Temptation of a Proper Governess

by Cathy Maxwell

  Twelve

  Isabel spent the most amazing day, and it wouldn’t have been half as enjoyable if not for Wallis.

  She was, indeed, Michael’s sister-in-law. Isabel was more than a bit embarrassed that she didn’t know very much about the family, a situation Wallis excused with a breezy, “Men never pay attention to the details.”

  “Now, hurry and dress. One doesn’t keep Madame Beaumain waiting,” her sister-in-law said. “And please call me Wallis. We are sisters now.” She gifted Isabel with a brilliant smile before leaving the room.

  A sister. Isabel wanted a sister or even a close female friend who was her age. Wallis was older, but she had a youthful spirit and, just then, when her marriage appeared to be a mess, Isabel appreciated the woman’s diversion.

  She also remembered, while she was washing her face, she’d heard of Madame Beaumain before. The duchess had used her and had once been in the foulest of moods because Madame had refused to make a costume for her to wear to a special ball. The duchess had made an offhand comment that had insulted Madame. It had taken weeks of gift buying and wheedling for the duchess to get back into Madame’s good graces.

  As Isabel pulled her forest green wool over her head, the dress she had married in, she knew she would not meet Madame’s exacting standards.

  Downstairs, Bolling hovered in the hallway with a worried expression on his face while a line of dressmaker assistants paraded in and out through the door carrying bolts of silks and muslins.

  Madame stood in the door between the hall and the sitting room. She was a thin woman dressed in dark blue, with her hair in a tight bun and a mouth perpetually pinched as if she sucked lemons all the time. She watched Isabel come down the stairs, her disapproval plain.

  “Hello,” Isabel said. “Thank you for coming.” She was so nervous, she almost offered her hand.

  “I don’t know if it is worth my time,” Madame said bluntly. Her nasal voice gave her words a nasty tone.

  Isabel was too shocked to comment.

  Fortunately, Wallis was not intimidated. She sat on the settee in the sitting room surrounded by pattern books and stacks of material and looking completely at ease. Looking up from the French fashion gazette she’d been perusing, she asked, “Hasn’t Mr. Severson paid you in advance?”

  Madame stiffened. “You know this?”

  “I know,” Wallis said, meeting Madame’s gaze with a guileless one of her own. “He has paid a fortune for your time, Madame. Knowing your reputation, you’ve probably charged him three times your costs to come to the house.”

  “I would do no such thing.”

  “Of course not,” Wallis drawled with patent disbelief. She wore emerald earrings the size of Isabel’s small finger.

  Even Madame’s assistants were dressed more finely than Isabel.

  Wallis held the magazine up for Madame to see. “What do you think of this style, Madame? Beneath those dowdy clothes, my sister-in-law is a true beauty. She will do justice to your creations, unlike the others. Women who can afford your prices are usually old and plump. Some of them look positively like cows in your creations. My sister-in-law will do you justice. I may even take her with me to Countess Varvarinski’s rout next week. I promise, if I do and she is in one of your dresses, everyone will be in your shop the next day.”

  “Including the Countess Varvarinski?” Madame’s beady gaze gleamed with avarice. She motioned for Isabel to enter the room. “Stop there, in the light.” She walked around Isabel, looking her over from head to toe. “I could do wonders with her.”

  “Only you could make her what she could be,” Wallis agreed.

  There was a moment of suspense, then, with a sharp clap of her hands, Madame said, “Tiens, it will be done! Undress her. We must see her form.”

  Two of Madame’s three assistants scurried to bring her will to fruition.

  “Please, shut the door,” Isabel begged, fearing they would strip her down in front of Bolling.

  Wallis stopped them before they closed the door. “Wait, Mrs. Severson has not broken her fast and I admit I could eat a bit of something. What of you, Madame?”

  “I could eat,” the Frenchwoman said.

  “Good,” Wallis said. “Bolling, is it?”

  Bolling nodded. He appeared as bedazzled by Wallis as Isabel was, especially when her ladyship bestowed upon him her radiant smile. “We will need some mulled wine, tepid, not hot. It’s good for the digestion,” she informed Isabel and Madame before continuing with her order. “Tea and perhaps some biscuits. I always prefer to eat light in the morning.”

  Isabel and Madame murmured that they did, too.

  “However, for luncheon,” Wallis said, “there is that stylish little shop no more than two blocks from here, Berry’s.”

  “I know the place, my lady,” Bolling said.

  “They have the most incredible Portuguese ham, which they slice very thin. I’m quite partial to it, and their peaches they jar in syrup and cloves. Let us have that. Oh, yes, and next door is a marvelous bakery.”

  “I know that bakery,” Madame said approvingly.

  “I want some of their buns. Tell Emma, the shop girl, you are shopping for me, and she will know exactly what I wish. But they must be hot. Whoever you send to fetch these things should know not to return without fresh, hot buns.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “Doesn’t my husband have a cook?” Isabel dared to ask.

  “Yes, ma’am—” Bolling said, but Wallis overrode him.

  “Cooks are passé. Is that not true, Madame?”

  “C’est vrai.”

  “And today is a special day,” Wallis said, leaning back on the settee. “We should all treat ourselves. I am certain my brother-in-law would not mind.”

  “I don’t think he would,” Isabel agreed, and even if he did, she was still very angry with him. A decent lunch was the least he could do.

  “Then it is decided,” Wallis said happily. Bolling started from the room, but her voice called, “Wait a moment. Isabel, do you have a maid?” As an aside to Madame, Wallis explained, “She’s just arrived from the country. You know how difficult it is for country servants to make the change to city ways.”

  “Impossible,” Madame answered with a world-weary shrug.

  “Isabel must have a maid,” Wallis declared. “Bolling, send someone to my address and tell Becky to come. I told her there might be a possibility we will need her here. You will like her, Isabel. She’s young but eager to learn. My Annie has been training for this past year. Becky has such a way with hair.”

  “Thank you,” Isabel said.

  “What are sisters for?” Wallis said.

  What indeed? Wallis must have sensed her feelings because she held out her hand for Isabel to take. “Now,” she said turning her attention back to the pattern books, “I believe Isabel must have something made in that soft ivory muslin over there. And she definitely needs a dress for this evening.”

  “What is this evening?” Isabel asked.

  “You are dining with us. A small family occasion. Didn’t Michael tell you?”

  Isabel didn’t want to share that she and Michael had had a fight, and she felt slightly foolish not knowing his plans at all. “He left early this morning,” she said.

  “And you are newly wed,” Wallis said. “Thoughts of family dinners are second place in a new marriage. Is that not so true, Madame?”

  “Vrai, vrai,” the Frenchwoman agreed.

  “So, do you like this ivory muslin?” Wallis asked Isabel.

  “I do.”

  “And don’t you think this green-and-lavender tissue shot through with gold threads would make a lovely foil. You know, as a shawl, something light?” Wallis asked.

  “Of course,” Isabel said, finding the colors dazzling. The material must cost a fortune.

  “This is the first dress, Madame,” Wallis said. “You must have it ready this afternoon in this pattern so that my sister-in-law can wear it tonight. Her husba
nd will be stunned when he sees her in it and will probably order many more dresses from you.”

  “There are expenses to doing a dress in a day,” Madame said.

  “Of course there are,” Wallis agreed. “Discuss that with my brother-in-law. In the meantime, you need to collect Isabel’s measurements. And, Bolling, why are you still here?”

  Realizing he’d been dismissed, Bolling left to see to Wallis’s wishes. Isabel placed herself in Madame’s and Wallis’s capable hands. It was not the easiest of endeavors. She was undressed and poked and prodded while everything was ordered from smallclothes to evening dresses.

  Wallis had no hesitation about spending Michael’s money. She seemed to know what he was worth down to the penny—and if what she thought was true, Michael was far more wealthy than Isabel could ever have imagined.

  They drank tea and mulled wine in the morning, feasted on a delightful lunch, and nibbled on cheese and fruit all afternoon. The maid Becky arrived. She seemed a willing young woman, anxious to prove her mettle.

  From time to time, Wallis would order something from Madame for herself. Not dresses but scarves, shoes…a petticoat.

  The first time she did it, Madame raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I can place this on your outstanding account?” she suggested.

  “Oh no, I’m certain my brother-in-law would wish to cover this himself. You know how difficult my husband can be.”

  “Mais oui,” Madame answered, her expression one of disbelief. Obviously, she didn’t fear offending Wallis over money. “What do you think, Madame Severson?” she asked Isabel.

  Wallis had done so much for her; Isabel couldn’t imagine Michael would mind. She could not have handled Madame by herself.

  And let Michael discover a wife wasn’t just some tool for his own uses. Let him realize he was getting more than he bargained for!

  “Of course, my husband wants Lady Jemison to have the scarf,” Isabel said. “In fact, I believe she should have five of them, including one made out of that tissue she liked so much earlier.”

  “The one for your shawl?” Madame queried.

  “Let me have the same fabric,” Wallis said smoothly, “but in different colors. Then we shall complement each other,” she told Isabel, and so it was done. After that, though, neither Wallis nor Madame asked permission. It was assumed.

  Isabel had too many other decisions to make to worry. There were stockings and shoes to order, cloaks and wraps, undergarments of all sorts, and dresses—carriage dresses, opera dresses, dresses to promenade in, dresses to dance in, dresses for sitting at home. The whole affair was both exhausting and exhilarating—but worth every moment when, late in the afternoon, one of Madame’s assistants returned with the ivory muslin made into a dress.

  The lines were simple but the color brought out the creaminess in Isabel’s skin. It had been trimmed in lavender and green ribbons, and when she put it on she felt as if she’d changed into a princess.

  “Do you have the right shoes for it?” Wallis asked.

  “I have a pair of kid slippers,” she said, thinking of the ones that had belonged to her mother.

  “Good, then you are ready for this evening.” Wallis rose from the settee where she had spent much of the day directing things. Madame and her assistants were packing.

  Isabel took Wallis’s hand. “Thank you. I could not have handled her by myself.”

  Wallis smiled and gave her a wink. “Madame will do anything for money.” She leaned closer. “Speaking of which, do you have the money for the vails?”

  “The what?”

  “The gratuities for her assistants?” Wallis whispered.

  “I must pay them.”

  “A little something, especially since they are in your home.”

  Isabel thought of the meager hoard of coins in her purse. “Yes, I can get some.” She started for the door, but Wallis, still holding her hand, pulled her back.

  “Send Becky.”

  “Yes, Becky,” Isabel agreed overwhelmed. The maid was already on her way out of the room. Apparently, while Isabel had been trying on clothes, the clever maid had been familiarizing herself with the house and Isabel’s possessions. She was back in a blink with Isabel’s cloth purse.

  The vails were appreciated. Isabel wasn’t certain whom to tip. She didn’t believe Madame was eligible and yet, the dressmaker held out her hand.

  There wasn’t much money left by the time she was done.

  “You appear exhausted,” Wallis observed after the dressmakers had left. “Perhaps you should have Becky rub your feet.”

  “What I’d really like is a bath,” Isabel confessed.

  “Becky?” Wallis prompted, and the maid hurried to see it was done.

  Wallis gave Isabel an indulgent smile. “You aren’t accustomed to servants, but you soon will be. Michael must hire more. Your staff is absolutely down to the bare bones. And furniture! You must buy furniture. I know a wonderful decorator. He’s brilliant. By the way, Becky’s wages are twenty-five pounds a year and an allowance for board.”

  “That high?” Isabel had been fortunate to be paid that as a governess.

  “A good lady’s maid is worth her weight in sterling,” Wallis assured her. “Now, let me be on my way. I have much to do before this evening.” To Bolling, who hovered outside in the foyer, she said, “Call a hack for me.”

  The butler hurried to comply. Isabel wished she had Wallis’s sophistication, especially around servants.

  Her sister-in-law placed her green velvet hat on her head at a rakish angle and picked up her gloves and shawl, moving with elegant ease.

  Bolling came in. “I have a vehicle for you, my lady.”

  Wallis acknowledged him with a shrug. “Until this evening, dear sister. Half past eight,” she said, taking Isabel’s hand for another sisterly squeeze.

  “Are Michael’s sisters as kind as you?” Isabel asked.

  A look of doubt crossed Wallis’s face, but she answered, “I will let you form your own opinions on Margaret and Sarah. However, I believe you and I shall be the best of friends.”

  “I’d like that.”

  “So would I. Other than my children, I have no one close.”

  “Not even your husband?”

  Wallis’s smile froze on her face. “Of course, we are close.”

  There was something there, something that perhaps, in time, Isabel would learn about her. But at present, she wouldn’t pry. “What are your children’s names?”

  “I have two sons,” she said proudly. “Jeremy and Wallace. That last is a bit of vanity,” she said, referring to her second child’s name. “I was named after my father Wallace, and it seemed right to carry his name forward.”

  “I’m certain your son is proud to bear it,” Isabel said, walking with Wallis to the door. “It’s an honor to be able to claim your lineage.”

  “I like you, Isabel,” Wallis said. She gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Until this evening.”

  “Yes,” Isabel said.

  Wallis took a step toward the door and stopped. “By the by, do you have a bit of coin for the hack. I left my funds at home.”

  “Well, yes…I do.” Isabel handed over to Wallis the last of her savings.

  Wallis didn’t touch the money. She gave Bolling a pointed look, and the butler stepped forward. He went outside to pay the driver.

  “It was a wonderful day, Isabel. À bientôt!” Wallis went out the door.

  Isabel stood in the hallway, feeling as if a whirlwind had struck and gone. She had no idea where Michael was or when he would return. She assumed he’d be home before half past eight—

  She remembered her bath, and her spirits lifted. She went up to her room to find Becky busy making preparations. The maid had located a very deep tub, had set it up in the bedroom, and had organized the heating of water in the kitchen.

  “I can’t locate your scented soaps, ma’am,” she said.

  Because I don’t have any Isabel could have said, but didn’t. She
was aware of how unsophisticated she must appear to the Londoners—including the maid.

  Tactfully, Becky suggested, “There is a shop around the corner that sells Lady Jemison’s favorite scents. Do you wish me to run out and purchase some for your bath?”

  “It’s that close?”

  “Ma’am,” Becky said, “in this section of the city everything is close. The shopkeepers want to cater to the people who own houses in Mayfair.”

  That made sense. Still, Isabel had another problem. “I don’t have any money,” she admitted.

  “You don’t need any. I’m certain the perfumer will extend credit. Lady Jemison never uses money. She says it is de trop.”

  Isabel doubted if Becky knew what de trop meant. And her country common sense warned her that money was a commodity that would never go out of style. Still, the idea of scented soaps was very appealing.

  “See what you can do,” she told Becky with a fair imitation of Wallis’s breezy air. The maid didn’t have to be told twice.

  An hour later, Isabel found herself luxuriating in a warm bath scented with the attar of rose petals and Mediterranean peach kernels. She’d never thought of such a combination, but it made for a heady fragrance that soothed away all the pressures building in her mind.

  Her intention had been to bathe quickly. She’d posted Becky at the top of the stairs with instructions to inform her as soon as Michael stepped into the house.

  They had to talk.

  She wasn’t certain what she would say. The marriage could not be annulled, not with the activity they had been practicing over the past week…

  Perhaps if she discovered she wasn’t with child, they could manage something.

  The thought made her sad. Her poor marriage. Over before it had even begun.

  She sank into the fragrant water, wishing she could disappear—

  Becky gave a knock on the door before entering. “Ma’am, your husband is home.”

  Michael was most anxious to see his wife. It had been a frustrating day. The paperwork and accounting had been endless. Their man of business Fitzhugh had cornered him with numerous questions that begged only Michael’s attention.