“I think it is perfect!” Juliana exclaimed, before she could stop herself.
Madame DuPont’s smile grew even brighter. “Miss Hawthorne makes an excellent choice,oui?”
“If you insist,” Grandmama conceded with a longing glance at the yellow satin. “And you can have it ready in time for the Hamptons’ ball?”
“Why, of course, my lady,” the modiste all but purred. “But… to expedite in this craft, well…”
Grandmama rapped her cane impatiently. “Can you or can you not do it? Money is not a concern, of course.”
“Of course.” Madame DuPont smiled even more.
In the end, they left the atelier with Grandmama’s purse more than five hundred pounds lighter than when they came in. The French modiste was not running a business, but a robbery in broad daylight. Grandmama, however, would have none of it.
“Nonsense, Juliana. Your refusal to invest in yourself will get you nowhere,” she admonished her recalcitrant granddaughter. “We made a mistake in your past few Seasons when we were too stingy with your wardrobe. Fortunately, your brother has seensense and is taking action to rectify those very mistakes. Now, our next stop should be the milliner’s—”
“Juliana? Oh, Miss Juliana Hawthorne, is that really you?”
Juliana froze at the sound of that cheerful, almost breathless voice. Even Grandmama, who never relished being interrupted during one of her sermons, frowned at the most indecorous interruption.
A young woman, dressed in a pale blue concoction heavily laden with ruffles, barreled toward them, nearly knocking her own hat askew in her haste.
Juliana narrowed her eyes in slight recognition. “Miss… Catherine Pembroke?”
Miss Catherine Pembroke was the only daughter of the Viscount of Pembroke and one of the few ladies of thetonwho treated Juliana and her family with a modicum of kindness. She could vaguely recall seeing the young woman’s card on the faded silver tray a week or so ago, but like all other callers, she had to be turned away.
“The one and the same!” the young lady burst out in effervescent laughter. “I tried calling on you when I heard you were back in London for the Season, but they turned me away and told me you were ill.” She leaned closer and peered up at Juliana. “You have done convalescing, perhaps? You look like the very picture of health, if you ask me.”
Juliana felt her cheeks warm up at the mention of her self-imposed isolation. After all, she could not tell her friends that she suffered from an even worse malady—destitution.
“Ah… I have newly recovered,” she managed to say with a forced smile.
Miss Catherine Pembroke let out a great sigh, her hand pressed to her heart in the most dramatic way. “Of course, you poor dear. Although Miss Bambrook said the oddest thing last week, claiming she saw you chasing a goose down Milton Street.” She let out a nervous laugh. “I mean, why would you do that?”
Juliana shot her grandmama a wry glance. “Why, indeed?”
“Very well, it was very nice meeting you again!” Miss Catherine enthused. Then, she blinked. “Did you just come out of Madame DuPont’s?”
“Yes. Yes, we did.”
“Oh my!” Miss Catherine Pembroke grinned. “Well, Miss Bambrook is going to be even more surprised when you arrive at the Hamptons’ ball in a few days. She was so certain that your family…” she trailed off, her smile faltering by two notches. “In any case, all rumors should now be resolved when you walk into the ballroom!”
Juliana gave her a feeble smile, and they soon parted ways. She watched as her friend walked into Madame DuPont’s shop with nary a care in the world.
Catherine was right—she should show up at the ball, if only to put the rumors to rest. Unlike her friend, however, she doubted that her appearance in an expensive new dress alone would sway public opinion.
Not when thetonabsolutely delighted in the downfall of one of their own.
Chapter 6
Balls were her own personal hell, and the Hamptons’ fête was no different. If anything, the crush of bodies on that particular Thursday night had rendered Juliana close to fainting and in dire need of fresh air.
“Look, darling, there is Lord Stanley, heir to the Marquess of Stafford,” Grandmama spoke in a hushed, but excited whisper, as if she had not forced Juliana to commit her copy of Debrett’sPeerageto heart. “I have it on good authority that a distant uncle has left him a sizable inheritance and that he is looking for a wife!”
By “good authority”, her grandmama probably meant the last few friends who had not outwardly shunned them.
“Even if that was the case, I doubt he would be lookingthisway for his Marchioness,” Juliana muttered under her breath, sneaking a quick glance at the supposedly outstanding bachelor that was Lord Stanley.
With his dark brown hair and friendly grin, he possessed enough looks, she supposed, to garner the attention of many of theunmarried misses in this ballroom. If that was not enough, the news of his inheritance and his status as the only heir to an ailing Marquess should more than suffice.
