“I wish I could come with you,” Bea said, “but Wick is taking me to look at rings.”
The glow of happiness on Bea’s face warmed Fancy inside and out. They moved on to discuss the plans for Bea’s wedding ceremony, and Fancy offered to help however she could. Listening to her once-jaded chum wax on about flowers and decorations, she felt her resolve and courage strengthen.
Love was everything, and she would fight for it in her own marriage.
21
That afternoon,Fancy followed Aunt Esther into a shop on Bond Street. The establishment’s exclusivity was such that its name was not advertised. There was only a discreet sign in the window that read, “By Appointment Only.”
The sparkling plate glass windows and royal blue awning piped with gold set the tone for the elegantly spartan interior. Gleaming rosewood counters and cabinets lined the shop’s perimeter. Chairs upholstered in dark blue velvet were clustered next to small tables laid with gilt-rimmed teacups.
“Bienvenue,ladies.” A dressmaker’s assistant came to greet them with a diffident curtsy. “Madame Rousseau is finishing up with a client and will be with you shortly. Please have a seat.”
Following Aunt Esther’s lead, Fancy settled into one of the chairs, and before long they had tea and a plate of bite-sized pastries to enjoy as they waited.
Fancy peered at her surroundings with awe. “This is a grand shop, ain’t it?”
“Itisan exclusive establishment.” Aunt Esther’s blue-grey eyes were stern over the rim of teacup. “Elocution and grammar lessons begin tomorrow morning, but you might as well start reforming your speech now, Francesca.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Fancy didn’t mind being corrected; as far as she was concerned, she needed all the help she could get to become a lady. “I’ll try my best to speak proper-like.”
“Properly. And don’t try, gel.” Aunt Esther sipped her tea. “Simply do it.”
“Yes, aunt.” Lowering her voice, Fancy said, “Do you think Madame Rousseau will be able to ’elp me look like a duchess?”
“Madame Rousseau is the most sought after modiste in London. Her patrons represent thecrème de la crèmeof Society and include royalty.” Aunt Esther did not whisper. “If she cannot help you, no one can. She only accepts clients by referral, and it takes months to get a booking with her. You are only getting in because I am giving you my appointment.”
“That is kind o’ you,” Fancy said earnestly. “I appreciate everything you’re doing for me.”
Aunt Esther set down her cup. “I am not doing it for you, gel. I am doing it for the family.”
“I know. But I’m still grateful for your ’elp. And for all you’ve done for Knight.”
“What do you know about that?” the lady asked, her thin black brows arching.
“I know that you championed ’im when a cousin contested ’is legitimacy and right to the title. I know you supported ’im when you could ’ave looked the other way. And I know that you’re one o’ the few people in Knight’s life who ’as stood up for ’im,” Fancy said with trembling sincerity. “For that, you’ll ’ave my gratitude always.”
“Knighton told you this?” Aunt Esther looked astonished. “He said that I championed him?”
He had not said that in so many words. But Fancy knew that hefeltit.
She recalled how solitary Knight had seemed when they first met. And the way he had kept himself apart from her family and the Taylors, not because he was a snob but because, she suspected, he simply did not knowhowto be part of a family. She thought of his wry comments about his siblings’ dislike of him and his stark resignation when that introductory meeting had gone awry. Her heart squeezing, she resolved to help him patch things up with his family…starting now.
“’E might not express ’is appreciation aloud,” she said. “Knight ain’t a gentleman who discusses ’is feelings—”
“As is proper for a gentleman,” Aunt Esther said with an approving nod.
“But I know ’e appreciates all you’ve done for ’im, ’is siblings, and me. Since ’e grew up with only ’is mama, I think ’e never ’ad much o’ a family, which makes ’im value ’aving one now all the more,” Fancy mused.
“Well.” Aunt Esther cleared her throat. “I would not have guessed it. But, as you say, Knighton is not a man to air his laundry, which is a sign of good breeding. You can tell me these things, Francesca, but mind you don’t wag your tongue like an untrained puppy when we’re out in Society. Best to keep matters in the family, do you understand? The Knighton name is never to be tarnished.”
“Yes, Aunt Esther,” she said.
She could see that reticence ran in the Knighton blood. Yet as Aunt Esther took a sip of tea, indicating the conversation was over, Fancy saw a glimmer of longing in the other’s eyes. Her intuition told her the lady’s blade-sharp tongue shielded a softer core. After all, Lady Brambley had outlived her husband, parents, and her siblings, and she had no children of her own. Such an existence must be lonely. Maybe she needed a family as much as Knight did.
A door opened at the back of the shop, and Fancy saw a woman emerging. While short of stature, the lady possessed a regal bearing and wore a bonnet with pink ostrich feathers that increased her vertical presence considerably. Her face was angular, with a hawkishness to her nose and dark eyes. Her steel-colored curls placed her in her fifties or sixties. The woman who held the door for her was thin, with dark silver-threaded hair, her immaculate black gown identifying her as the dressmaker. A maid followed diffidently in the stately lady’s footsteps.
To Fancy’s surprise, Aunt Esther surged to her feet, gesturing to Fancy to follow suit.
