“Shall we get him measured? Up you go, my lord.” Lavinia flicked her fingers toward the pedestal.
James stepped onto the platform, watching Lavinia through the triple mirror as she circled him with narrowed eyes before taking it upon herself to step behind the counter to look at the various fabrics.
Mr. Drayton coughed and stepped in with the measuring tape. Lavinia continued dictating fabric weights and lapel shapes with the precision of a general planning an invasion. James stood stoically as the tailor’s cool fingers pressed the tape against his inseam, his chest, his neck.
Lady Lavinia continued without seeming to take a breath with instructions about materials and colors.
“Yes to ivory, pale blue, and burgundy. No to lemon yellow. It drains the color from Lord Ashford’s face.”
“I wasn’t aware I owned a lemon-yellow cravat from which you gathered this opinion,” James said, smiling.
“I don’t need to see it. I have an excellent sense for these things. Trust me when I say no yellow for you. Waistcoats should be one gold-threaded, one black brocade, and a third in deep green velvet. It sounds daring, but trust me. With your wide shoulders, you can carry it.”
James looked at the ceiling and counted to ten.
She moved closer to the tailor, lowering her voice to a theatrical whisper. “Ensure the jackets accentuate his height, Mr. Drayton. A man should look imposing in evening wear.” In a normal tone she said, “Should you have a walking stick, I wonder? Perhaps with the head of a lion?”
“A lion?” James asked, meeting her gaze in the mirror.
“You are, after all, being reintroduced to Society. We must create an impression.”
He gave a tight smile. “I don’t need a walking stick, Lady Linley.”
“Fine. We can discuss it at a later time,” Lavinia said.
“That will do for now, my lord.” Mr. Drayton stood.
“Thank you, Mr. Drayton,” James said.
When they finally exited into the crisp village air, he exhaled deeply, loosening his cravat with one finger.
“I am very pleased.” Lavinia adjusted her gloves with practiced elegance as her hat plumes fluttered in the breeze. “You will cause quite a sensation this Season.”
“I was hoping to avoid sensation and simply blend in,” James said.
“Too late for that. Your return alone is sensation enough. You’ll be the talk of the Season.”
At that moment, the door of the seamstress’s shop next door opened and out stepped Cecily and Georgiana, heads bowed together as they adjusted their bonnets.
James straightened instinctively, a tension of an entirely different sort claiming his body. Georgiana’s smile was still lit with joy as she glanced at her sister, sunlight catching in her light hair where it escaped her bonnet.
Lavinia paused beside him, her entire body going still in that way predators do when sensing competition. Her eyes narrowed slightly.
Cecily spotted them and froze, her laughter dying mid-breath.
Georgiana’s gaze met James’s across the cobblestones. His stomach fluttered and his thoughts went fuzzy. She was so pretty standing there that he could scarcely breathe.
“Perfect timing, girls.” Lavinia’s voice carried a calculating edge. “I trust you’ve ordered everything Cecily needs for her debut? Though of course, we’ll need to discuss my wardrobe as well.”
James hesitated, watching color rise in Georgiana’s cheeks as shelooked down, straightening her gloves with careful precision.
“Your wardrobe, Mother?” Georgiana asked carefully.
“Naturally. I’ll be accompanying Cecily to London as her chaperone. One cannot simply send a young girl into Society unattended.” Lavinia’s eyes were calculating, darting between James and Georgiana with dangerous intelligence. “And since Lord Ashford has been so generous in settling my little difficulties with Mr. Craven, I’m sure he understands that a proper chaperone must be appropriately dressed. I can’t accompany my daughter looking like someone’s poor cousin.”
“I’ll be her companion,” Georgiana said quickly. “We’ve already ordered dresses for me.”
Lavinia continued on, as determined as a hawk driving for prey. “Don’t be absurd. You wouldn’t send a girl into the lion’s den of Mayfair without her mother’s guiding hand. A chaperone is required, and I am her mother. Who better? Georgiana isn’t educated in the ways of theton. I’ve already begun thinking of where we’ll stay in Town. Somewhere fashionable, obviously.”
