* * *
It was the middle of a workday and Margot was trapped, against her will, two roads down from Milsom Street. While the sign on the shop insisted, in delicate gold letters, that it was a beau jour, she found nothing particularly beau about it. She had a new goldsmith to train and shrinking receipts from a sudden lack of custom. She did not have time to shop.
She swatted at the hands of the seamstress, trying to coax her into yet another style fresh from London, and glared at her sister. ‘I told you, this trip is unnecessary. I have gowns enough. Any of them will do.’
‘You would wear an old gown to your wedding?’ Justine looked at her in amazement. ‘Surely that is bad luck.’
Fine words from a woman who had eloped to Scotland after several months of pretending marriage to the man she eventually wed. Justine had been too much in love to care what she wore to the brief ceremony. And Will Felkirk had been so bewitched, he’d have declared her radiant though she had been wrapped in a grain sack.
Of course, Lord Fanworth was not similarly blinded by love. Someone of his rank probably expected that she would dress for the nuptials. It made her want this even less. ‘The situation is unlucky enough already. I doubt my choice of gown will make it worse.’
‘Nonsense,’ Justine said, turning her sister and unfastening the current unsatisfactory choice. She had all but dragged Margot by the hair to get her to the modiste’s. Perhaps she sought to make up for her own lack of a wedding gown by choosing her sister’s. ‘You got on fine with Fanworth before. Whatever problems you are having now will pass as quickly as they’ve arisen.’
For a moment, Margot felt that fleeting hope as well. It had been so good, when they had just sat together and talked. Of course, that was before she had seen the man he really was. Now, they seemed to get on best when the lights were out and no talking was necessary. But what was she to do with him, when the sun was up? Were they destined for a lifetime of sitting across the breakfast table from each other in uncomfortable silence?
‘At least I will not have to sit in his house, day in, day out, pretending that I am content. I will still have the shop.’ Not really, of course. Once they married, it was his. But surely, he could allow her this one small thing, after casually disrupting her entire life.
‘You are not planning on continuing with this.’ Justine’s expression was incredulous, as though the possibility had never occurred to her.
‘Have I said anything, at any time, about a wish to give it up?’ Surely she had sacrificed enough since meeting Fanworth. She had given him her innocence. She had tarnished her reputation. And now she was marrying him to keep the peace. But she had no intention of moulding herself into a new person, just to gain approval from him or society. It was simply too much to ask.
Justine opened her mouth to argue, then smiled. ‘That is something you must discuss with your husband, not with me. I am only here to find something suitable for a future marchioness to wear to her wedding.’
‘Discuss it with Fanworth? What a ridiculous notion. Once he got what he wanted from me, he no longer had a reason to speak. If there is to be a discussion over my future, I will have both sides of it, while he stands in the corner and glares.’
Her frank admission that there had been something more than polite courting involved in the match caused the seamstress to drop her pins in shock. Then she scooped them up, slipped a few between her lips and pinched them shut in a tight, disapproving line.
And now, if she did not spend according to her new station, there would be more gossip. Margot sighed and pointed to several of the most expensive gowns in the catalogue and requested they be made in equally expensive fabrics.
Justine and the modiste gave mutual sighs of satisfaction, both convinced that they had won the battle of wills.
Perhaps they had. When she did not focus on the reason for the purchase, she was rather enjoying the attention. It had been ages since she’d spent time or money on herself. Since she could afford the purchase, what harm would it do her to look nice?
And she had to admit, if Justine was an indication of this woman’s skill, this shop would be an excellent place to start. Her sister’s gown was neither as gaudy as Mr Montague had encouraged, or as overly simple as she’d chosen for herself. Since she had married, Justine favoured styles that were well cut and elegant, often trimmed with the lace she made with her own hands.
Now that Margot looked at it, the frock they had all but forced her into was really quite charming. A bit of colour in her wardrobe would not be a bad thing. The pale blue of this silk suited her well, though it could have used some sort of ornament on the bodice.
As if she had guessed what Margot was thinking, Justine removed a small parcel from her reticule and set it on the counter in front of them. ‘And you will do me the honour of wearing this as well,’ she said. Then she unwrapped the tissue to reveal the most splendid lace fichu Margot had ever seen. ‘I made it for your wedding day.’
‘But when did you find the time?’ There had to be many hours of work in the little triangle, for the threads that made up the knots were as fine as cobweb.
‘I have been making things for you for years.’ Justine gave an eager smile. ‘Mother’s old trunk is full of them.’
Margot did not like to think of the hundreds of hours her sister must have spent, preparing for a day that she had been doing her best to avoid. It was clear that Justine had pinned all her hopes on a favourable match for her little sister, ending in a proper, church wedding. Despite her misgivings, Margot owed it to her to at least attempt the part of happy bride.
It would be interesting to see Fanworth’s reaction should she appear, for once, smartly turned out. He had only seen her dressed for work.
And naked, of course.
‘Would the mademoiselle like a glass of lemonade? Or water, perhaps. She is quite flushed.’
‘Thank you,’ Margot said, trying to find an explanation for her sudden blush. ‘The stays are just a bit too tight for me.’
‘Of course.’ The woman loosened the lacing and paused in the fitting to bring the promised refreshment.
Margot took a sip, but it did nothing to cool the heat as she thought of the marquess, gazing at her in surprise. Perhaps he would be moved to comment on how well she was looking. Even if he did not respond with the effusive compliments he had paid her in the past, it would be nice to see him smile again.
Or perhaps he would give her the same cold stare he had used lately, as though he could not quite remember what had moved him to speak in the first place.
She dragged her mind back to her sister, who had draped the lace around her shoulders and was tucking it into the neckline of the gown. Margot ran her finger along the picot edge of the scarf. ‘It is too beautiful. With all the trouble I have caused, I am not worthy of such a gift.’
‘You must accept it, for I have made you an entire trousseau,’ Justine said, with a happy sigh. ‘I cannot tell you what a relief it is that you are getting married. I have been planning for this day for as long as I can remember. When I had no hope for my own future, I dreamed of yours. And I made sure that you would have all the things I would not. It gave me hope.’
‘Oh. Thank you.’ Margot took another sip from the crystal glass of lemonade, which seemed overly sweet compared to the bitter taste in her mouth. She’d had only one wish for her own future: a successful jewellery shop where she could design and sell pretty things she had not even planned