At one point Charlotte distinctly overheard Lord Stanley remark, in his usual indifferent manner, that expense was no consideration.
The modiste’s eyes widened like saucers, grateful for the boon of such lavish patronage. ‘Certainly, my lord. I shall hire more seamstresses from the village, if that is agreeable to you.’
He dismissed her concerns with a careless wave, and Charlotte rolled her eyes at him. No doubt he considered such practical matters beneath his notice.
The first gowns were promised for the following afternoon. At the sight of the final total upon the account sheet, Charlotte nearly blanched.
Surely even Lord Stanley would object to such extravagance.
Yet he did not so much as blink. Producing his pocketbook, he settled the staggering sum with calm indifference.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of silk, lace, shoes, jewellery, and parcels. By the end, Charlotte was thoroughly exhausted and no longer entirely certain what half the purchases even contained.
All she could think of was the irrationality of it. How could he spend so much on a fake fiancée? And what, precisely, was she to do with all the dresses afterwards? She could scarcelypresent herself as a governess clad in rose-coloured silk and embroidered satin slippers.
Nevertheless, she found it difficult not to be seduced by it all. The softness of fine fabrics against her skin. The sparkle of jewelled hair combs. The admiring glances from the shopgirls and seamstresses.
It awakened a longing deep within her.
A longing she had never properly acknowledged before.
A longing to be seen.
And she did feel seen by Lord Stanley, who lingered nearby throughout the afternoon, watching quietly as fabrics were held against her and gowns selected for her complexion. Occasionally he offered an opinion upon a colour that suited her. Sometimes he smiled. At other moments he simply stared with his mouth slightly agape.
Charlotte thought he was laying the besotted-fiancé act on rather too thickly and resolved to have words with him in private about his excessive performance.
Unfortunately, the ladies appeared entirely enchanted by the spectacle, exchanging knowing smiles and delighted little giggles whenever Lord Stanley looked her way.
Lady Susan joined Charlotte as she pretended to examine a selection of embroidered handkerchiefs—when in truth she was merely seeking a moment’s peace amidst the chaos.
‘Do you play, Miss Lucas?’
‘No.’ She tensed slightly. She could manage a little pianoforte, enough for a modest drawing room perhaps, but certainly not with the polished brilliance expected amongst the accomplished ladies of the ton.
‘Do you draw?’
Charlotte laughed, remembering her horrific sketch of Tom. ‘Absolutely not.’
‘Ah, then surely you speak fluent French?’
‘I fear not.’
Lady Susan narrowed her eyes suspiciously. ‘How on earth did you become a governess?’
Charlotte winced. The question, though lightly spoken, was becoming far too particular for comfort.
‘I possess other talents,’ Charlotte replied carefully. ‘Particularly those suited to managing spirited boys like Tom.’
‘I should very much like to know more, Miss Lucas.’ Lady Susan’s smile remained pleasant, though there was unmistakable scrutiny beneath it.
Charlotte glanced around for a reprieve.
Lord Stanley stood nearby with Mrs Wilberforce.
‘Mrs Wilberforce,’ Charlotte said quickly, ‘will you take luncheon with Tom tomorrow? He was asking after you yesterday.’
‘My poor boy! I’ve neglected him shamefully.’
