“Please, just call me Jocelyn. I am not a lady.”
“No’ yet. She will be before we ken it, though,” Lizzie said conspiratorially.
Madame Gossard’s eyebrows shot up.
Jocelyn shook her head viciously. “She is jesting. I am not.”
“’Tis no’ my place to tell. Your secret is safe with me,” she said with a wink.
“Why would you say such a thing?” she snapped at Lizzie when Madame Gossard left to gather some bolts of fabric for them to look at. “You have no idea of what you speak.”
Hurt darkened Lizzie’s eyes. “I am verra sorry. ’Twas just a jest. I meant no harm by it.”
“It wasn’t funny.”
“I can see that ye didna think so. Forgive me?” She clasped Jocelyn’s hands, swinging them to and fro, her lower lip stuck out in a pout.
She was impossible to stay mad at. No harm was done with her words. They were the only ones in the shop, so no one could overhear.
“Look,” Jocelyn nodded in the direction of the counter. “Macarons. I bet they are from Liam, the baker. Let’s have one while we wait.”
There were several flavors on the platter. Jocelyn picked a pistachio one and as she expected, it was delicious as ever. Lizzie went for a vanilla macaron and smiled when she took a bite.
“Definitely one of Liam’s.” She licked her lips and dropped into a nearby chair. “Ye might as well sit. We’ll have lots of fabrics to go through when Madame Gossard returns.”
But as soon as Jocelyn sat, her stomach lurched. She quickly stood, clutching her middle.
Springing into action, Lizzie jumped up. “Ye look like ye are going to be ill.”
“I need—” Unable to finish the sentence because she would lose the contents of her stomach right then and there, she rushed to the side door and ran outside. She just made it to a bush before vomiting.
“Are ye feeling unwell, Jocelyn?” Lizzie asked, her voice filled with concern. “Mayhap we should return to the inn and reschedule.”
Once she her stomach was empty, Jocelyn felt much better. Wiping her mouth with the handkerchief Lizzie offered, she flattened her palm on her belly. The babe was letting him or herself be known. And that worried her more than anything.
“No. I am fine now.”
“Ye didna look fine, but now your color appears to be coming back. Are ye sure? We can return at another time.”
Jocelyn shook her head. “I am fine, truly.”
Lizzie gave her the side-eye, but didn’t push any further. “Well, then, let’s go inside and see what fabrics and colors have been chosen for ye.” She spun back to look at Jocelyn. “But, if at any point ye feel ill, let me ken. Madame Gossard will be more than happy to change our appointment.”
Jocelyn gave Lizzie what she hoped looked like an encouraging smile. “There will not be any need for that. Thank you for your concern, though. It’s very kind of you.”
Back inside, they sat at a long table where Madame Gossard had laid out several bolts of fabric of varying textures and colors.
“Och, ye must use this gold fabric, Jocelyn. It suited ye so well the other night.”
“That is a lovely shade. I just got it in from France,” the modiste added. “Do ye ken what kind of styles ye are looking for?”
Jocelyn worried her lip. She hadn’t the faintest idea. All her gowns followed the same style, and she was not on top of what the latest fashions were. “I would love to have your input on that, Madame Gossard. As the dressmaker, you must have great insight into which styles would fit me best.” She hoped the way she asked didn’t let either the modiste or Lizzie know that she was uncertain.
“Well, now that ye ask, I do. I had pictures flood my mind as soon as ye walked in the door. If ye trust me, I’d love to surprise ye.”
She slid her gaze to Lizzie, quietly seeking her thoughts. The woman nodded her head enthusiastically.
“I would like that very much, Madame.”
