“Nevertheless you have possibilities, we will have to take you in hand and see what can be done. You cannot wear your hair in that old-fashioned untidy fashion and as for that dress, well, it must have come out of the Ark.”
“It is rather old,” Gardenia admitted.
“And you cannot wear black if you stay here with me. It is too depressing. It will make you look too much like a poor relation and that is enough to put any man off. No, Gardenia. If I am to find you a husband, you will have to have proper clothes and look, as everyone will expect you to, like my niece and doubtless, as I have no children, my heir.”
“Oh Aunt Lily! I should not expect anything like that,” Gardenia protested.
“My dear, it is not such an asset as it sounds. I may be a Duchesse and rich, but there are a number of people in Paris who will not be particularly effusive at meeting you for that very reason.”
“But surely, Aunt Lily, as a Duchesse, you must be terribly important and influential.”
The Duchesse looked at her out of the corners of her eyes, seemed about to speak and then changed her mind.
“We shall talk about things like that in good time,” she said. “At the moment we must be concerned with your appearance. I cannot even take you to see Monsieur Worth dressed as you are now.”
She touched a bell at her side and seconds later the door opened and the maid came in.
“Yvonne,” the Duchesse said, “my niece, Mamselle Gardenia, is going to stay with me. She will need clothes and a new hair style and many other things. As soon as I am dressed, I will take her to Worth’s, but I cannot take her looking like this.”
“Non, madame, c’est impossible!” Yvonne almost shouted.
“Very well, Yvonne, find something for her. Perhaps some of my old gowns that I wore when I was thinner can be altered, at least until I can buy her some new things.”
“Oh, thank you, Aunt Lily!” Gardenia exclaimed, “not only for the clothes but for saying I can stay. I cannot tell you how wonderful it is for me. I was so frightened of being alone. When Mama died, I thought the end of the world had come but now, because I have you, it is different.”
“Because you have me,” she repeated in a strange voice.
Then she bent forward to let Gardenia kiss her cheek.
“Bless you, my child. I suppose things will work out one way or another.”
“I will do everything you tell me, everything, and I do hope that I shall be able to repay a little of your kindness.”
“That reminds me,” the Duchesse said. “Yvonne, take Mamselle to Monsieur Groise. She has some instructions to give him and please explain that they have my full authority.”
“Very good, Your Grace,” the maid said stiffly and rustled towards the door, obviously expecting Gardenia to follow her.
Gardenia walked a few paces and then looked back.
“Thank you, thank you, Aunt Lily,” she said. “I did not realise until this moment just how terrified I was that you might turn me away.”
“Run along, child. Everything is going to be all right,” the Duchesse assured her.
As the door closed behind Gardenia and Yvonne, the Duchesse lay back on her pillows and closed her eyes.
“Poor child,” she whispered aloud. “How can I ever explain to her? But undoubtedly she will find out sooner or later.”
In the meantime Gardenia, feeling elated, was following Yvonne down the staircase to the hall that she had entered so ignominiously the night before.
There appeared to be a whole army of servants working in the salon as they passed by it and there were cleaners on the stairs, brushing and scrubbing the carpet where food and drink must have been upset the night before.
There were also men and women in aprons polishing the marble hall and Gardenia could not help seeing that some of the pans contained broken pieces of a crystal-glass chandelier.
It seems strange, she thought, that Aunt Lily should give such rough parties but, as she had told herself last night, the French were a very excitable race and not dull and stolid like the English.
Yvonne led her across the hall to a room opposite the one that Lord Hartcourt had carried her into when she had fainted.
She knocked and a voice called out, “Entrez” and Yvonne opened the door to disclose a grey-haired middle-aged man sitting at a big desk with piles of papers stacked in front of him.
Yvonne conveyed the Duchesse’s instructions and obviously introduced her to Monsieur Groise, but she spoke so rapidly that Gardenia could not understand all that she said.
Monsieur Groise rose from the desk and held out his hand.
“Enchanté, mamselle,” he said in French and then went on in broken English, “The maid has explained to me that you have something you wish to do and it has her Grace’s approval.”
“It is a number of bills that have to be paid,” Gardenia said a little uncomfortably. She drew the list from the pocket of her black skirt. “I am afraid that there are rather a lot.”
“On the contrary,” Monsieur Groise contradicted, “it is a very small list. Are you quite sure that everyone is included?”
“I don’t think I have missed anyone, but, if I have, perhaps I could come and tell you later?”
“But, of course, mamselle,” he replied. “I am at your service. The cheques shall be sent off today. These people shall all be sent money orders which are cashable at the nearest Post Office. That will make it easy for them, will it not?”
“It will be very kind indeed. I am most grateful.”
“It is a pleasure, mamselle.”
“Thank you,” Gardenia smiled.
Yvonne was waiting for Gardenia at the door of the secretary’s room and she followed her out into the hall.
“We will now go upstairs, mamselle,” the maid said, but, as she spoke, Gardenia saw that the front door was being opened by a footman and she heard a voice that she knew only too well saying,
“Is Her Grace at home now? Will you please inform her Lord Hartcourt and Mr. Bertram Cunningham have called?”
“Her Grace is not at home to any visitors,” the footman responded in French.
Gardenia could now see Lord Hartcourt standing on the doorstep through the open door and, fearing that he could see her, she felt the only thing she could do was to go forward and greet him.
Shyly, with the colour rising in her face, she turned to the door and held out her hand.
“Good morning, Lord Hartcourt,” she began. “I feel I must thank you for your kindness to me last night.”
“I hope you are well this morning,” Lord Hartcourt said, taking off his top hat, “you must have been very tired after your journey.”
“I was indeed very tired,” Gardenia confessed.
“It is not surprising,” a voice interrupted and Gardenia turned to look at Lord Hartcourt’s companion. She saw a tall, very elegantly dressed, dark-haired young man with a small dark moustache and an engaging smile that made her instinctively feel that she should smile back.
“May I introduce my cousin, Bertram Cunningham?” Lord Hartcourt asked. “I am afraid in the circumstances of our encounter last night I was not privileged to learn your name.”
“I am Gardenia Weedon,” Gardenia said and she then felt the warm pressure