Page 11 of The Good Girl's Guide to Rakes
“Right away, my lady.” The man snapped his fingers and an assistant came forward to finish wrapping Celeste’s purchases, while the proprietor himself led the baroness to a gilded and ornately upholstered chair.
“Enjoy the rest of your afternoon, Lady Jarrett,” Celeste said once her bundles were packaged up and handed to her waiting footman. “As always, it was a pleasure to see you.”You cheerless martinet.
Busy examining half a dozen pairs of shoes, the baroness gave a small, distracted wave of her hand.
Celeste exited the shop with her maid trailing after her, while her footman brought up the rear as he cradled her latest acquisitions. The encounter with Lady Jarrett had been typically harrowing, yet all Celeste could manage was the barest glimmer of excitement at the prospect of wearing her new slippers.
What did it matter? What did any of it matter? When you lay on your deathbed, and the priest gave you your last rites as mourners crowded around you, were you truly going to say with your last breath, “I never drank sparkling wine in one of Mongolfier’sballoons, and I never had a torrid affair, but, by God, I owned so many shoes”?
She squeezed her eyes shut as Pall Mall traffic swirled around her.
“Miss Kilburn, I believe we have a one o’clock appointment at Madame Jacqueline’s. She’s promising some beautiful gowns for you, and plenty of gossip.”
Opening her eyes, Celeste looked into the patient face of her maid, Dolly. They had been together for many years, ever since Celeste had left finishing school, and Dolly always knew when Celeste’s mood turned gray.
“Not that you indulge in gossip, miss,” Dolly added wryly.
“In the absence of my own scandals,” Celeste answered, “other people’s will have to suffice.” She began to walk toward the dressmaker’s, since itwasalmost one, and Celeste hadn’t been able to adopt the genteel habit of lateness, especially where appointments with tradespeople were concerned. Playing loosely with others’ valuable time was something she’d been incapable of doing. Fortunately, Dolly had stopped attempting to prevent her from being on time.
“Your brother makes enough scandal for both of you,” the maid said, falling into step beside Celeste.
“With generous assistance from the Ransome brothers.” Even though neither of the brothers would be near Pall Mall at this hour of the day, Celeste still lowered her voice to speak of them. Finn Ransome and Kieran Ransome didn’t give a fig about gossip—as evidenced by how often theirexploits filled the pages of the scandal rags—but she didn’t want word to reach them that their close friend’s sister had been spreading tales about them.
Doubtful that they’d care. Especially not Kieran.
Merely thinking his name made Celeste’s belly flutter, which was preposterous. During the few times she’d crossed his path, Dom’s friend barely acknowledged her existence beyond a polite nod and perhaps a respectful “Miss Kilburn.” That was all, and while it was somewhat dispiriting to be considered so utterly unworthy of interest, it was for the best. Wherever Kieran Ransome went, infamy followed, and her family had gone to great lengths to ensure that her reputation was above reproach.
More’s the pity.
A trip to Madame Jacqueline’s was supposed to be the cure for ladies’ despondency, and Celeste tried to lift her spirits when the dressmaker’s storefront appeared ahead.
The bell chimed as she entered the shop. She was greeted by the scent of rosewater and a cheerful chorus of French as madame herself came forward, trailed by an assistant.
“Mademoiselle Kilburn,” the modiste sang. “Prompt as always.”
Celeste attempted a smile, but her spirits sank lower. It didn’t help her current dour humor to think that, aside from her charity work, every aspect of her life remained regimented and completely devoid of deviation or any sort of variety. Per Ned Kilburn’s dictum, Tuesdays and Fridays were for shopping.
Her father had made his fortune, and they’d moved from Ratcliff to Cheapside and then finally to Hans Town, their clothing growing steadily finer, their servants more plentiful. Celeste, like Dom, had been given elocution lessons to cleanse all traces of her East London accent, and then she’d been packed off to finishing school to ensure that she comported herself with as much dignity as any aristocrat—evenmoredignity, in truth. One had to rigidly adhere to proper conduct when your money was newly made and not the byproduct of landed estates.
Her teachers at finishing school had said as much. Daughters of the nouveau riche were held to a higher standard, lest they accidentally reveal their humble origins.
So Celeste had been told, and been impelled to live her life in the most respectable manner. She went to the same places every day, saw the same people, talked about the same things, and never, never, never did anything that could be considered remotely improper. Not even wear blue slippers with persimmon ribbons.
She’d been born into poverty, but now she lived in a cage. Granted, it was a cage full of beautiful things and abundant food, but it was nevertheless a cage. All she could do was let her song float out between the bars, yet no one heard her tune.
“We have the gowns you ordered,” Madame Jacqueline continued, unaware that her client stared down the barrel of a crisis of existence. “Please, will you try them on?”
Was it Celeste’s imagination, or did the dressmaker and Dolly exchange a look?
Ithadto be Celeste’s fancy, because nothing remotely interesting ever happened to her, including some kind of secret between her modiste and her maid.
Familiar with the layout of the shop, Celeste headed toward the back where the fitting area was located. There was a row of alcoves, each shielded by a heavy curtain for the customers’ privacy as they disrobed. All three curtains had been drawn, however, which indicated that the alcoves were currently occupied.
“In here, Mademoiselle Kilburn,” Madame Jacqueline cooed, gesturing to the last nook. “I have it reserved exclusively for you.”
This was a new development, since the modiste rarely played favorites with her clientele, but it hardly signified. Celeste ducked around the thick brocade and stepped into the fitting alcove.
Only to come face-to-face with Kieran Ransome.
