“I don’t,” she said in a small voice.
“Well now, we need to see what we can do about that,” Beatrice said.
“There is nothing to be done about it, and I would thank you not to try,” Mary added. She had no wish for her mother or Phillipa to start in on her again. It was extremely taxing, and she had more than enough going on in her life without that.
“Dimity!”
The countess was a good distance away, talking to Beth and Miss Fairweather. All eyes turned as the duchess yelled her name.
“What are you doing?” Mary whispered.
“You shrieked?” Dimity asked, arriving with Beth.
“Mary needs a new modiste,” Beatrice said.
Dimity rolled her eyes. “Really, you do surprise me.”
“How is it to be achieved?” Violet asked before the duchess spoke again.
“Are you friends with Lady Blake?” Dimity asked the three elderly women seated beside Mary. They nodded.
Beth and Dimity then looked at each other. Seconds later, Dimity walked away.
“Where has she gone?” Beatrice asked.
“I think I know, but we shall see,” Beth said.
When Dimity returned a few minutes later, she was with Mary’s mother.
“Oh dear, this is not going to go well for anyone, least of all me.” Mary felt ill at the prospect of the tantrum her mother would throw if they challenged her fashion choices.
“Have faith, gal.” The duchess patted Mary’s hand with her bony fingers. “We are quite a force when we start in on something.”
“I have no doubt, however, my mother is a force also.”
Lady Blake’s smile faltered as she saw Mary seated with the Amble sisters and the Duchess of Yardley.
“Mary, what are you doing with these ladies? You should be dancing, and—”
“Eleanor.” The duchess cut her off. “You dress your daughters like maiden aunts. Well, this one anyway.” She pointed to Mary. “Good God, woman, they dress in the same fashions as me. This must be rectified.”
Mary didn’t know where to look. She sat frozen with the Duchess of Yardley’s hand on hers. Dimity and Beth were watching wide-eyed too.
“I beg your pardon, but my daughter is clothed as she should be, like an elegant, gently bred young lady!” Lady Blake said, looking flustered and red cheeked.
Her mother did not like to be questioned.
“Neither of them are wed with several seasons under their overly decorated and unflattering belts!” the duchess snapped. “Do you ever wonder why?”
Her mother gaped like a codfish.
“They are beautiful girls, inside and out,” the duchess added. “Well, this one anyway,” she added softly so only Mary could hear.
Mary dared not make eye contact with her mother even though she felt a flush of heat over the compliment.
“Twirl, Dimity,” Violet said.
Dimity did as she was asked, and the skirts of her lovely cream dress fluttered around her. An emerald-green braiding around the hem and cuffs was stunning and matched the emeralds in her hair. The lines were simple and flattering. Mary wanted to sigh at the beauty of the garment.
