘My line of credit is open with Madame Charbonne. She is expecting you. Be certain she knows the first set of gowns is to be ready by Thursday. I expect you to be adequately attired, as well. Kilcairn.’”
“Hm,” Alexandra said. “It just drips with warmth, don’t you think, Shakes?”
The terrierwumphed. She took that as agreement, and with a chuckle hurried to change into suitable shopping attire. Both of the Delacroix ladies were waiting in the foyer as she returned downstairs.
“I will not tolerate it!” Fiona snapped at Wimbole.
Unless Alexandra was mistaken, the butler looked relieved to see her approach. “Miss Gallant, the coach is waiting to take you to Bond Street.”
“Do you hear that? He means for us to take the closed-up coach, when the day is perfectly fine. It’s just cruel. Cruel and heartless.”
“I’m certain Lord Kilcairn has his reasons, Mrs. Delacroix,” Alexandra said in a soothing voice, gesturing Rose toward the front door.
“Yes, he’s a tyrant. His father’s entire side of the family—nothing but tyrants. Thank God most of them are dead!”
“Mama, I want a new gown,” Rose said plaintively. “Please let’s go, before cousin Lucien returns and changes his mind.”
“By all means,” Alexandra seconded, and led the way out to the coach.
Closed up or not, it was magnificent, and she settled inside with a small sigh. The last time she’d used Kilcairn’s transportation, she’d been too nervous to notice anything but the uneasy fluttering of her stomach. She noticed more now, though. Not even the finest transport she’d ever ridden in could compare with this. Mrs. Delacroix climbed in opposite her, still complaining about being a helpless prisoner never meant to see the light of day. Rose took the seat beside Alexandra and clasped her hand.
“Do you know of this Madame Charbonne?” Rose asked, her eyes bright with excitement.
“I have heard of her, yes. She’s rumored to be the finest dressmaker in all England. I don’t even know how Lord Kilcairn was able to make an appointment for you to see her.”
“Because he’s a tyrant,” Mrs. Delacroix cut in, peering out through the open crack of one curtained window. “Oh, such finery. And to think I’ll never be allowed out to see it up close.”
“I’m certain that’s not true,” Alexandra countered. “Lord Kilcairn is only waiting for the right moment, so that you and Miss Delacroix will make the most favorable impression on his peers.”
Fiona sniffed at that, and turned to fanning her face with a handkerchief. She was going to be a problem, and Alexandra doubted that the earl’s threats would have much effect on his aunt when he wasn’t present to enforce them. Rose could shine as the brightest diamond of the Season, but as soon as anyone set eyes—or ears—on her mother, they would run away, aghast.
In her various employments she’d come across jealous siblings, but never a parent who actively, if unconsciously, worked to sabotage her daughter’s debut into society. Rose, practically vibrating with excitement and nervousness, looked out her own window. Alexandra hid a scowl. She would do what she could, but Lord Kilcairn could only expect so much.
The coach rumbled to a halt, and then rocked as the footman hopped down from his perch at the back of the vehicle. A moment later he pulled the door open and flipped down the steps to hand them out. Bond Street spread out on either side of them, crowded with shops dedicated to satisfying the whims of the rich. The sidewalks weren’t as busy as she expected, but the Season wouldn’t officially begin for another few days.
She turned to the shop beside them. A beautiful green silk gown stood draped over a headless mannequin in the window, and a large sign on the door proclaimed that the shop was closed. Alexandra paused, surprised. “Oh, dear. There must be some mistake.”
“No mistake, ma’am,” the footman said, and knocked on the door. “Lord Kilcairn has it all arranged.”
The door opened to the accompanying tinkling of a little bell on the inner knob. “You are Lord Kilcairn’s party?” a young woman asked.
“Yes, we are,” Alexandra answered, surprised.
“Please, come in.” The woman curtsied and backed away from the entry.
Alexandra trailed into the shop behind the Delacroix ladies. It was small, neat, and very efficient looking. The same description fit the petite woman who approached them from the back room. “Good morning,” she said, in a heavy French accent. “I am Madame Charbonne.” She continued forward, stopping before Alexandra. “You are Miss Gallant, yes?”
“Yes.”
