“Oh, Cee!”
“There, now!” She bounced to her feet. “Joyce and I have agreed that this is going to be your best birthday ever, so now we’re taking you out to lunch at Claridge’s. We’ll toast your next year with a glass of fizz and have a good, thick slice of cake. Maybe if we ask nicely, they’ll put a candle in yours.”
I smiled at them, feeling my eyes sting a little. How lovely these two were! They didn’t even know how much I needed this. Needed something good and unreservedly joyful, after my parents and Raymond and this mess with Vandemark Rubber.
I was stuck with that, by the way. When I asked Edgry about selling my share, he’d laughed and said I could try, but no one would buy it. Porter was talking about taking his business elsewhere, and Freddie’s behavior at the ball proved he was too unstable to run anything. And the Ponsonby-Lewis family didn’t have the money to buy me out. So I’d need to find a way to make this work. Somehow. I was starting to think it would take a miracle, and I’ve heard those are hard to come by.
“You’re wonderful, both of you,” I said warmly. “Really, really wonderful. Thank you so much for my gifts.”
Near the window, the puppy growled and lifted his leg against one of the curtains.
“Oh dear,” Joyce said mildly. “Now you’ll have to get new ones. Shame. Let’s go and leave the puppy in here. With any luck, your aunt will be forced to redecorate.”
Chapter Eight
The weather took a foul turn the day of our departure for France. By the time we reached the ferry at Dover, rain was sheeting down, and the Channel was waving white-capped fists of fury at the sky. A rough crossing, to say the least. And poor Joyce is a terrible sailor at the best of times. Lunch on the train afterward restored her, though, and by the time we arrived at the hotel, she was chattering away about the plans she’d made.
“Schiaparelli tomorrow morning, and then we’re all going to see Josephine Baker because I want something to really shock David with when I get home,” she explained as we strode into the lobby of the Ritz and the maids peeled off to check us in. “And we’ll do Lanvin, and Chanel, of course. Oh, I say, is that Belinda?”
We all looked toward the staircase where, sure enough, Belinda Avery was perched, wide-eyed, drinking it all in.
“Belinda! Belinda!” Cee squealed.
Belinda jumped, searched us out, and her face lit up. “Oh! Oh!” she cried, bounding over. “Oh, I’m so happy to see some familiar faces!”
“At this time of year, with all the ateliers open? You’ll be seeing nothing but familiar faces,” I reassured her as we all took turns embracing.
“But you’re the first, and it’s so lovely to see you. Isn’t this all too, too wonderful? Oh, girls, I’m here to buy my trousseau! We’ve set a date, Georgy and I: the twenty-third of May, at Rakesburn. And you’re all going to be invited!”
Rakesburn. I perked up. That was just a few miles from Hensley.
Cee giggled and hopped, clapping, then threw her arms around Belinda again. “I’m so happy for you!”
“I’m sure Lord Hampton can’t wait for the day,” I added. “He must have been sad to see you go on this trip.”
Belinda nodded vigorously. “Awfully sad, my poor little thing. I almost thought he’d cry, but he bore up and even came to the station to wave me off. I think Mama’s put him in a bit of a state, and he was almost afraid of me going, as if Paris is simply full of prowling Frenchmen—it’s not, is it? Not really? Anyhow, I reminded him that Lord Beckworth was here, so I’d have a friendly gentleman I could call on if I was ever in trouble. That made him feel much better. He likes old Ducky. But then, who doesn’t?”
“Beckworth? He’s coming to Paris?” Beside me, I could almost feel Cecilia’s cheeks pinken with delight.
Belinda’s eyes widened and she clapped a hand over her mouth, like a little girl who’s just blurted out a friend’s secret. “Oh, dear, I hope I didn’t blunder. I thought you would know.”
“He’s just visiting his mother,” Cee excused.
“Oh yes, I’m sure that’s it,” Joyce said as the maids rejoined us and porters began collecting our luggage. “We’d best be off to get settled, Belinda. See you soon!”
“Belinda’s such a sweet little thing,” Cecilia commented as we processed upstairs. “I think it’ll be nice to have her around while we’re here.”
“A protégée for you, Cee,” said Joyce. “And speaking of additions: when does Millicent arrive? I’d like to be prepared to evade her.”
“Later today. But she won’t be staying with us. She’s always hated sharing.”
“Quel surprise,” said Joyce. “I’ll bet she had her own little corner in the nursery, marked off by a chalk line nobody could cross. Right-o, this is me.” She, her maid, and the porters stopped at the door to her suite. “See you both for dinner.”
Cee and I were just next door, in a Louis XV–style suite as pink, white, and gold as Cee herself.
“Do you like it, Astra?” Cee asked as I poked a head into my bedroom.
Did I like it? What wasn’t to like? And God, how I needed this. Two weeks of pampering and an escape from all my wearying cares. “What a question! I love it, Cee!”
Cecilia beamed.
“Now, then,” I said, settling down on a dainty sofa, “what’s all this between you and Beckworth? Have you been hiding something?” I gave her a meaningful look, and she turned the color of the roses in the cut crystal vase next to her.
“No, not at all! Didn’t you know he was coming to France?”
“Of course not. Why would I? He and I are friendly, but it sounds like there’s a bit more to it between him and you.” I smiled teasingly.
“Oh, well, it’s just that Ducky and I had a lovely time dancing at Mr. Porter’s ball, and we talked a bit there, and he asked if he might call on me, and I said it was all right because you said you wouldn’t mind. You don’t mind, do you, darling? Because of course I’ll send him off if you do.” Her face pinched in concern.
“Don’t be silly, Cee, of course I don’t.”
“I told him we were coming to Paris, and he said he’d been thinking of coming over as well because he hadn’t been to see his mother in a while. He asked if he might look in while we were here.”
“Well I think it’s marvelous that you and he have sparked so nicely. You make a charming couple,” I declared.
A pearly smile broke through the blush, which went just a shade darker. “He is awfully nice. And so gentlemanly and attentive.”
“Which is just what you deserve, you sweet thing.” I rose and embraced her. “You’re the dearest person I’ve ever known, and I want nothing more than to see you embarrassingly, deliriously happy. If he ever fails in that, just say so and Joyce and Laura and I will sort him out.”
“Oh, Astra, I wish I could see you happy with someone,” she breathed, squeezing my hand.
“I’m perfectly happy as I am. I’m rather enjoying my independence,” I reassured her, though I couldn’t help but feel the slightest twinge of envy. How wonderful it must be to be so perfectly happy just at the thought of someone. Unbidden, Dunreaven popped into my head, smiling devilishly. With some effort, I shoved him right back out again.
“But you’ll want something else someday. Surely nobody wants to be on their own forever.” Her face glowed and she clasped my hands. “You’ll want a nice family and a cozy home and evenings in front of the fire with someone who adores you.” She sighed and gazed dreamily out the nearest window, which overlooked the Place Vendôme.
“Perhaps I’ll want that someday,” I agreed, wishing my life was simple and straightforward, like hers. But everything around me was such a snarl, I couldn’t even imagine throwing a romance into it. “Today, I’m perfectly happy with you and Joyce and this beautiful place and the prospect of two wonderful weeks.”
“It will be perfect, Astra!” Cee promised. “And if it’s not, well, we’ll just have to try again. That’s what the autumn shows
are for, isn’t it?”
* * *
Cecilia had wrangled excellent seats at Schiaparelli’s select showing, where the chicness of the showroom was exceeded only by the smart clientele. Europe’s titled families had sent along their most fashionable young members to see and judge, and to be seen and judged in their turn. It was as thrilling as it was frightening.
“They do know how to do things nicely,” Joyce commented, with a sweep of the room that swiftly appraised all she saw.
“But of course, darling,” I said, as a waiter approached with flutes of champagne. “This is Paris!”
“And we may as well enjoy it while we can.” Joyce sighed. “It feels like soon we won’t be able to travel anywhere at all. So many countries simply losing their minds—poor France will end up quite isolated if it doesn’t run mad as well.”
“Oh, let’s not think of that,” Cee begged. “This is meant to be a nice holiday.”
“Quite right,” Joyce agreed. “Now, I don’t know about you two, but I intend to spend recklessly. Do you think skirts will be shorter this season, or keep dropping? Much farther down and we’ll be back in our grandmothers’ day. Astra’s aunt will be the height of fashion!”
On the opposite side of the runway, Millicent perched on a gilt chair, like a buzzard ready to pick over the offerings. She greeted her sister with a curt nod.
A hidden chamber orchestra began to play, and models strolled down the runway. A hundred pairs of eyes ate up the details, some filing them away to be passed along to slightly more cost-effective dressmakers later.
“Conservative this year,” Joyce observed partway through.
“I don’t think so. They’re just finding new ways to be daring,” I countered, admiring a silk evening gown the color of rubies. The material flowed and shimmered like water, draping suggestively over the body of the woman wearing it, and the deep plunge at the back was almost shocking.
“You must try that one on, Astra,” Cecilia decided. “It’s perfect for you.”
“All right.” There was no harm in trying, was there?
As soon as the show finished, the vendeuses descended, ready for rich sales.
“Miss Davies will try Rose Red,” Cecilia told one of them in French, indicating me. “And I’d like these, please.” She pointed to the clothes she’d circled on her list. The vendeuse looked expectantly at me, and I handed her a list with just a few things marked, mostly for form’s sake. She glanced at it and gave me a raised-eyebrow appraisal that seemed very French indeed.
“You should really try more, Astra. You’re here to enjoy yourself,” Joyce urged.
I shrugged. “I only saw a few things I liked. And I don’t want to spend my whole budget on the first day.”
“Budget?” Joyce seemed confused by the very idea. She handed her own list over to the vendeuse, who sped off to arrange the fitting rooms. I noticed that Millicent had gathered no fewer than three vendeuses around her. They were smiling and fawning so much she must be spending a fortune.
“Anyone would think she was buying a trousseau,” Joyce smirked, following my gaze. “And doesn’t she wish!”
A young woman in a simple but perfectly fitted suit appeared at Joyce’s elbow and led us down a hallway, lined with mirrors, to three fitting rooms grouped at the end.
In my room, the evening gown and a few day dresses waited, along with a fitter wearing a tape measure around her neck like a scarf. I couldn’t resist: the gown came first. The fitter helped me into it, then gently patted and tugged here and there to make the garment lie properly. Once she was satisfied, she turned me to face the looking-glass.
It was deceptively simple, this gown: sleeveless, floor-length, and bias cut, so it hugged the curves in all the right places. The neckline skimmed my collarbones in front and plunged into a spine-baring drape in the back. Long, triangular silk chiffon accents spread from the waist to the hem of the short train. The rich silk lay on my body like paint, and the shade of red brought out my coloring and the chestnut shine in my hair. It was, without a doubt, the most beautiful thing I’d ever put on.
“Are you ready in there?” Cecilia called.
“Yes.”
Cecilia slipped in, wearing a fluttering, ruffled white dress.
“Oh, it’s perfect on you, darling. Didn’t I tell you?” Cecilia cried. “Just the right color. You’ll positively stop traffic in that!”
“Gathering at Astra’s today?” said Joyce, sweeping in. “Oh, that was simply made for you, Astra. You must have it. Doesn’t even need changing or much fitting: you could have it as-is. Maybe just a slightly longer train …”
“Yes, you have to have it,” Cecilia seconded.
Like Adam with the apple, I was sorely tempted. Didn’t I deserve some sort of treat after the year I’d had?
“How much is this?” I asked the vendeuse who was hovering at the edges of the peach velvet curtains embracing my fitting room.
“Thirty thousand francs, Mademoiselle.”
I swallowed hard. That was more than £250.
“It’s a steal. Buy it, Astra,” Joyce ordered.
It had been stupid of me to even ask the price—I knew all along I couldn’t afford it. But now I felt a little stuck. “Oh, I don’t know.” I shrugged and tried to look like I didn’t care. “Not sure it’s really my color.”
Joyce and Cecilia gaped.
“But it’s perfect!” Cecilia repeated, gesturing at my reflection. “Just look at yourself. It’s lovely, just like it was made for you!”
“Really, Astra, don’t quibble with perfection,” added Joyce. “Treat yourself.”
“I don’t know that I want to spend so much on one dress.” I hoped my desperation didn’t show. “It’s irresponsible. Aunt El has been after me about my spending lately.”
Joyce frowned. “What business is it of your aunt’s what you do with your own money?”
Cecilia pursed her lips and said, “I’ll pay for the dress.”
“You can’t do that,” I gestured for the fitter to help me out of it. She stepped forward reluctantly as the vendeuse muttered in French. Whatever she said earned her a sharp look from Cecilia, which shut the woman right up.
“Don’t argue with me,” said Cecilia. “I want to treat you. It’s your birthday.”
“What’s all this?” Millicent poked her head in. “Honestly, Cecilia, you can be heard shrieking clear down the hallway. What are you buying now?”
“A gift for Astra,” Cee answered stoutly.
Millicent cocked an eyebrow. “Surely Astra can afford her own clothes?”
“It’s a birthday gift,” Cecilia insisted.
“You do live well at my family’s expense,” Millicent said to me. “I can’t wait to see what Astra gives you for your birthday, Cecilia. Excuse me, ladies.”
As she left, I realized I’d been gritting my teeth. My jaw ached in protest as I relaxed it.
“Ignore her,” said Joyce. “The dress is perfect; you must have it.” She, too slipped out, followed by Cecilia, who smiled nervously at me before leaving.
So the dress would be mine after all, which made me feel just a little giddy. I made an appointment to come back to be fitted and discuss any changes I wanted made to it, then dressed and returned to the showroom to wait for Joyce and Cee.
While pretending to be fascinated by a collection of new-season hats, I sensed Millicent slithering up behind me. I faced her with an empty smile, hoping I wasn’t about to be turned to stone.
“Afternoon, Millicent. How are you finding Paris?”
Instead of answering, she studied me coolly. “You’re quite good at taking things from other people, aren’t you?” she finally observed.
“Not at all. That seems to be your area of expertise.”
One corner of her mouth quirked upward. “I suppose you’re referring to that grubby little note of yours?”
“So you admit you took it?” I was surprised she’d confessed so easily.
“I’m amazed you would even bring that up,” she said, lips fluttering once again. “No well-bred woman would ever be so forthright about carrying on with an engaged man. And with his darling fiancée under the same roof!” She clucked and shook her head. “But what else should one expect from someone like you?”
I rolled my eyes. “Millicent, you’re talking utter nonsense.”
“Nonsense? Then Lord Hampton was not already engaged to Belinda Avery when you received his note?” She crossed her arms and smirked like she thought she’d just won something.
“Lord Hampton? You think he wrote the note?” I burst out laughing. “What an absurd accusation! Everyone with eyes or ears knows he’s absolutely gaga over Belinda. Why on earth would he be sending love notes to me?”
Millicent sniffed. “Some men simply can’t help themselves when there’s a young woman throwing herself at him. And the way you were behaving that weekend—” Her nostrils flared, and she made a disgusted noise. “There wasn’t a man safe. I’m surprised you didn’t try getting your claws into the footmen. But then, I’ve noticed many young women tend to run wild and forget how to properly behave once their mother’s gone.”
“Is that your excuse?” I retorted.
Her nostrils flared again, now in genuine rage, but she kept herself in check.
“You’ll want to watch your step,” she warned. “I still have the note.”
“What good is an unsigned note? How could you even know it’s from Hampton?”
“The handwriting matches his message in our guest book exactly,” she announced, pulling herself to her full height and looking down on me in triumph.
“Aren’t you a regular Miss Marple,” I sneered. “You’ll have quite the career ahead of you, once your spinsterhood is established.” Her eyes flashed, but I wasn’t done. “Who would you show the note to? Belinda? She’s so mad for Hampton she’d probably forgive him instantly, and then she’d hate you. That’s if she believed you to begin with.”
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