Page 64 of Miss Determined
“I never realized how blue my eyes are.”
“And you probably thought your hair was plain brown rather than a lovely dark chestnut.” Lissa watched as her sister turned to the left, then to the right. Diana’s fascination with her reflection revealed a depth of wonder both touching and painful to behold.
She was attractive, in her liveliness, youth, and robust spirits, but she did not know that.
Mustn’t be vain.
Mustn’t be uppish.
Mustn’t draw too much notice.
Until speeding through the nearest sonata became a weapon against invisibility. Diana was also naturally social, had a fine sense of humor, and was fiendishly talented at maths. She spoke French with Mr. Dabney as if it were her native tongue, and all of these wondrous abilities—to say nothing of her fiery skills at the pianoforte—were of no use to her, because she lacked confidence in her own worthiness.
“Very fetching, miss,” the clerk said, holding up the blue silk shawl. “May I presume?”
Diana nodded and allowed the man to drape the blue shawl around her shoulders. He was deft, probably would have made a fine valet, and stepped back when he’d arranged the shawl just so.
Loose, graceful, the perfect wrapping for a lovely pair of shoulders and a pale throat. Diana’s eyes positively glowed when she wore that hue.
“And the gloves?” he said, offering a crocheted pair in a lighter shade of blue.
To assist a lady to put on her gloves was a personal office, and Diana was bearing up well under the fellow’s attentions.
She turned to the mirror again. “Is it too much blue? Is the blue toointense? I thought I was required to wear pastels until… until I’m older.”
Until she’d secured a proposal of marriage. “You are required to wear clothes that flatter you and cover you decently,” Lissa said. “Clothes you enjoy wearing. What do you think of the gloves?”
“I like them well enough.”
Faint praise where an honest opinion should have been, and that was Lissa’s fault. When had she stopped seeing her own family? Probably just about the time Gavin had disappeared, taking with him financial security and all of Mama’s good humor.
The clerk cocked his head as if studying some Renaissance masterpiece. “I agree with Miss. Maybe a bit too much blue?” he asked with just the right degree of self-doubt. “The shawl provides a heavenly complement to your eyes, but a touch of contrast might also draw attention to your exquisite complexion. Brown gloves might work, or cream, perhaps? Tan?”
There followed an earnest and protracted discussion of all the colors of glove that might suit—even green came under consideration—while Lissa let the shop clerk begin repairs to Diana’s self-regard that were at least two years overdue.
Diana eventually followed his advice—cream gloves, blue shawl, the perfect straw hat—and Lissa considered the cost well worth the goods.
And the service.
“If you have the stamina to shop for slippers,” the clerk said, wrapping Diana’s new treasures in brown paper, “I can suggest Madame Celeste’s two doors down. Her selection is unrivaled and her prices—if I might be so bold—competitive. Shall I summon a porter?”
“Please say we can peek at the slippers, Lissa.” Diana struggled to hang on to her newfound dignity, though she was clearly on the verge of begging.
“Of course we’ll have a look at the slippers while we have your shawl and bonnet with us, and then we can send the lot home with a porter, along with any additional purchases.” They would carry their own parcels. Ticket porters in London came dear.
“Very sensible,” the clerk murmured, though the smile he sent Lissa was pure cheek. “And where shall I send the bill?”
“To the attention of Mr. Giles Purvis, Smithers and Purvis, on Peebles Street, to the account of Miss Amaryllis DeWitt.”
The clerk jotted the direction on some ledger or other and congratulated Diana on having made a tasteful and original purchase.
Diana did not clap her hands and spin with joy, but her eyes sparkled, and when she left the shop on Lissa’s arm, her step was bouncy and her parting wave to the clerk coy.
“He reminded me of Gavin,” Diana said. “As if he was playing the part of a shop clerk on a lark and having a jolly time with the role. My job was to be the inexperienced customer, and I was to have great fun with that, too—which I did. Do you recall when Gavin would challenge us to pretend we were attending a funeral rather than Sunday services? His little farce kept Caroline from tucking a book between the pages of the hymnal for nearly a month.”
They strolled along the walkway, which was busy, but not thronged as it would be a fortnight hence.
“You do know all the clerk’s charm and flattery was intended to bring you back for your next purchase, Di?”
