Sophie exhaled as she signed and sealed the second letter, certain Aurelia would need little encouragement to join her. And while she was aware of some distinct unease, it was swiftly replaced with the intoxicating thought of all Parisian fashion under one roof for her to peruse.
After all, why should she ignore an exhibition of modern ladies’ fashion when she’d been sketching it for as long as she could remember?
A small flush of satisfaction crept across her face. Let Lord Rotherby think what he liked. She was a Fairfax, and more than capable of making an advantageous love matchandattending a fashion exhibitionandwinning a wager, and no one– least of all a heartless rake– was going to stop her.
Then, much pleased with her morning’s work, she delivered her letters to Aunt Higglestone’s housekeeper, before ensuring she’d removed every last candle from Matilda’s bedchamber.
ChapterSeven
THE BRITISH INSTITUTION
Two days later, at a very discreet hour
‘PerhapsLa Belle Assembléeis not quite the oracle of Parisian fashion I thought,’ Sophie murmured, wide-eyed as she angled her head to follow the line of the sketch.
‘La, you must know the fashion pages areweeksout of date by the time they reach us,’ Aurelia replied, stifling a yawn with a silk-gloved hand. ‘But I suppose you have been living with country bumpkins, and between your suffocating sister and worrisome aunt, I doubt you’ve worn anything but empire-line muslins before.’
‘Actually, I was referring to the puffed sleeves and skirts, rather than the materials,’ Sophie replied, trying to suppress a rise of annoyance.
She glanced up and down the gallery again, just to make sure they were still quite alone. She’d experienced such varied feelings since stepping inside The British Institution: excitement, guilt, and more than a little concern that she’d allowed a moment’s frustration to prevail over one of her fundamental rules. If they were spotted, there would most certainly be a black mark against them, and she had no desire to be outed to either Phoebe or her doting aunt, who believed her to be shopping for ribbons.
‘Take this plainbarègesilk, for example. They’ve added several rows of the same material–bouillons– either in horizontal lines, or in bias. And look, here are flounces in large quiltings, and full wadded bands in bias, I believe… The sheer variety is beyond anything I’ve ever seen, and so exciting!’
‘Oh yes, fascinating!’ Aurelia replied, rolling her eyes. ‘Now I’ve seen a few pink-laced chemises I can entertain drawing rooms around London for months. Sophie, I love a new dress like any debutante, but when you start talking about quiltings and bias, you sound like a common modiste.’ She paused to shudder. ‘In truth, this exhibition is not what I expected at all, and I’m beginning to understand why we’re the only ones here.’
Sophie frowned, quietly thankful she’d taken the precaution of leaving her faithful abigail nearby with strict instructions to alert her should anyone arrive who might recognise them.
‘To be honest, I was rather surprised to receive your invitation at all,’ Aurelia added, her eyes narrowing, ‘but then I suppose the sickly sister and the wildling aren’t old enough, and the other one is far too busy honeymooning with her stolen husband to chaperone you anywhere.’
‘Aurelia, Josephine isn’t sickly, Matilda isn’t a wildling, and Phoebe is Viscountess Damerel now,’ Sophie countered firmly. ‘Plus, you know full well that theirs was the love match of last season, so you can’t speak of theft either, particularly as you have also been engaged yourself since. Tell me, whatdidhappen to the delightfully scented Duke of Cumberland?’
Aurelia opened her mouth to retort, just as the large doors at the entrance to the gallery swung open, admitting a visitor. Sophie spun away, conscious she was tempting fate quite enough already without adding in a public scene.
‘I thank you for your company, but I have no desire to listen to untruths,’ she forced politely. ‘Now, might I suggest we peruse the rest of the exhibition as swiftly as possible, before taking our leave?’
In truth, Sophie had no desire to leave at all. Most of the designs and materials on display were like nothing she’d ever seen before. There were gowns of figured satins with beautiful festoons of roses and their foliage in rich clusters; high-necked pelisses of fine net over white satin, finished with flounces of lace and richly embossed in flowers; and the sleeves were a wonder in themselves, varying from long sheer American styles to daring short ones, with long gloves rucked just beneath the elbow.
But despite all this, and her previous scepticism, it was the vast array of undergarments that had really captured her attention. She’d never seen anything beyond the usual knee-length muslin drawers, yet it seemed Paris considered undergarments an art form in themselves. There were silk pantalettes, held together by a tie at the waist and a multitude of delicate-coloured ribbons in other unmentionable places, as well as pretty satin knickerbockers adorned with broderie anglaise, and a variety of other designs that seemed in every way both scandalous and glorious.
In short, Sophie was quite certain that should her aunt ever discover her attendance at the exhibition, she would not only disapprove but likely confine her to her bedchamber for the rest of the season itself.
‘You’re still worried we might be seen, aren’t you?’ Aurelia said slyly. ‘Well, much I care for that! My parents are so heartily sick of me this season, they can hardly wait to remove to the country again. Apparently I’ve exhausted every decent match and I’m to try again next year.’ She paused to wrinkle her nose in distaste. ‘And if I don’t find a husband next season, my parents will marry me off to one of their ancient friends, like the Earl, just to be rid of me. I suppose I don’t much mind who it is, but I’d as lief not have a husband as old as my grandfather!’
She paused to laugh, though there was a distinctly brittle edge.
‘Surely it won’t come to that?’ Sophie frowned.
Aurelia shrugged.
‘My view of marriage is rather less fictional than the general Fairfax outlook, though I’m not entirely persuaded I might not have a little success this season after all…’ She lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘Perhaps, if you can keep a secret, I’ll tell you who has been setting their cap at me.’
Sophie glanced up sharply. It was the first she’d heard about Aurelia considering a match this season, and surprisingly welcome too. Perhaps it would finally lay Phoebe’s marriage to the viscount to rest.
‘Well, that is intriguing!’ she encouraged. ‘Is it anyone we know?’ she added, wondering which of this season’s eligible bachelors had been threatened into matrimony by the arch-matriarch Marchioness Carlisle.
‘Why, you really can be quite obtuse sometimes, Sophie,’ Aurelia sighed, fanning herself. ‘I thought you must have noticed a certain nobleman’s marked attentions lately?’
Sophie stared, aware of the oddest pool of disquiet in her stomach. She’d certainly noticed Aurelia fawning over one gentleman in particular, but she couldn’t mean him, could she?
