They both knew that was what the gossip sheets did: exaggerated. Find a particle of truth, distort it for maximum drama, embellish both the pleasant and the unpleasant: that was their mission.
“You know, it occurred to me, too. But our Miss Keating seems to have a level head on her shoulders.”
“True. But how level is any woman’s head when it comes to handsome men?”
Angelique gave a soft laugh. “Still. He has been all that is proper and respectful in the sitting room. He doesn’t seem to payparticularattention to her... then again... a man of his age and stature and alleged experience would surely be discreet about that sort of thing. He seems to work very hard. And I don’t recall anyone ever accusing him of corrupting young women.”
“No, the gossip sheets just print coy nonsense about how Lady R rent her garments when Lord Kended it with her, or some such rot,” Delilah agreed. “Not that I’m paying attention or know much about that world anymore. His affairs are... his affair, as far as I’m concerned. As long as he follows the rules while he’s here, we won’t have to...”
They were both thinking of the second to the last rule on the little card they handed guests:
If the proprietresses collectively decide that a transgression or series of transgressions warrants your eviction from The Grand Palace on the Thames, you will find your belongings neatly packed and placed near the front door. You will not be refunded the balance of your rent.
“Well. If it was indeed Miss Keating, it sounds as though it was only one dance,” Angelique concluded. “And Lady Wisterberg seems to have things well in hand, given how busy she’s kept Miss Keating this week. And Miss Keating has been under our watchful eye in the sitting room. Hopefully we won’t need to resort to evicting anyone.”
But they were certainly prepared to do it, if it came to that. So far, they’d only needed to deploy that rule once to toss out a guest.
Then again, Delilah had gone on to marry the transgressor.
Chapter Thirteen
“How do you do, Mrs. Pariseau. It’s lovely to see you again. And I see you have brought a friend with you today!”
Lord Kirke had been correct when he’d surmised there was a shortage of modistes in her part of the world, especially the faux French sort, so meeting her was novel, indeed. Catherine liked Madame Marceau’s long, regal face and her shrewdly sparkling brown eyes.
“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Madame Marceau,” Mrs. Pariseau said. “I’m here for my spencer, as you likely know. I’ve brought Miss Catherine Keating, who has decided upon a new ribbon.”
Catherine gestured to the little spool of ribbon she’d chosen.
Madame studied Catherine fixedly for a full three seconds of silence, her face alight with pleasant and, it seemed, an unusually avid curiosity.
“Howdelightfulto meet you, Miss Keating!” It sounded as though she meant it. “You’ve made a wonderful choice! That shade of pink is so subtle. It’s the color of the roses in your cheeks, I should think.”
“You are very kind, Madame Marceau, thank you. I admire your work immensely. Mrs. Pariseau’s new dress is so beautiful.”
The modiste nodded, graciously accepting thecompliment. “Speaking of beautiful things...” She pressed her lips together. “Well... forgive me if this is presumptuous, and a bit unorthodox... but we have here a beautiful blue silk ballgown that was made for a woman who decided she did not want it, after all. Can youimagine?” she clucked. “The extravagance! The waste! And as you appear to be about the same size... well... I wondered... would you like to have a look at it?”
Catherine’s heart skipped.
“We can make alterations if it fits you,” Madame Marceau added briskly.
“Oh my goodness... I... I don’t know...”
Certainly there was no way she could afford an entire dress, let alone one made by seamstresses employed by the celebrated Madame Marceau.
“My dear, it wouldn’t hurt to have a look. It might be serendipity,” Mrs. Pariseau coaxed.
Catherine was tempted to say, “But it might hurt alotif I love it and can’t have it.” Her feelings around dresses were increasingly raw.
But her season had so far featured quite a bit of serendipity. More would not diverge dramatically from the plot, she told herself.
Ten minutes later she stood in front of a mirror wearing a dress that was spun from her dreams.
Blue silk shot through with gold threads poured over her body in a smooth column to a hem trimmed in filigree embroidery and three vandyked rows. The low bodice was caught in the middle with a single bar of velvet ribbon in a way that fetchingly highlighted her fine long neck and excellent cleavage. The sleeves were short, puffed, gauzy affairs, scattered with tiny spangles and trimmed in morevelvet. She looked...queenly. She looked like dawn coming up over the horizon of a day that promised to be sunny. She looked like the sort of girl who would make an excellent countess.
She quite fell in love with herself and could imagine other people doing it, too.
It was a little snug in some places and loose in others, but the general proportions suited her utterly and could easily be adjusted.