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“How exciting! Many congratulations to your daughter,” she said as she opened the shop’s appointment book. “It looks as though we have availability on Thursday or next Tuesday in the afternoon if you would like to come in.”

“Thursday at eleven o’clock would suit me,” said the caller.

The shop’s doorbell rang, and as Miss Reid waved a hand at the open office door to silently say that she’d answer it, Sylvia mouthed, “Thank you.”

“Very good, may I have your name?” she asked the caller.

“Mrs. Harris.”

“Then we shall see you Thursday at eleven o’clock, Mrs. Harris. And may I ask, how did you learn about Mrs. Shelton’s Fashions?” she asked.

“I believe it was an advertisement in The Lady,” said Mrs. Harris.

Sylvia grinned. Another potential customer from her advertisements.

She said goodbye to Mrs. Harris and replaced the receiver. She could hear the muffled sound of Miss Reid speaking to some customer—likely Mrs. Temple and her daughter, who were both due for fittings at one o’clock.

Closing the appointment book, Sylvia made her way down the corridor to greet the Temple women before leaving them in Miss Reid’s capable hands for their fitting. However, when she walked through to the reception, she found it wasn’t the Temples examining the dress form displaying a linen suit but Lady Winman.

“My lady,” she said, stopping short.

Out of the corner of her eye, Sylvia registered the shocked look on Miss Reid’s face at Sylvia’s deference. A flash of surprise passed over the countess’s face too—no doubt for completely different reasons—but Lady Winman quickly regained her polite composure.

“Mrs. Pearsall, I didn’t expect to find you here,” said Lady Winman.

Miss Reid took a hesitant step forward. “I was just showing her ladyship this summer suit, madam.”

From the way that Miss Reid addressed Sylvia, there could be no denying her position of authority at the shop. A few months ago, she might have stammered some excuse and tried her best to explain away her association with the dressmaker’s shop. However, she had worked too hard for that. She might not be able to sew like Izzie or their mother, but she had put her own form of work into Mrs. Shelton’s then and now, and she wanted her due credit.

“Miss Reid is our head seamstress,” she told Lady Winman, approaching the dress form. “The suit is lovely, but the cut is perhaps a little boxy compared to the sort of jacket I’ve noticed you normally wear, my lady. If you don’t mind me saying so.”

Lady Winman smiled. “I don’t mind at all. And you are quite right.”

“I would recommend something more elevated and tailored. If a linen suit is what you are looking for,” Sylvia finished.

Lady Winman’s lips tilted up a touch. “I would like that very much.”

“Miss Reid, why don’t you fetch Miss Shelton’s sketchbook?” asked Sylvia.

“Are you certain, madam?” asked Miss Reid, who hadn’t lost her slightly stunned expression at the appearance of a countess on the shop floor.

Sylvia knew without having to consult Lady Winman that her mother’s sketches wouldn’t suit the countess and her streamlined, simple elegance. And while some women like Claire might think that the Countess of Winman wasn’t the “right sort of countess,” Sylvia knew that any countess wearing a Mrs. Shelton’s Fashions design would be good for business.

It would have to be her sister’s sketches. She just hoped Izzie would forgive her.

She gave Miss Reid a firm nod. “Please.”

Miss Reid retreated to the back of the shop faster than Sylvia had ever seen her move.

Turning back to Lady Winman with a smile, Sylvia pointed to a chair. “If you would like to make yourself comfortable.”

“Thank you,” said the countess.

“Would you care for a cup of tea?” she asked.

“No, thank you. It is kind of you to offer.”

As Sylvia lowered herself into the chair opposite Lady Winman, the countess said, “So you own a dress shop.”