“Yes, perhaps,” mused Drew, settling her hip on the arm of Ivy’s chair. She peered out the window but the street was empty. The duke had vanished.
She sighed, confused and a little unsettled. There had been very little role for him here, but his sudden absence felt disappointing, like an unexpected letter with bad news.
She looked down to Ivy, determined to keep on task. “There were no fabrics that interested you, Ivy?”
Ivy collected the dog and held him to her chest, hiding her face in his fur.
“Right,” Drew said. “But tell me: Would you mind if myself and Mrs. Tavertine made the selections for you? We could show you samples of what we choose, and you could say yea or nay?”
The girl did not answer.
“Ivy,” she cajoled, “you must have some prefer—”
She was cut off when the shop door opened, admitting a gust of cold wind and another family. The group wascomprised of a grandmotherly woman; a young lady, short and thick; and a young man, tall and strapping. The three of them shared the same prominent noses and pale blond hair. A brother and sister out with their grandmother or aunt, Drew thought.
Mrs. Tavertine greeted them and then hurried to Drew and Ivy.
“Forgive me, Drewsmina,” Jericka said. “I tried to reschedule my one o’clock, but they’ve come despite my note. I miscalculated the number of hours Miss Imogene and Miss Ivy would require. I’ll need to step away to compel this other family to return tomorrow.”
“No, no,” Drew said, “do not turn them out. I am to blame; sorting both girls in one morning was too ambitious. If the other clients can share you long enough to make some small progress with Miss Ivy, she’ll stand for measurements with a seamstress and thenwe’llreturn another day.”
“Very good,” gushed the proprietress. “Thank you.” And she swept off to placate the new family.
Drew returned her attention to Ivy, but not before she saw the young man from the newly arrived family staring in the direction of Imogene.
Oh dear, Drew thought. The man’s gaze followed Imogene’s progress about the shop; his eyes roving voraciously from the tumble of her blond hair, to her long eyelashes, to the effect of her tight corset. He began to drift in Imogene’s direction.
Drew swore under her breath and weighed her options. It would be a mistake to underestimate Imogene’s potential to make a very big fuss. A quarrel with the girl would, ultimately, be more disruptive and damaging than simply allowing some small exchange. Drew would keep a close eye.
Ivy chose this moment to become philosophical. “I cannot see why it matters how I look,” she mused.
“Well,” said Drew, watching as Imogene took notice ofher admirer, as shebeamedat him, “it may not matter to you—which is acceptable when you are at home. However, it is a sign of respect to the people outside the house to make some effort, to look clean and pressed and presentable. It says to friends and strangers, ‘You matter enough for me to pull myself together.’”
Now the young man leaned on the counter with an elbow, making some joke. Imogene giggled and he followed with a second statement, this one whispered nearly in her ear.
Drew swore again. This could go very badly if Imogene felt curtailed by Drew, but soon she would be given no choice. She glanced at the boy’s family. The granny and the young woman had unfurled a bolt of muslin and examined the threading with Mrs. Tavertine.
Keeping an eye on the room, Drew turned back to Ivy. “What if I’d turned up to your drawing room in Pollen Street wearing a sad, bedraggled dress, with my hair unkempt and my fingernails dirty? You might have thought, ‘Her view for this job is very low indeed. She regards our introduction in the same way she regards bath day for her dog.’”
“You have a dog?” asked Ivy.
“No, no, Ivy, but I’m trying to make a point. Do you see how sloppiness might be distracting? We want people to hear what you have to say, not be distracted in how ragamuffin-y you may look.”
Drew barely heard her answer. Imogene and this strange boy strolled together up and down the shelves of fabric, their heads bent in conversation. Every fourth or fifth word, Imogene laid a lingering hand on the boy’s arm.
“I don’t care if people hear what I have to say,” Ivy admitted.
“This may not always be the case,” Drew managed, watching Imogene disappear around the corner of a tall shelf. “The older you become, the more you will wish to be taken seriously. Your appearance needn’t take two hours, neither in commissioning the wardrobe or in yourdaily toilette, but ten minutes would not be remiss, would it? Here’s what we’ll do. We’ll charge Mrs. Tavertine with pulling together a collection of very practical, simple dresses in colors that suit you, and be done with it. A maid will keep them clean and pressed. And that’s it.”
“Well...” began Ivy. “I suppose...”
Drew barely heard. To her very great frustration, Imogene and the young man had reached the doorway to a corridor in the rear of the showroom, hovered for half a beat, and then disappeared from view.
“Oh,” droned Ivy, bored. “Imogene’s made a friend.”
“I’ll have to go after her,” resigned Drew, springing up and walking in quick but restrained pursuit.
Jericka rushed to her side, and Drew called, “Four day dresses and four gowns, if you please Mrs. Tavertine. Simple design. Whatever muted colors you think may suit her. Can someone take her dimensions quickly? I must look in on Imogene.”
