Page 58 of The Lyon Returns
“Ah. Thank you. I shall be ready.”
He nodded. Swallowed. His gaze drifted over her again and Gwen’s internal temperature seemed to increase ten-fold. Out of nowhere, his words from last night echoed in her head.
Do you feel hot, here?
He cleared his throat. “Excellent. Ladies,” he said with a small bow and shut the door.
“I think it is safe to say Mr. Devereux approves of your new gowns,” Nancy said. She and Amelia, the two married women in the group, smiled knowingly at one another.
“What gives you that impression?” Gwen asked, twisting further to face them.
Amelia picked up the silver teapot. “Call it women’s intuition. More tea, anyone?”
Lady Georgina shook her head while scrawling furiously in her ever-present notebook. Everyone in their group understood she carried a notepad with her in order to jot down ideas for her romantic novels as they came to her.
“Please, madam. Face forward.” Madame Eloise’s tone brooked no argument.
Gwen complied. Still, she kept a watchful eye on her friends in the mirror in case one of them said anything further about Gideon’s apparent appreciation for her new gowns.
Charlotte sipped tea, her expression thoughtful. “I must say, Mr. Devereux is every bit as handsome as the gossip columnists claim.”
“Gossip columnists?” Gwen started to twist around again, then caught Madame Eloise’s sharp look.
She tried to recall what Amelia had said about him when they visited the modiste’s shop, right before Gideon’s acquaintance had introduced herself.
“There,” Georgina said with evident satisfaction and set her notepad aside. “Oh yes, Mr. Devereux has always been very popular,especially amongst…” Her words cut off abruptly.
Gwen tried to meet Georgie’s eyes in the mirror. The young authoress had developed a sudden fascination for the inside of her teacup.
Madame Eloise clapped her hands twice, as if calling everyone to attention.
“Only tonight’s gown left to try, Madame Devereux. We will make any final adjustments, and after, we will depart. You may expect ze ozzer gowns in one week’s time.”
Madame Eloise preened as Gwen’s friends murmured in amazement over her feat, while the seamstress helped Gwen from the stool, then held the dress’s unhemmed skirts aloft as she moved cautiously toward the privacy screen, trying not to dislodge any of the pins.
A few minutes later, she emerged wearing the shimmering, blue silk evening gown she would don this evening.
Gasps of delight greeted her appearance. Gwen could not contain her grin.
When she stood before the three-way mirror, however, her grin faded. She fingered the draping folds of silk, certain she had never beheld a more stunning gown. The elegant and frothy, and not-at-all-garish concoction made her feel pretty for the first time in a very long while.
Minutes later, after assuring herself Gwen’s dress needed no further alterations, Madame Eloise and her seamstress departed.
Once more outfitted in one of her apparently universally detested gowns, Gwen pulled a chair over to where her friends sat and collapsed onto it.
Amelia filled the lone, unused china cup on the tray and handed it to Gwen.
Gwen sipped the tea, a fine blend—of course, stocked by Gideon—that went down smoothly even tepid, as it was.
The curvy, petite Georgina rose and hurried to the door. Shepoked her curly brown head into the corridor, peered left and right, then closed the door and hastened back to her seat. “Now then, we must tutor you on the Duke and Duchess of Ashwood. I consulted an unimpeachable source—Mother.” She sent Gwen a brilliant smile.
Gwen reached for the younger woman’s hand and squeezed. She glanced around at her circle of friends. She had never had female friends, not close ones, like these. Gratitude blossomed in her chest.
“As it happens, I have gained some limited information,” Gwen said. “I know, for instance, that Gideon is the duke’s eldest son, but not his heir, and I recently learned his mother was of Anglo-Indian descent and died when he was a toddler.”
Amelia glanced between Georgina and Gwen. “That’s more than I knew. I gathered his birth mother and the duke had a relationship outside the bonds of marriage, but I had assumed she would have been of the Britishdemi-classe.”
“Make no mistake, she came from the upper class,” Georgina said with an air of authority. “She was an heiress in her own right, albeit not a British citizen. Her father was British. He made his fortune in shipping. Her mother was the daughter of wealthy Indian landowners.”
