A Love Made to Measure

by Eliza Emmett

  “Well you certainly heard how several years ago, Miss Larsen, in a frantic attempt to better her status by marrying where she shouldn’t, eloped with Sir Rudolph Lester. She was younger at the time, of course, being that now she is quite past marrying age. Perhaps we can put it down to immaturity. I’m sure she learned her lesson and is better for it.”

  Lady Ashworth drew a hand to her bosom. “My…I never—”

  “Yes…” Lady Galavyin hissed. “Quite…of course given the carnal appetites of that man, the deal never worked, and she returned home when she found out he would never really marry such a commoner. Quite a naïve fool in her attempt to be smart.” Lady Galavyin sighed. “To be honest, I am reconsidering whether to continue with the association. I mean, her dresses are fine, but one wonders if it is wise to persist on the patronage when one’s actions are always scrutinized by her peers, to be sure. I can’t endorse her past behavior, however much I like her as a person.”

  “You are absolutely right, Lady Galavyin. One has to espouse good notions of morals and decorum in everything one does, including the selection of one’s dressmakers. Certainly I have enjoyed her dresses, but one has to think of one’s immortal soul first and one’s peers next. Or the other way around.” She looked confused.

  Lady Galavyin smiled. It was a cattish, self-satisfied smile, full of certainty and pride, and she rejoiced in its expression. She took her time savoring the moment. Certainly by evening, given Lady Ashworth’s uncanny talent for spreading gossip, half of London would be wondering whether those beautiful, masterly designed dresses were worth the social reprimand that might come with them. By the next day, a great many people in that group would have figured the clothes, however gorgeous, were decidedly not worth the risk.

  Chapter Twelve

  Addy had wished to stay home with her husband and children that evening. It had been a chilly, early spring day. A warm blanket, a good book, and John’s shoulder would have been much preferred over yet another party. She had no interest in gossip and other people’s lives. Chances were most of the conversations would revolve around mundane and superficial topics anyway, like who the most eligible bachelors were and what colors should not be worn by women of a certain age.

  “We will do as you please, Addy. You know there is nothing I value more than a quiet evening with you at home.” Her husband was equally unmoved by social conventions and expectations. He kissed her nose and went back to his book.

  But her mother had been so adamant. She seemed to live for the social admiration of strangers these days—strangers, because she made very little effort to even remember the names of those who did not hold, in the very least, the title of Duke. All she wanted was for her gowns to be appreciated and her social influence to be acknowledged. It was all very strange and off-putting.

  Upon their arrival, John had been carried into an exchange about politics, and Addy, given that most of the acquaintances she recognized were younger women plotting opportunities to be seen and further engaged, chose to recede into a corner where she could drink her cordial in peace. Her ears, however, were still attuned to some of the conversations that survived the ballroom noises. There were talks about gowns, no doubt, and who was marrying whom, and where people were going to spend their country-retreat time. But more importantly, one of the women had settled into the topic of Addy’s brother.

  “He is so handsome,” said a young brunette as she fanned herself, “and, I hear, quite the gentleman!”

  “Has he arrived yet? Is he coming?” asked a woman with ash blonde curls.

  “I haven’t seen him, but surely he would not miss a party like this?” This particular lady fanned herself.

  “I do hope he comes. I wore this dress especially,” said the most enthusiastic of them all, twirling as she spoke.

  Addy chuckled. Her brother, it seemed, was really the catch of the Season. Too bad these unsuspecting women didn’t know his heart was accounted for. She was sure none of these ladies could put a dent on the feelings he had for Cora. They were as true as he was. She had started to enjoy the light chatter when, unexpected as a summer shower, came the jolt.

  “No wonder opportunists are trying to make their way into his heart. I can’t believe Cora Larsen would think Lord Galavyin could possibly be interested in her. A seamstress. And a woman with a past! It’s almost funny.”

  “A past in the hands of Rudolph Lester to make it worse. The poor woman must be suffering from delusions. I have heard several of the noblest ladies, you know, the pillars of our institutions, have decided to give up her dresses. It seems like a wise decision. Maybe we should do the same. We don’t want to risk not being invited to the best parties just because of our outfits.”

  “What a pity. She is so talented and so polished despite her station. But it certainly seems like the right thing to do. One cannot try to find a husband and keep any damning associations at the same time. Look at this dress. It’s a dream. But what is right is right. We can always find a French mademoiselle instead to cut nice dresses.”

  Addy felt her face getting hot and her knees getting weak. How dared these women speak of someone so lovely is such a vile way? If only they knew that Cora had all reason to believe in Grant’s love! Memories of her own struggles with evil tongues resurfaced. The pettiness of it all. And who had spread this story about Cora and that awful man?

  As she paced the room looking for the answers she didn’t have, she spotted Grant who had just arrived. He smiled and nodded when their eyes met. She dashed in his direction. She didn’t waste any time with pleasantries. She grabbed him by the arm and dragged him to the garden of the mansion of Lord Yardshire, where the party was taking its predictable course. A few heads turned, she heard the whispers, but Addy remained unaffected. She had enough experience with devilish gossips—and their quills—to learn that ignoring malice, giving it no room to grow, was the best policy. At least until one could devise a plan—

  “Addy, what has got into you? Is anything the matter?” Her brother exhibited the characteristic wrinkle of worry that visited his forehead in situations like this, even if his voice was, as usual, steady.

  “I just overheard the worst piece of gossip.”

  The wrinkle relaxed. “Addy, you know better than listen to tittle-tattle. Your own knowledge should—”

  “Grant!” She shook him out of his sentence. “You don’t understand. This was about Cora and you. But most importantly about Cora’s reputation.” She proceeded to tell her brother what had transpired.

  Grant listened in silence. He sat on an iron bench and rubbed his chin. “Sometimes I think I should retire to a tropical island somewhere and give up all society. I get so tired of all the meanness, all the frivolous talk, the absurd conventions. The hypocrisy, really.”

  “Yes, that’s all very good, Grant, but it won’t do for Cora, will it?”

  “You’re right, Addy. It won’t. I apologize for my tirade. But I know what will do. Sister, will you help me?”

  “Could you possibly have any doubt?”

  ****

  Moving into the new shop had not been an easy process for Cora. Hardly ever before had she seen her father in such a poor state. For a couple of days, she thought his heart might ail forever. He didn’t eat properly, at times refusing even soup. Nan had complained. He moped in one room right before he moved to another, just so that he could mope in that too. It was one more thing to worry about. Cora had tried to keep him away from the activities of the move themselves, but he had insisted on a last stroll through the empty rooms. He touched the wood shelves and stopped at familiar nooks and crannies, perhaps remembering all the good fabrics that had rested there over the years.

  He had dressed barons and dukes, viscounts and even princes. Until she had made the shift to women’s dresses to suit a more likely clientele, it was his legacy that roamed the store. It was all just a memory but an important and treasured one.

  “It’s all in the past,” he had said.


  “We will build wonderful memories in the new store too,” she told him. “You’ll see.”

  Finally getting to the new shop had been a relief. For a short while at least. But now that the space was organized and her seamstresses were ready to work, Cora had an unsettling feeling living in the pit of her stomach, a feeling that just wouldn’t let go. She thought the feeling was justified—one of the most sought-after dress-makers in London, Cora now had a total of two gowns to work on.

  That was all.

  At first, she consoled herself—the location was new. It would take a while for new business to pour in. She had sent letters to all her usual customers advising of the change of location. But as the days went by and nothing happened, it became harder for her to ignore the fact that something was wrong. She was running out of excuses, and she hated the few flimsy ones she was able to concoct.

  The new main room was airy. Beautiful afternoon light sieved in through the curtains, making the shadow of tree leaves dance on the floor. Yet the lovely image was lost to Cora a minute after she became aware of it. All she could do was pace the extent of the room making the floorboards creak as if they too were in pain.

  She suddenly realized that Sally had been watching her from the threshold of the door. The young woman hadn’t said a word. “What is it, Sally?”

  “Nothing, Miss.” Sally let her foot trace a semi-circle on the floor.

  “Don’t you have some work to do?”

  “I don’t, Miss. Liz is finishing a lace collar. There’s nothing else.”

  “So you get an early afternoon, Sally. Go do something enjoyable. Perhaps a nice early meal with your family? And thank you…for everything.”

  For the first time in her life, Cora felt like giving up. She had to fight hard to contain her tears. She knew Sally looked up to her, so she preferred, if at all possible, not to disappoint the young apprentice by succumbing to despair.

  “Sally, on Monday morning, would you go and buy a few of those cream-colored tassels I like? Here’s some money.” She really had no immediate use for them but hoped the girl would think otherwise.

  “Yes, Miss.”

  For an instant Cora felt a little better just to know the next day was a Saturday and everyone would have the day off. The feeling lasted only a second because she realized Saturday meant the arrival of the weekend, and the weekend meant a stroll with Grant Galavyin. While she could do very little to prevent her body from reacting to that realization the way it desired, she would be darned if she let her mind follow.

  The rest of the day, she catalogued notions, organized fabrics, and prayed for customers that, in the end, didn’t come.

  ****

  Cora wore a grey silk moiré day dress. Its three-quarter-length pagoda sleeves, the perfectly aligned fabric-covered buttons, and the flawless positioning of the intricate wave-like sheen showed just how talented a tailor she was. Assembly of a piece like that required skill that was both rare and coveted. She chose this dress very deliberately. If for whatever reason ladies did not want to wear her designs anymore, they would at least envy what she wore. They would be reminded of her artistry the moment she walked among them.

  She could swear a ripple of heat had flashed in Galavyin’s eyes when he escorted her from her house to his waiting carriage. Like the gentleman he was, he composed himself fast. “Miss Larsen, I am honored to escort you to the park. It is a fine day for a stroll…and some conversation.” He helped her get into the coach and followed her immediately after.

  “Thank you, Lord Galavyin.” What was it about this man that made her insides turn to melted candle wax? If he tried to kiss her again, it would very hard to resist him. “And your sister?”

  “Addy, unfortunately, is engaged elsewhere. The appointment was regrettably urgent, so she sends her love and her apologies. She really could not have foreseen it.” Cora hesitated a bit, and it seemed Grant noticed her indecision right away. “Is there a problem?”

  She didn’t know if she should mention it. “I wonder if propriety should dictate that I stay. Would it be wise to go on a stroll unaccompanied?”

  Grant looked up while thinking. It made him look younger. It also made it look like the answer to the question was stamped on the top of the carriage. “How about your sister…Miss Hattie, isn’t it? Perhaps she would like to accompany us. Would that make you more comfortable? Is she otherwise engaged?”

  Cora smiled with relief. It was a great idea. She blushed just to think she would have to introduce Hattie to Grant. Her sister would, as was always the case, read Cora’s feelings like one reads a sheet of music. But it didn’t matter that she would be so transparent—Hattie was her best friend. It was time she knew the depth of Cora’s love. “If you could give me a few minutes, I will see if she is available and willing.”

  Hattie jumped up and clapped her hands at the invitation. She wanted to know everything about Grant Galavyin. She had guessed her sister’s feelings from the first day his name was ever uttered. Very quickly, she changed into an outdoor dress and then said, “He sounds so…so…royal!”

  “Well, His Highness is waiting outside, so shall we go?”

  “Do I look presentable?”

  “You look lovely, Hattie.” Cora pointed to the door. “Onward!” Her sister was more conservative in her manner of dress, and she cared little about the latest fashions, but Cora had always supplied her with beautiful gowns, sewn from the best fabrics. This one was a peach silk taffeta dress with a brown fringe on the bodice. It didn’t have the elegance of Cora’s own outfit, but it complemented it well. The two could pass for society ladies anytime, and their respective dresses accurately matched their personalities.

  Hattie and Grant engaged in animated talk during the trip while Cora looked on. They had the comfortable chatter of siblings, the effortlessness of some shared tastes, and the lightness of non-romantic expectations.

  “Miss Larsen, I see you are as lucky as me when it comes to sisters. Forgive my candor, but Miss Hattie is as easy to talk to as Addy.”

  Hattie’s face turned a becoming shade of pink, and Cora knew immediately that her sister had already approved of Grant. “I very much look forward to meeting Mrs. Crofford. Cora speaks of her with such admiration. I’m sure she is a marvelous sister.”

  “Addy is indeed special. Right now she is engaged in an important mission that requires all her tact and heart.”

  Since Grant did not volunteer the circumstances of that mission, and was in reality being quite cryptic, Cora thought it best not to ask. As far as she was concerned, Addy might as well be engaged in the most important mission indeed.

  ****

  Addy arranged the last details of the beautiful drawing room she had herself prepared for her guests. A gorgeous powdered blue tablecloth embroidered with delicate flowers of silver thread covered a central table where a vase of white roses stood. On one of the small side tables were cups and saucers with the most exquisite peacock patterns. All that was missing now were the wonderful scones and sandwiches that her cook had crafted. Addy tugged on the curtains to let more of the pleasing half-light in. After that, she waited.

  She had invited five of her closest friends, all of them society ladies in their own right—the daughters of barons, viscounts, or in the very least baronets, for a small afternoon gathering. She had listened to Grant’s pleas, and together the two of them had come up with a plan to help Cora. This afternoon was decisive, and she had followed every procedure in detail to guarantee her success. She had to miss the visit to the park, but the reason was compelling and her role in turning the situation around was central.

  Addy welcomed her friends with great confidence and superior skills. She then waited until tea had refreshed her friends and the cream scones put them in the best of moods before she broached the subject that had brought them there in the first place. Keeping them relaxed was part of her stratagem.

  “Dear ladies, I am so glad you accepted my invitation to tea. It has been far
too long. I have missed your company although I understand everyone is busy with family, trips, and the events of the Season. I do have to confess, however, that I had an ulterior motive too.”

  She drank some tea to steady her nerves and gather her thoughts.

  “A dear friend, a person I care about very much, is in need of help. She would never ask because she is hard-working and correct, but she is also proud. So I decided to take matters into my own hands.”

  “Who is it?” Lady Richfield was sitting at the edge of her seat with her back very straight.

  “My friend is Cora Larsen. And she needs our support.”

  Some of the ladies fell silent while others exchanged looks. Lady Clayton was the first to speak and it seemed she was doing it on behalf of the group. “Mrs. Crofford, we would all love to help, I am sure, but you might be aware that at present, Miss Larsen’s reputation…how shall I put it…precedes her. We couldn’t possibly compromise our good names by association. It is just too much of a social risk. We all depend on our own reputations to be invited, considered, and valued.”

  Lady Bloomfield completed the thought. “Mrs. Crofford. Adele. A woman’s reputation is all she has. Even if these are rumors, it is a very unfortunate situation that could mar our very names.” She found a handkerchief and tapped her forehead with it.

  Addy stood up and walked around to better eye each of them. “Curious things rumors are. If I remember well, Lady Clayton—Agatha—some years ago you were the object of the most despicable and unfounded gossip, and if I also remember correctly, I was one of the first to defend your honor and promenade with you around Hyde Park to show my support and complete trust in you. As for you, dear Charlotte, several of us banded together to rescue those stolen letters that might have compromised your very successful marriage to Lord Bloomfield.”

  Charlotte gulped down her tea.

  “And you are all aware that my own life was almost touched by an invented scandal born out of envy and lies.” She wanted to cry at the mention of this old hurt, but this wasn’t the time. “The issue is women must stick together in sisterhood, especially in face of the malicious actions of others. While gentlemen can be quite ungentle at times, I am sure it wasn’t a man who started this particularly vile piece of gossip, now was it? It just isn’t their style. Women are the ones who like to play games behind the curtains, never realizing that they could be the next to fall. We must stop this nonsense.”