“And what shall you tell them?”
“That it is not my place to blabber,” Mrs. Hillsman answered.
“Yet, you are personally curious as to why he chose me?”
“A woman always is,” the dressmaker said. “It is our nature. Later today, when my special clientele come calling in my shop, I shall artfully drop hints that I have met you. My custom will increase threefold this week from those looking for an excuse to hear me describe the woman who inspired a duel between two important nobles.”
The duel. How could Sarah have forgotten? “I had no hand in its making. In fact, if it is in my power to dissuade the duke and Lord Rovington to forget the challenge, I will do so.”
“Even better,” Mrs. Hillsman said, her voice taking on a bright tone. “If you succeed then I shall have met the woman who caused two honorable men to dishonor themselves.”
“There is no honor in dueling.”
“How little you know of men, Mrs. Pettijohn, and yet you have captured Baynton. There are times I wonder if God knows what He is doing?”
Before Sarah could manage a suitable retort, a sound at the door warned them that the assistant had returned with two hotel stewards carrying breakfast trays. “Good, here is something to start off our morning. Mrs. Pettijohn, tea? You will need all your strength for what we have planned for you.”
And she was right.
As an actress, Sarah was accustomed to good dressmaking and the measurements needed. She’d also worked with the wardrobe mistresses enough to understand garment construction and to be a judge of quality materials.
The fabrics Mrs. Hillsman had brought were the best and very suitable for Sarah’s coloring. Apparently, the duke himself had sent instructions to Mrs. Hillsman. He’d described Sarah’s hair as “the red of the richest garnets.” Therefore, Mrs. Hillsman had chosen the greens and blues that Sarah herself favored, as well as ivory muslins. White never suited her coloring.
There were also laces and ribbons to choose and within the first hour, Mrs. Hillsman sent her assistant with an order for the shoemaker and milliner to join them and to bring whatever they had available because it was needed today. Another assistant was sent off to purchase stockings, gloves, and small clothes. Another was dispatched to Mrs. Hillsman’s shop for a dress that was almost finished for another client that the dressmaker believed would be better suited for Sarah.
“You truly have nothing,” Mrs. Hillsman happily complained. “We shall be working day and night to finish your wardrobe so that you have something to wear.” Sarah did not want to think how much all of this was costing Baynton. At the same time, it was a pleasure to choose without worry about cost.
By noon, Sarah felt as if she had been dragged behind a cart. However, the woman who stared at her reflection in the glass was a far cry from the one who had woken naked that morning.
The dress that had been waylaid for Sarah’s use was a fine muslin dyed bishop’s blue and covered with tiny lavender flowers. It sported cap sleeves and a low neckline. One of the assistants had styled Sarah’s hair, pinning it high on her head and letting a few curls fall free around her face.
“He won’t be able to stop looking at your chest,” Mrs. Hillsman predicted, primping the lace edging around Sarah’s bodice a bit, “although few men need such a lovely display to stare.” She frowned and murmured, “The dress does cry for a necklace, but I shall leave that to you to earn, my dear. When the duke is ready to buy you jewelry, contact me. I know an excellent jeweler who will pay us both a commission.”
“A commission?” Sarah repeated, surprised.
“Of course.” Mrs. Hillsman shook her head. “You really are very green at this, and you’d best wise up. I like you, Sarah. Now that we know each other a touch better, I can confess I had assumed you would be much younger and all dewy fresh. One of those girls that hasn’t a wrinkle on her skin.”
“There was a time I didn’t,” Sarah said. “However, if the duke wishes someone flawless, he has chosen the wrong woman.”
Mrs. Hillsman laughed. “Perhaps he is looking for something else. Perhaps he is that rare man who values character.”
“I don’t know if that is a compliment or not,” Sarah answered.
“It is, Mrs. Pettijohn. Never doubt for a moment, it is.” The dressmaker held out her hand, an offer of friendship.
Sarah took it. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“All you must do is please him—and in that dress, half your work is done. Any other time you need advice, you may call on me. You have a good head on your shoulders. You shall do well.”
“What do you mean?”
“You have some sense. There aren’t many ways for women like us to make our own way in the world. Most of the young things waste opportunity.”
“You have had a protector?”
“How do you think I gained my shop?” Mrs. Hillsman answered.
“My mother was not so fortunate. Or wise.” Sarah found it suddenly hard to look at her reflection. She turned away. “She died poor and alone. All of her lovers abandoned her. I swore I’d never be like her.”
