A few days later, Amelia had gathered all her sisters together for a meeting. “We need something more daring,” she informed them, but none of them was listening. Her oldest sister, Victoria, the Duchess of Worthingstone, was too busy cuddling her newest addition, another baby boy. Juliette had her own daughter, Grace, upon her knee, while Margaret’s attention was focused on a scrap of black silk.
“Perhaps something made of black lace,” Amelia suggested. While black was usually a color for mourning, the strong contrast against a woman’s skin would draw a man’s attention to her bare flesh.
Four years ago, when their family had been nearly destitute, they’d begun a secret business designing sensual corsets and chemises out of silk and satin. Aphrodite’s Unmentionables was the name they had chosen, and it had brought in thousands of pounds to help them survive the mountain of debts their uncle had left them.
Victoria had designed and sewn the first few garments, while Juliette had kept the accounts. Their lingerie was scandalous and, thankfully, most of the wealthy ladies in London had gone to Madame Benedict’s shop demanding more of it. It had changed not only their lives, but the lives of the Scottish women who helped sew the garments.
But now that Victoria and Juliette were married with children of their own, they had less time to devote to the business. Her eldest sister was a duchess, while Juliette was married to Paul Fraser, a Scottish viscount and a physician. Juliette and her husband were visiting London during the Season because Dr. Fraser was conferring with other physicians about a treatise he was writing.
Margaret held out the black silk. “They aren’t listening to us, Amelia. They’re too busy playing with their children.”
“Iwas listening,” Juliette protested, kissing her three-year-old daughter’s hair and snuggling her close. “But we’ve done black lace before. And white and red.”
“I overheard Madame Benedict saying to her assistant that the garments are not selling as well as before,” Amelia informed them. “Some of the ladies have complained that the silk makes it too difficult to wash. Should we try cotton or linen?”
“I think we should stop selling it altogether,” Margaret interrupted. “It’s been over four years. We’ve made tens of thousands of pounds in profit. There’s more than enough for your dowry.”
“And yours,” Amelia pointed out, but Margaret’s expression remained somber, as if she didn’t believe she would ever need adowry. Despite her debut and all the previous Seasons, Margaret had only received one offer in those four years. When her engagement to Lord Lisford had ended badly, her sister had soured toward the idea of marriage.
“We don’t need to sell anything,” Margaret insisted. “Besides that, it’s dangerous. What if someone found out that Her Grace, the Duchess of Worthingstone, was selling naughty unmentionables? It would make the duke a laughingstock.”
Amelia shrugged. “We could deny it. No one would believe it anyway.”
But her sister was already shaking her head. “It’s gone on too long. It’s too easy for someone to accidentally learn the truth.”
Juliette frowned, setting her daughter down to play. “If it only involved us, I would have stopped years ago. The problem is the crofters’ wives. This is their livelihood. Even if they return to farming and raising sheep, they wouldn’t earn nearly as much.”
Amelia knew that her sister Juliette still visited Scotland often, for their parents owned an estate nearby at Ballaloch, and Paul’s mother dwelled among the crofters. And what she’d said was true—if they ended the sewing business, the women would be reliant upon the wool profits and crops to survive the winter. None of them had forgotten the years before, when so many had been starving or freezing to death.
Victoria let out a breath of air. “Juliette is right. We should look toward letting someone else manage the business. What about Cain Sinclair?” The Highlander had helped them over the years, delivering finished garments and acting as a liaison between Madame Benedict and themselves.
Amelia thought that was a good idea, but Margaret was already shaking her head. “Mr. Sinclair couldn’t. He wouldn’t know the first thing about how to manage a business about ladies’ unmentionables.”
“I suspect he knows how to take them off,” Amelia said slyly, watching Margaret’s embarrassment grow. “He does seem to have a number of women, doesn’t he?”
“I do not wish to talk about that man.” Margaret picked up the filmy black silk again. “I don’t trust him at all.”
But the flush on her sister’s cheeks suggested there was more she wasn’t saying. Amelia felt certain that the Highlander had kissed her sister at one point, though Margaret had denied any involvement.
“We could see if any of the MacKinloch women would like to take our places,” Victoria said. “Perhaps if they manage it themselves…”
It was possible, but Amelia still didn’t think it was practical. Someone needed to remain in London, and it wasn’t going to be her. She knew that Viscount Lisford’s lands lay to the east, and by this time next year, she hoped to be his wife.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Margaret moving toward the door silently. Her sister was quite upset, but gave no indication of why. Victoria and Juliette were busy with their children, and Amelia followed Margaret into the hall. Her sister was walking quickly toward her own bedroom, and Amelia had to hurry to catch up.
The door closed before she could reach her. Amelia pressed her hand to the wood and asked gently, “Is something the matter, Margaret?”
“Go away and leave me alone.”
Amelia strongly suspected her sister was crying. “Let me in, and we’ll talk about whatever it is.”
“I don’t want to talk.”
Of course she didn’t. But Amelia had a feeling she knew what this was about. Margaret was the second born of the four sisters, and now that she was five-and-twenty—almost six—she was confrontedwith a very strong possibility of spinsterhood. For a woman who had been planning her wedding since the age of ten, this wasn’t good.
“Let me in or I’ll keep questioning you through the door,” she said. “The servants will hear about it, and so will Juliette and Victoria.” When her sister didn’t move, Amelia added, “You might as well give in. I’m going to find out anyway.”
The door jerked open, and it was immediately clear that Margaret had been crying. Her eyes were wet, and she demanded, “Why can’t you stop being such a busybody?”
