Page 20 of A Widow's Perfect Rogue
“Yes, it is,” the widow said with an impatient huff. “I will need the Chintz dress completed by tomorrow and I’d also like a taffeta petticoat. It’ll give my dresses that extra elegance.”
“Bien,”the woman clucked. “That presents a few challenges. My seamstresses always work their fingers to the bone to complete our orders.” She paused. “Unfortunately, as much as I regret to bring up this issue, there is the matter of your still unpaid account.”
Endora narrowed her eyes. She wanted those fabrics. “Allow me to enlighten you, madame, that I am soon to be married. And to the very man who supplies you with these lovely fabrics. He would be most upset to learn you have insulted his…betrothed.”
“Oh, my apologies, my lady. I had not heard,” the modiste replied evenly.
“There is no need to make a fuss about this mere pittance,” Endora said with a dismissive wave. “His Lordship will be most appreciative of your attentiveness toward me and will see to it that the account is paid in due course.”
“Oh! My felicitations to you, Lady Deville. Such exciting news! Who is thisfortunategentleman?” the modiste asked, placing the taffeta and the chintz on the edge of the counter.
“Viscount Thomas Latham. It will be the wedding of the year.”
“When will the auspicious event take place?”
Endora gave a glib little laugh, sidestepping the modiste’s question. “I trust you will be discreet about what I have told you. It would not do for the gossip rags to get wind of it before the invitations are sent out.”There! That should keep the nosy woman in check.Endora doubted that a frivolous little chit-chat in a dress shop would find its way to Lord Latham’s ears. In any case, it would all be moot in a matter of time, as she anticipated having the viscount all to herself very soon.
The modiste nodded. “Of course! Madame, I am the epitome of discretion.”
“That is most gratifying to hear.”
“Ah, you are most fortunate, my lady, to have such a fine and generous fiancé. Unfortunately, I am a mere modiste, a humble woman with limited means who must pay her seamstresses and suppliers without delay, or I would not be able to provide these lovely creations for ladies such as yourself. Therefore, I amtrès désolé,but I cannot fulfill a new order from you for tomorrow. There is simply no time and no funds to do so.”
Endora fumed and stared at the modiste, leveling daggers.
The modiste returned her stare for stare.
It was a stand-off, pure and simple.
Endora debated what to say next to the French upstart but was relieved when a smile suddenly lightened the woman’s face.
“Ah, but, I have thought of a solution, my lady. I have just remembered the red gown you ordered last year for that masquerade ball… I recall we had it completed in record time, and then, sadly, you canceled at the last minute due to your husband’s passing.” The modiste walked to a wardrobe and began to shift dresses back and forth. “Voilà! Here it is.” She whirled around holding the gown in her arms. “It takes a special person to wear this shade with the panache you give it.”
“Fine,” Endora said, knowing the modiste was only buttering her up because she had been unable to sell the dress. “I’ll try it on. Bring it to the dressing room and have a seamstress attend me.”
Endora strode to the back of the shop where changing rooms were located off an elegantly appointed seating area. She stepped into one of the rooms barely noticing that the curtain had just been drawn closed in the changing room next to hers.
Impatient and irked, Endora began ripping off her clothing. “The audacity and impertinence of that woman to bring up my account,” she muttered as she pulled off her shoes. “I’ve had to endure two boring husbands until I could get rid of them, a dowager duchess who dogs my very existence, and that little twit, Lady Frankie Gallwey, who is once again interfering with my destiny. I thought after I burned that letter, I would be rid of her. Latham should have been mine five years ago if he hadn’t left. But no one will stand in my way this time.”
She slipped off her dress and draped it over the chaise in the corner. In her chemise, she looked at herself in the mirror, admiring her still taut shape. Yes, a man like Latham would appreciate the voluptuous curves of a truly sensual woman, not that skinny little Gallwey widow. “Where is that damned seamstress?” She thrust her head out of the curtain and looked straight into the smiling eyes of the Dowager Duchess of Clarence.
“Why, Lady Deville, how lovely to see you.” The dowager beamed.
Endora stilled, and her blood ran cold.Damn and blast! How did this happen?
Madame Soyeuse stepped into the seating area, carrying the red gown followed by a harried-looking young seamstress.
“I apologize for the delay,” the modiste said handing the gown to the seamstress.
“Quite all right, my dear,” the dowager said in a smooth tone before Endora could even open her mouth. “I am certain Lady Deville does not mind, do you?” The dowager arched her brow at Endora.
“Yes, well I hope the ability of your seamstress makes up for the delay.”
“Of course, my lady,” Madame Soyeuse said smoothly.
The young woman gave a brief curtsy and disappeared into Endora’s changing room with the gown.
Endora was about to follow when the modiste turned to the dowager with a warm smile “Ah, Your Grace, have you decided, then?”
