by Diana Quincy
“Nothing gray, black, brown, or boring,” the duke interjected in all of his arrogant splendor. He wore a superfine navy tailcoat and matching paisley waistcoat that complemented his tall form. His long legs, which were still in fine shape as far as Isabel could tell, were gloved in tailored buff breeches. Despite his debauched habits, the man radiated elegance and breeding, which just went to show how much of an imprint one’s upbringing could have on a person.
“Perhaps navy,” Isabel said kindly to the modiste, making what she thought was a game attempt to hide her annoyance at the scapegrace’s managing nature.
“No,” he pronounced. “That will not do at all. Too dull.”
“But you are wearing navy,” Isabel protested while keeping one eye on the girls, who were weaving in and out of her sight among the display tables and fabrics.
“Be that as it may. Navy on a female is far too dreary. And I’ve had enough of your gloomy vestments. I will not have my wards driven to despair due to your sullen appearance.”
Isabel’s blood began to boil. How dare the insufferable man question her wardrobe choices while he hosted amusements that specifically required guests to arrive scandalously attired. “I dress perfectly appropriately for a governess. Do not mistake me for one of your flashy—” She caught herself before making an indiscreet comment.
Mrs. Bell had the good sense to excuse herself for the moment. “I’ll go and get some fashion plates, shall I? Then you”—she darted a careful look between the two of them—“can both have a look.” With that, she bowed herself away and left them.
The duke’s eyes twinkled. They really were a glorious silver color. “Do finish your thought, Finch. I’m all ears.”
“I realize you are not overly familiar with governesses.” She made every effort to moderate her tone. “However, we are required to dress respectably.”
“Does ‘respectable’ mean boring?”
“It means I am to be modest and conduct myself in an unobtrusive manner.”
“I am your employer, and I do not require you to hide in the shadows. Besides, I don’t like looking at drab things.”
She took a deep breath to settle her mounting exasperation. “If you are so anxious to dress something up, I suggest you procure a Little Fanny paper doll like the one Prudie has.”
“I’ve no need for paper females.” He cast her a wolfish smile. “I have plenty of flesh-and-blood women to dress and undress as I see fit.”
“Do not mistake me for one of your doxies,” she snapped, finally losing what little patience she had in reserve.
“Calm yourself, Finch, there’s absolutely no chance I’ll mistake you for one of my companions in bed sport.”
She felt her cheeks burn at his unsubtle insult. It was not as if she cared that he obviously found her lacking in feminine appeal. Isabel knew she was not a stunning woman or even a very pretty one. But she was also confident in the knowledge that she had certain charms that were attractive to men. She just never bothered to waste them on this knave.
“Choose any color you like,” he was saying. “As long as it’s not brown, black, or boring.”
“Or navy.”
“Quite. No navy.”
Mrs. Bell rejoined them, having apparently determined the atmosphere had settled enough to return to the purpose of their visit. She set an armful of fashion plates on the table between two comfortable chairs. “There are a number of designs to choose from. Feel free to select details from different designs that can be incorporated into one gown. And, of course,” she added, “you may choose any color you like from among the fabrics in the shop.”
“Pink!” Prudie popped up from behind several bolts of fabric piled onto a nearby display table. “Try pink, Izzy. You’ll look like a fairy-tale princess.”
“I’m not certain pink is a flattering color on me,” she said warmly to the girl.
“Why not?” Prudie looked at Sunderford. “Don’t you think she would look like a princess in pink, Cousin Adam?”
The miscreant grinned. “I think Finch would look excellent in pink.”
“I assure you, I would not,” she said tightly. She did not care for pink. Back when she used to wear what she liked, she favored metallic colors and vibrant blues.
“How would you know?” the duke pressed, clearly amusing himself at her expense in Prudie’s presence. “Those dreary gowns you currently sheathe yourself in are certainly not your color.”
“I do have a pink gown that is about Miss Finch’s size,” Mrs. Bell interjected. “However, it is a day dress and not appropriate for a ball. The patron who ordered it had to leave for the country unexpectedly due to a family emergency, and she doesn’t expect to return to Town for many months so it is available for purchase.”
Hope lit Prudie’s sweet eyes. “Won’t you try it, Izzy? Puleeeeeeze.”
Sunderford settled himself in one of the chairs and crossed one long leg over the opposite knee. “Yes, do, Finch. You wouldn’t want to disappoint the brat, would you?”
Isabel resisted the urge to roll her eyes. As if the reprobate cared about upsetting the children.
Patience crawled out from under a table and leapt to her feet. “Pink is ridiculous,” she announced. “I think you should wear a smart riding costume such as the ones that resemble a soldier’s uniform.”
“You’re silly,” Prudie said to her sister. “You cannot wear a riding costume to a ball!”
“That is true.” Isabel spoke to both children. “Dressing appropriately for an occasion is extraordinarily important for young ladies of your class and rank.”
Patience made a face. “I will never wear pink.”
Isabel fought the urge to laugh. “Fortunately for you,” she said briskly, “there are many agreeable options for young ladies of quality. You will never be required to wear pink.”
“I want to wear pink!” Prudie protested.
Isabel smiled and shook her head. “And so you shall. As young ladies, you will have an assortment of colors to select from, including pink…and many other shades.”
“How about you, Izzy?” Prudence pressed. “Will you try on the pink dress? Will you?”
“Perhaps,” she said to appease the child. “I will try it on just for you. Although we won’t be purchasing it because it is not a ball grown and that’s what we’re here for.”
“I still think a riding costume is better,” Patience grumbled.
Prudie clapped her hands together. “Huzzah! She’s going to wear a pink princess dress.”
Isabel looked through the fashion plates, a uniquely pleasurable experience she’d been denied for many years. It had been forever since she’d paid any attention to the latest fashions. Balls and ball gowns had once been a large part of her life, and she felt her enthusiasm for them returning.
Mrs. Bell pointed to a sketch. “Perhaps this in a dark green.”
“No, I think not.” Isabel moved to the next fashion plate. “Green doesn’t suit me. Perhaps a bright blue to bring out the color of my eyes.”
“As long as it’s not navy,” the duke interjected.
“Of course, Your Grace,” Mrs. Bell said.
Isabel made a point of ignoring him. “And a shorter sleeve,” she said to the modiste. “Nothing too full. Too much fabric overwhelms my form.”
“Yes, I can see that,” Mrs. Bell murmured. “You are very trim. You’d get lost in too much fabric.”
“Exactly.” She pointed to some beading on one of the fashion plates. “A little ornamentation about the neckline looks well on me also.”
A shopgirl brought over several bolts of fabric with some trimmings and lace. Isabel’s eye immediately went to a cerulean blue silk. “This fabric will do quite nicely.” She lost herself in choosing the details for her gown, and within a few minutes they’d settled on the fabric, sty
le, and trimmings.
“Now we must get your measurements,” Mrs. Bell said.
As Isabel followed the woman to the dressing area, Prudie called out, “Don’t forget to try on the pink dress.”
Isabel undressed and stood still as her measurements were taken. When they were done, she donned the pink day dress. It was nowhere near as fussy as Isabel had feared. It was pale pink over white, trimmed in lace and ornamented with tiny matching roses. She paused for a moment, regarding herself in the looking glass while Mrs. Bell tied the matching sash and fussed over the bow. It had been a long time since Isabel had dressed to please herself…or to attract a man.
Not since Ben.
A wave of nostalgia washed over her. During their brief time together, she’d felt that she had a true family again for the first time since her parents’ deaths. What would he think of her now? Would he blame her for the mess she’d made of things? Isabel certainly castigated herself enough for the both of them. That temper will get you into trouble one day, he’d told her more than once with a mixture of fondness and exasperation. Oh, Ben. A sense of loss and longing sliced through her. He’d been right, as always. If she’d heeded Ben’s warning, she wouldn’t be here now—a lowly governess at the mercy of a wastrel duke.
“All is ready,” chirped Mrs. Bell from behind her. “Would you like to go out and see if His Grace approves?”
Isabel couldn’t care less about pleasing the deviate. She’d tried the gown on for Prudie and Prudie alone. The last thing she desired was for Mrs. Bell to assume that Isabel was Sunderford’s light skirt. “I hope you haven’t misunderstood. I am solely the children’s governess. That is where my duties and involvement with the duke begin and end.”
The other woman smiled kindly. “Oh, I comprehend, my dear. Not to worry. I can discern the difference between a strumpet and a lady of quality.”
“He does bring his ladybirds in here for you to outfit?”
“It wouldn’t be right for me to talk about His Grace. His custom is very important to my shop.” She pulled open the curtain to the dressing area. “But let me just reassure you that you are nothing like the other…women…His Grace has brought to my shop.”
Curiosity got the better of Isabel. “Have there been many of them?”
Mrs. Bell chuckled as she led Isabel back to the shop floor. “Oh, my dear, you have no idea.”
* * *
—
“Does Finch have a riding costume?” Sunny asked Patience.
“Oh, yes, but it is old.” With her arms stretched out straight to her sides for balance, Patience seemed to be walking an imaginary ledge as she gingerly placed one small booted foot in front of the other. “Governesses don’t have a great deal of money.”
“Did she tell you that?” Relaxed back in his chair, Sunny anchored his elbow on the armrest and propped his chin atop his fist.
“Mmm hmm.” She executed a crisp about-face and made her way back in his direction, still walking the same nonexistent ledge. “Besides, everyone knows governesses are poor.”
Sunny contemplated the child’s words. It became clear to him today just how far Finch had fallen from grace. The way she’d danced in the music room and the self-assuredness with which she’d selected a design for her ball gown were not the actions of a long-impoverished gentlewoman. Finch had once enjoyed wealth and status—that much was clear to him now. And her manner—especially when she wasn’t guarding every word and expression—suggested those halcyon days hadn’t occurred too long ago.
Prudence came over, chin tucked to her chest, her head tilted as she looked at Sunny. Wondering what she wanted, he raised a questioning eyebrow at her. She pursed her plump pink lips bashfully and wedged herself beside him.
He frowned at being crowded. “There’s a perfectly good chair over there.” He gestured toward the matching chair opposite him.
She mumbled something very quietly.
“What? You’ll have to speak up if you expect me to hear you.”
She barely raised her voice but he thought he heard her say, “I want to sit with you.”
That made absolutely no sense when a comfortable seat was available. These children had a great deal to learn. “You are crowding me. Dukes are not meant to be crowded.” When she only snuggled closer, he shifted to face her, intending to lift the child’s diminutive form out of his seat and deposit her in the other chair.
Then Finch reappeared, trailed by a beaming Mrs. Bell and a shop assistant.
“Oh, Izzy.” Prudence stared at the nanny with childish wonder. “You do look like a princess! I knew you would.”
Sunny frowned. “I wouldn’t go that far.” He sat forward in the chair to get a better look at the she-dragon, prompting Prudence to squirm with discomfort beside him. Despite being aggravated that the child was still impinging upon his comfort, he edged a bit away to give her more room. “But I agree with Prudence that this frock is a definite improvement over those sacks you normally wrap yourself in.”
“It’s pink.” Patience delivered the statement like a verdict and resumed her ledge walking.
“She looks beautiful,” Prudence countered.
“Thank you, my darling,” Finch said to the child.
The harpy definitely looked better than usual, but the fact of the matter was that Finch was no beauty and never would be. However, the gown did flatter her slender form and the décolletage suggested she possessed at least a little bit of bosom.
“We’ll take that in addition to the ball gown,” Sunny announced.
Finch frowned. “I don’t need a day dress.”
“Believe me when I tell you that you do.” He didn’t care one bit if the termagant objected. “And one more thing.” He pointed to the bolt of pink fabric that had so entranced Prudence. “We’ll also make use of that to create a matching dress for Miss Prudence here.”
Prudence squealed with delight and launched herself at him with such force she might have punctured his lung. “Thank you, thank you!” she said, hugging him tightly.
He patted her awkwardly on the back. “Yes, yes. Enough of that. Shows of affection are just not done.” He glared at the governess who, along with Mrs. Bell and the shop assistant, had paused to watch the exchange with amused interest. “Is it not your job to teach these children proper comportment?” he snapped at Finch.
“Showing appreciation and gratitude for a gift is proper behavior.” She turned her attention back to discussing the procurement of matching slippers to go with her gown, leaving Sunny to fend off the little brat’s assault by himself.
Chapter 9
“Sunderford escorted you to the modiste?” Lady Abigail Drummond threw her head back with a throaty laugh. “How delicious! The girls at the shop must have taken you for his latest doxy.”
Isabel scowled at her friend. “It isn’t amusing. Not in the least.” But she had been touched when Sunderford had ordered the matching dress for Prudence and a riding costume for Patience.
“Oh, it most certainly is amusing.” Sitting with her legs tucked under her and her slender arm draped over the back of the sofa, Abigail didn’t appear the least bit repentant. “And the old Coco would have thought so as well.”
It was Isabel’s Sunday afternoon off, and the two women were in Abigail’s upstairs sitting room settled at opposite ends of Abigail’s comfortable damask sofa.
“The old Coco was a fool,” Isabel responded, recalling the spoiled, rebellious girl she’d been in her youth. “And unbelievably arrogant,” she added. “I thought nothing could touch me, which is how I’ve ended up in this predicament.”
“If you’d only stop being so stubborn and allow my father to help you.”
“No, Abbie.” She spoke forcefully. “You’ve already given me the letter of recommendation for Sunderford, which was a great help. I need to make my own way now. Your
family has done enough to assist me.”
“Mama and Papa were happy to take you in after your parents died. And I’m ever so pleased that they did. You are the sister I never had. And Mama and Papa adore you.”
Isabel smiled. She was very fond of Abigail’s parents, Lord and Lady Denbury. “Your family gave me a place to belong and I’m forever grateful, but I cannot take advantage of Denbury’s kindness forever.”
“It’s Ben’s family that should be looking after you.” Anger blazed in Abigail’s eyes. “They ought to be ashamed of themselves. Casting their son’s widow out as they did.”
“Many would say they had good reason to cast me out, that my behavior justified it.”
“Ballocks!” Abigail had a filthy tongue when among friends, which was at odds with her aloof, doll-like appearance. The viscount’s daughter was a true beauty with auburn hair and blue eyes as dazzling as the Mediterranean Sea. Abigail could have wed as high as she liked—perhaps even a royal duke—but she’d chosen Harvey Drummond, the average-looking third son of an earl in a love match. And, as far as Isabel could tell, the two remained as besotted with each other as ever. “You cannot blame yourself.”
“I see your tongue is as scandalous as ever.”
“Fortunately, Harvey loves me as I am,” Abigail said with a saucy smile that Isabel could not help returning. “So this ball gown, the one the decadent duke ordered for you…please tell me it’s obscene or at the very least, completely indecent.”
“It is nothing of the sort. I selected the fabric and the design so it’s very tasteful. Also, the duke insisted on purchasing a day gown for me that’s rather sweet.”
“Sweet? Ugh.” She groaned. “How boring.”
“You make it sound as if I used to make a practice of parading around half-naked. This gown is pink.” Isabel reached for her tea on the low table before them. “Prudence chose it.”
“That explains it. You’re a terrible governess. You allow those children to rule you.”
“Sunderford would disagree. He believes I’m far too strict and intent on stripping their lives of any fun or pleasure.” She took a sip of the aromatic liquid. “But at least he doesn’t suspect that this is my first post as a governess.”