“Madame, I’d like to come by your shop to have a few new dresses made,” she said.
“Sacré dieu,my prayers have been answered,” the Frenchwoman said fervently.
A rueful grin tucked into Polly’s cheeks. The beleaguered modiste had campaigned tirelessly for Polly to consider more fashionable garments. Had her sisters not been amongst the modiste’s most favored patrons, Polly was certain that Madame would have refused to make the frumpy dresses she’d insisted upon.
After helping Polly back into her old clothes, the girls trooped out of the classroom—except for Maisie, who lingered to help Madame Rousseau tidy up. Seeing the flicker of uncertainty around the girl, who’d become quite subdued, Polly wondered what was amiss. She didn’t have long to wonder.
“Miss Kent… may I ask you something?”
“Of course you may.”
Maisie’s brown eyes slid to Polly’s ring. “Is it true that you’re to be married?”
“Alors, Maisie, that is not your concern,” the modiste chided as she rolled up a measuring tape.
“It’s all right, Madame. I don’t mind answering.” Turning to Maisie, Polly said gently, “Yes, it’s true. I’m engaged to the Earl of Revelstoke.”
“Oh.” The girl’s bottom lip trembled, and she turned quickly to the worktable, her small hands fumbling at she organized the dressmaker’s tools. Fear glowed around her brown plaits.
“Maisie,” Polly said with concern, “what’s the matter?”
“N-nothin’,” came the quivering reply.
Seeing the girl’s distress, Polly murmured to the dressmaker, “Would you mind giving us a moment, Madame?”
With an understanding nod, the Frenchwoman departed.
“We’re alone now,” Polly said. “Won’t you talk to me, Maisie?”
The girl’s shoulders hunched. She turned around, her small face aged by resignation. “There’s naught to talk about.”
“I think there is. I think something is troubling you, and I’d like to help, if I can.”
The girl’s gaze was trained on the floor. “And if you can’t?”
“Then at least you’ll have spoken about your concerns to someone who cares.” Polly set her hands lightly on the girl’s shoulders. “That is something, I think.”
Maisie raised her eyes and blurted, “But it won’t matter because you’ll still leave. The other girls said once you’re married, you’ll ’ave a family o’ your own, and no time for us foundlings.” A tear leaked down her freckled cheek. “You won’t come by ’ere no more. You’ll leave—like everyone does!”
Taken aback by the fact thatshewas the cause of the girl’s distress, Polly was at a momentary loss for words. The girl shook free of her touch and returned to sorting pins into boxes.
“Maisie, please look at me.”
“Go away,” the girl sniffled.
“Maisie,” Polly repeated.
The girl pivoted slowly, her expression defiant and at odds with her affable nature.
“Just because I’m getting married doesn’t mean I’ll stop coming here,” Polly said gently.
“That’s not true. The other girls said—”
“It doesn’t matter what they said. I’m telling you what is true.”
Maisie’s hands curled into fists at her sides. “The girls said that even if yousaidyou would keep coming, your new ’usband might ’ave something different to say in the matter. And because e’s your ’usband, you’ll ’ave to mind ’im. So you couldn’t come even if you wanted to.”
“Goodness,” Polly murmured, “the other girls have rather a lot to say, don’t they?”
