His heart lurched when he thought it might be his own black coat, and then his still-recovering brain realized he was already wearing it.
“If we’d known that’s what you intended to do on that stage, Mr. Cassidy, we might not have been in such a hurry for you to finish building it,” Angelique said.
Delilah appeared to be suppressing mirth.
Hugh smiled weakly.
“We put out word early this morning among tailors known to Lucien and Captain Hardy and were miraculously able to locate an evening coat that might well fit you, with a few alterations. Why don’t you try it on?”
She held it out to him.
He stared at it, dumbstruck. He studied them warily.
“It’s a coat, not a shroud, Mr. Cassidy. And it’s a ball you’re going to with the beautiful daughter of an earl, not a funeral. Though I daresay you’ll look so well in it you could be buried in it.”
He sensed a jest along the lines of, “And isn’t that what’s essentially happening?” would not go over well at the moment. The ice he trod upon was thin.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” he said humbly. “I do not deserve such kindness.”
“If you’re lucky, life is long, Mr. Cassidy,” said Delilah. “And includes many, many acts.”
He wondered if this was a sly pun about his on-stage clinch.
“And I am... so very, very sorry for how it transpired.”
“Anybody would be,” Angelique said gently.
He almost laughed.
He hesitated. Then he asked, “Are you disappointed in me?”
He genuinely liked these women. He held them in the highest esteem. He knew their good opinion was a valuable thing and not easily earned; the notion that they might be thinking he’d abused their kindness and hospitality made his throat feel tight.
“I think we have a sense of you, Mr. Cassidy. And in truth, we are the last people to judge. We will be disappointed if you are unhappy. We’ll be disappointed if Lady Lillias is unhappy. For now, let’s just make sure you have proper evening clothes.”
And so Mrs. Hardy, Mrs. Durand, and Dot pinnedhim into a new evening coat, and every now and then a pin missed and he was thoroughly jabbed.
He hadn’t felt so loved and utterly chastised all at once since his mother was alive.
“You’re going to marryMr. Cassidy? You’re solucky.”
“Claire. For heaven’s sake.” Her mother was startled by her younger daughter’s effusion.
The three of them were at Madame Marceau’s establishment in Bond Street, surrounded by three seamstresses wielding tape, pins, and needles.
“He’s very handsome and kind. And interesting, too.”
“He smiled at you once and these are your conclusions?” Lillias was terse.
“I have eyes and ears. For heaven’s sake,” Claire said, irritably. “I can draw my own conclusions.”
“There are other qualities men ought to have, too, Claire. Good God, have I failed you both?” Her mother muttered this last sentence to the ceiling.
She was not entirely joking.
“I’m not daft, Mama,” Claire said reasonably. “I know he hasn’t a title or anything of the sort. But you’ll have to look at him for the rest of your life and surely handsome counts for a very good deal if that’s the case.”
Her mother closed her eyes and muttered what could either have been a prayer or an oath.
