‘You won’t tell anyone, will you?’ She didn’t want her shame to reflect on Philip.
‘Miss Townsend, a modiste’s first task is to help her clients choose flattering dresses to best emphasise their assets.’ She tugged Laura’s bodice back down into place, revealing more of the tops of Laura’s breasts. ‘A modiste’s second task is to listen to her client’s problems and offer advice. I assure you, I’m very skilled in both.’
Laura examined Mrs Fairley, sure that Philip wouldn’t hire any woman to dress his sister or his future wife who wasn’t both an excellent seamstress and discreet. Given the things Jane had already told Laura and her mother in the short time they’d been here, she could only imagine what the girl must reveal during her private fittings with Mrs Fairley.
What was Laura prepared to reveal? She fingered the small ribbon pinned beneath her bust line while Mrs Fairley waited, as patient as she was buxom. She wore a demure light-blue cotton gown of superior weave with a high chemisette rimmed with delicate French lace. Beneath her generous breasts she’d wrapped a yellow cord, tying the knot just under the small separation almost visible through the sheer netting covering them. It was tasteful yet alluring, the pale blue of the dress matching her soft blue eyes, the yellow of the cord mimicking the rich gold tones of her hair. If there was anyone who might know how to turn a man’s head with subtlety, it was this woman.
‘What do you know of Mr Rathbone?’ Laura began cautiously, still unsure how much she should reveal, if anything. Surely Mrs Fairley would think it odd for Laura to seek advice on capturing the attention of a man she was already betrothed to.
‘He’s a very fine gentleman.’ Mrs Fairly selected a piece of wide netting from a nearby table. It was embroidered with the same flowers as Laura’s dress and she draped it over Laura’s shoulders to make a fichu. ‘A little stiff in the breeches, but his heart is in the right place.’
‘How do you know he has a good heart?’ She hoped it wasn’t for the reason flitting through her mind, but with the slender gold band encircling Mrs Fairley’s finger, she suspected the attractive modiste had discovered Philip’s better qualities in a less sensual way.
Mrs Fairley stepped back and the glowing smile which had graced her face since she’d first greeted Laura faltered around the corners. ‘My husband, John, was a soldier. He was injured at the Battle of Waterloo. He recovered, but it took a great deal of time and I was forced to put aside my business to nurse him. Once he was well, the war with France was over and, with all the soldiers coming home, he couldn’t find work. We fell into debt and were on the verge of losing everything. Mr Rathbone loaned me the money I needed to rebuild my business, sent me new clients and, as you can see, has been most generous with his patronage.’
All Laura’s objections to the number of items on Philip’s list vanished. Mrs Fairley needed the money as much as Laura once had.
Mrs Fairley chose a ribbon from the selection laid out next to the completed gowns and held it up to Laura’s face, judging the colour against her skin. ‘My husband has found a new life helping me manage my business, keeping accounts and dealing with inventory while I continue to see to clients. Without Mr Rathbone’s help, I don’t know what would have happened to us.’
Mrs Fairley’s voice wavered and Laura recognised her fear of what might have happened whispering through the soft-spoken words. Laura had felt it, too, many times herself in Seven Dials, when each passing day had made their situation worse and lessened Laura’s options for changing it.
Mrs Fairley wiped away the tears glistening in the corners of her eyes and fixed a bright smile back on her face. ‘What of you? Are you excited for your wedding?’
Now it was Laura’s turn to be honest. ‘I’m unsure.’
‘Unsure?’
Laura was unable to believe what she was about to reveal, but speaking to a married woman closer to her age proved too tempting to resist. ‘What do you know of my betrothal to Mr Rathbone?’
Mrs Fairley flipped out the skirt to make it lie better, then examined the line of the hem. ‘I know it was sudden and unexpected.’
‘It was far more than that.’
While Mrs Fairley knelt down to adjust the pins, Laura told her the story of threatening Philip and the strange proposal. At first Mrs Fairley continued to work but the more Laura revealed, the more the modiste sat back on her heels to listen, her work forgotten.
At last Laura finished, barely able to hear her voice over the noise of her heart beating in her ears. If Mrs Fairley wasn’t as discreet as she claimed, if she told every client she possessed about Laura and Philip’s betrothal and if he heard of it, she wasn’t sure how he would react. She couldn’t imagine him being pleased, nor doing anything but hardening him against her and their impending marriage. The task of capturing his heart was daunting enough without her creating more obstacles.
Mrs Fairley clapped her hands together, her eyes round with amazement. ‘If I hadn’t heard it from his intended myself, I never would have guessed Mr Rathbone harboured such romantic tendencies.’
Laura nearly fell off the stool. ‘It isn’t romantic. It’s a deal, a bargain.’
‘He might have dressed it up in such terms to fool himself and you, but it isn’t the real reason for this hasty wedding.’
No. A man who knew his mind so well, who controlled himself with the precision of a tightrope walker like the one she’d once seen in Vauxhall Gardens did not need to invent such excuses to fool himself. Yet hadn’t her father created a hundred of them to maintain faith in Laura’s uncle? He’d been too honest and giving to realise how wicked his brother really was. Until the end, he’d held on to the idea Robert was still the young boy he’d once protected from street bullies, the one he’d felt guilty leaving when he’d left to apprentice with the draper. ‘Perhaps you’re right?’
‘Oh, I know I am.’ Mrs Fairley jumped to her feet, her excitement genuine. Her curls bounced as she snatched the fichu off Laura’s neck. ‘And I will do all I can to help prove it.’
The cold air sweeping over the tops of Laura’s breasts startled her and she moved to tug up the gown again before Mrs Fairley caught her hands.
‘You’ll catch his attention with it lower, I promise you. And when you approach him, don’t scowl with worry. Soften your face.’ She pressed her thumb to the crease between Laura’s eyebrows, smoothing out the skin. ‘He’s a confident man and obviously drawn to your confidence.’
‘My confidence?’
‘Any woman brave enough to threaten him with a pistol is most certainly confident.’
Laura would have called it desperation, but if Mrs Fairley and Philip wanted to believe otherwise, then she’d let them.
Mrs Fairley looked over the selection of dresses, tapping one finger against her chin. ‘When will you see him next?’
‘Dinner. He’s quite busy today.’
Mrs Fairley selected a pale, rose-coloured silk dress and held it up to Laura. ‘Then we’ll make it a meal he won’t soon forget.’
* * *
The rich scent of sage and cooked chicken drew Laura to the dining room. Her stomach growled, reminding her how late she was for dinner. She’d sent Mary down earlier to ask Philip and the others to start without her. Given how hungry Laura was, she didn’t want to keep others from their meal. However, neither tardiness nor hunger pangs were strong enough to stop her from pausing at the mirror hanging in the hallway to admire again the changes Mrs Fairley had wrought.
She and the young modiste had gone well over their appointed time together. A few stitches through the shoulders of the pale rose-hued dress had tightened the bust, bringing the silk up snug against Laura’s breasts. Then Mrs Fairley had arranged Laura’s hair, sweeping it up off the