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At the sound of Thompson’s voice at the door, both young ladies swung around.

“Please, have her come in,” Emily said.

He bowed and ushered in a tiny woman with wispy brown hair fading to gray. Her nose was long and thin, and when she scurried into the bedchamber, Phoebe was put in mind of a somewhat frantic mouse.

“Forgive me, Miss Norton. I did not mean to keep you waiting.” Miss Selfridge’s voice was as squeaky as Phoebe remembered from when Marianne had introduced them at the church several Sundays ago.

“You have done nothing of the kind, Miss Selfridge,” Emily said. “I was simply showing Miss Hadford my mother’s old gowns.”

“Ah, yes, of course. They are quite magnificent.” The seamstress acknowledged Phoebe with a bobbed curtsy. “Miss Hadford, a pleasure to see you again.”

“Good day to you, Miss Selfridge,” Phoebe said.

Miss Selfridge’s gaze darted around the room, her eyes taking in Lucy’s presence near the door before returning to Emily. “Miss Glover is not here. She is well, I hope.”

“Perfectly well, thank you,” Emily said. “She is spending the afternoon in her rooms today.” Emily gestured toward Phoebe. “Miss Hadford has kindly offered to share her opinion on our choices, should the need arise.”

Phoebe caught the seamstress’s slight frown an instant before it disappeared.

“My maid, Lucy, is at your disposal, Miss Selfridge,” she said.

Miss Selfridge perked up a little. “Very well. As I measured you so recently for the alteration we made to the floral gown, there is no need for us to repeat that procedure today. Instead, we shall begin by choosing the fabrics for your new gowns.”

She withdrew a bundle of fabric scraps from her basket. “Set these out, if you please, Lucy.” She offered the bundle to Phoebe’s maid. “Lining them up along the dressing table would do nicely.”

Lucy obediently laid the fabric swatches in a tidy row.

“There now.” Miss Selfridge picked up the piece of dark-green silk nearest the corner and handed it to Emily. “Do you not think this would be perfect for an evening gown?”

Phoebe waited, wondering what Emily would say.

“It is very nice,” Emily said. “Although, perhaps not quite what I had in mind. I think something lighter—in color and weight—would suit me better.”

She met Phoebe’s eyes, and Phoebe gave her an encouraging nod. Regardless of the laughter and mindless chatter they had shared over many of the fashion plates they had reviewed yesterday, Emily had been listening.

Miss Selfridge gave her a startled look before reaching for another silk, this one pale blue. “This is a beautiful shade. And far lighter than the green.”

“Yes,” Emily said. “It is lovely.” She hesitated. “Do you have any chintz in stock? I have been told the fabric holds dyes just as well as silks, and I would very much like a pretty print.”

Phoebe grinned. She was quite sure Emily also remembered that cotton chintz was significantly less expensive than silk, but to focus on the fabric’s positive qualities was a far better way to win over the seamstress.

“Yes, Miss Norton.” Miss Selfridge offered Emily a selection of swatches.

Emily sifted through them. “What do you think of this one, Phoebe?” She held up a pale-green fabric with a tiny, white, floral print.

“It is lovely,” Phoebe said. “And with some white lace, it would be stunning.”

With a pleased nod, Emily reached for a magazine lying on the end table beside the bed. She flipped it open to the center page and pointed to the fashion plate they had chosen the day before. “Can you make this gown with that fabric, Miss Selfridge?”

The seamstress gaped at Emily. “Why . . . why, yes, Miss Norton. I believe so.” She moved closer so as to see the picture more clearly. “You wish the bodice to tuck into the skirt just so?”

“Yes,” Emily said. “Exactly like the picture.”

The seamstress nodded slowly. “I can do that.” She glanced up from the picture. “May I retain the magazine for reference? Just until the gown is made, you understand.”

Emily looked to Phoebe, who gave an assenting nod. She could spare one magazine out of so many. “You may.”

The seamstress slipped the magazine into her basket and turned her attention back to the fabrics. “The pale-green chintz is a very fine fabric, Miss Norton, but there is nothing quite like silk for evening wear. Your mother would settle for nothing less. For your second gown, I would strongly recommend choosing one of the silks.”