“Bonne. Lord Kilcairn said you would guide me in the ordering of gowns for Miss Delacroix and Mrs. Delacroix.”
Now,thatwas something Alexandra had never expected to hear—that she was to be instructing the country’s premier dressmaker. She smiled. “I’m certain your eye is more skilled than mine,madame.”
The dressmaker smiled back at her, then gestured at a short row of chairs set against a side wall, next to stacks and stacks of material. “Let us begin, then.”
With her assistants taking notes, Madame Charbonne painstakingly measured Rose and Fiona. Alexandra had the feeling that the dressmaker rarely took so personal an interest in the initial stages of gown creation, but nothing about this fitting was remotely similar to anything she’d ever experienced. Evidently the Delacroix ladies were a bit overwhelmed as well, because neither Rose nor Fiona—to Alexandra’s relief—had spoken more than two words since their arrival.
“And now you, Miss Gallant,s’il vous plaît?” the woman said, straightening.
“Me? Oh, no, I don’t think so,” Alexandra protested, flushing. If there was one thing she knew for certain, it was that Madame Charbonne did not make gowns for governesses.
“Lord Kilcairn said specifically that you were to be fitted, as well.”
She frowned. “Specifically?”
“Oui, mademoiselle.”
It was still ridiculous, but the very thought of wearing a Madame Charbonne gown made her want to grin in giddy delight. “Well, I suppose we should get on with it, then. I wouldn’t want to delay you any further today.”
The dressmaker unwound her measuring tape and smiled. “Do not worry about that. I am being well compensated for my time this morning.”
“I’m not surprised,” Alexandra said.
“What on earth are you two babbling about?” Fiona demanded, turning from her perusal of a bright yellow satin.
Belatedly Alexandra realized she and Madame Charbonne had been conversing in French. “I beg your pardon, Mrs. Delacroix. Your nephew apparently wants me to have a new gown, as well.”
“Of course he does,” the older woman stated. “We can’t have you being seen with us inthoseshabby clothes.”
Madame Charbonne leaned closer to measure Alexandra’s shoulders. “If I thought she, rather than Lord Kilcairn, would be paying for my services, I would charge quite a bit more money,” she murmured, though her discretion wasn’t necessary. Obviously neither of the Delacroix ladies spoke French.
Alexandra stifled a chuckle. “The best revenge would be to make her a gown to her own specifications,” she returned in the same low tone.
“Naughty, naughty,” a deep voice said in perfect French from behind her.
Rose shrieked, clutching a borrowed dressing gown tightly across her bosom. “Cousin Lucien!”
Alexandra whipped around, nearly strangling herself on the measuring tape. “My lord! You weren’t spying on us, were you? That would be…quite…inappropriate!”
Arms folded, he leaned against the wall beside the room’s back entry, his eyes twinkling and a slight, sensuous smile on his lips. She had no idea how long he’d been there, but he’d obviously overheard her conversation. “Very composed of you, Miss Gallant,” the earl drawled. “But you’re blushing.” Thankfully, he continued to speak French.
“Of course I’m blushing! I am not accustomed to being fitted for gowns in the presence of men!”
“A ridiculous oversight I mean to address at the earliest opportunity. Women dress to please men. Why shouldn’t men then be in on the process from the beginning?”
“Looking attractive pleases oneself,” she replied in English. “It is a man’s good fortune if the result pleases him, as well.”
“Spoken like a true bluestocking.”
Now he was going too far. “I amnota bluestocking. I am well educated.”
“My lord?” Madame Charbonne put in, and Alexandra jumped.
“Madame?”
“Do you wish me to continue, my lord?”
Out of the corner of her eye, Alexandra saw Fiona elbow Rose in the back. The girl chirped in surprise as she stumbled forward. “Cousin Lucien, I would be delighted if you would help me choose a gown,” she blurted, blushing furiously.
