A Lady of Hidden Intent (6 page)

“The Montgomerys believe it necessary to build larger estates and more extensive grounds in order to prove their worth. It is hardly something I would want you involved in. I do hope when you tire of such play you will give yourself over to a decent living.”

“I am hardly at play in my work, Father. You have even supported my desires in the past. You very kindly paid for my tours of Europe in order that I might more formally study architecture.”

His father shook his head and said exactly what Carter had always suspected. “It seemed easier to send you on your way than to have your interference here.”

Carter got to his feet, anger coursing through his veins. “I had hoped my news would be pleasing to you. I should have known better.”

He stormed from the room, not waiting for a reply. There was no pleasing Elger Danby. Not if you were his youngest son, who had no intention of going into the family textile empire. Not if you weren’t willing to act in as degenerate a manner as the man himself.

“Carter!” Winifred called after him. She hurried to catch up as he turned on the stairs. “Please don’t leave. I need you at supper.” Her voice was low and pleading.

Carter drew a deep breath and shook his head. “I’m sorry for the way I acted, Winnie. I fear if I remain in that man’s presence for much longer, I shall become just like him.”

Winifred smiled and extended her hand. “There is no chance of that, brother. You have a good and loving heart. You will not allow it to harden with disappointment and frustration.”

Carter walked back down the steps and took hold of his sister’s hand. “It wouldn’t be that difficult to do,” he said sadly.

“Perhaps, but then, I’ve never known you to settle for what is easy.” She smiled at him, and he felt the last vestiges of anger slip away.

“Very well. Have it your way. I shall be your companion at dinner, but please do not expect me to be talkative.”

Winifred laughed lightly. “You needn’t worry. No doubt Mama will give everyone an earful.”

CHAPTER 3

A
nd here is Miss Shay,” Mrs. Clarkson announced as Catherine entered the parlor. “She will interview you and determine the style of gown you desire. Catherine, this is Mrs. Danby and her daughter, Miss Winifred Danby.”

Catherine observed the two women. Both were quite petite. It would be easy to design complementary gowns for these women.

“Good afternoon, ladies.” Catherine gave a brief curtsy.

“And this is Mrs. Danby’s son, Mr. Carter Danby.”

The name struck an immediate memory in Catherine’s mind as she turned to face the man. If he recognized her, all hope was gone. She would have to leave immediately or be found out.

“Mr. Danby,” she murmured with another brief curtsy. She forced her gaze to meet his. A thousand thoughts rushed through her mind. It had been five years since that evening in Bath. She was only a child then—a mere seventeen. She had changed a great deal in that time and, given her present station in life, couldn’t possibly represent the wealthy shipper’s daughter she’d been back then.

Mr. Danby smiled and gave a bow. There didn’t appear to be any immediate recognition. For a moment he seemed to study her, as if knowing there was something he should remember, but just as easily he appeared to dismiss it.

“Miss Shay, I understand you are the much-sought-after authority on ladies’ clothing.” There was a hint of amusement in his tone, as though he were somehow mocking her.

“Our Catherine is indeed much sought after,” Mrs. Clarkson replied before Catherine could. “And because of that, I must keep her on schedule. Mr. Danby, if you will come with me, I shall have you more comfortably arranged in one of the other sitting rooms. There, one of my girls will bring you refreshments. You will also find a good deal of reading material, including the newspaper.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Clarkson. That sounds very comfortable.”

Catherine breathed a sigh of relief as her employer led Mr. Danby away and closed the door behind them. It was obvious that he didn’t recognize her and for now her secret remained safe. But the nagging thought that discovery could occur at any moment would not leave Catherine’s mind.

“We are ever so grateful,” Mrs. Danby began, “that you could work us into your schedule. I have heard nothing but high praise from my friends regarding your creations. I was hesitant at first, you understand. I was used to having my clothes made by only the best designers—mostly French, of course.”

The woman continued to prattle while Catherine arranged her sketch pad and pencils, her thoughts still on Carter Danby. There definitely seemed to be something in his expression that suggested he might know her.

He’s trying to remember where he’s seen me
. Of this Catherine was certain. The look in his eyes clearly indicated that there was something familiar about her.
Oh, I must let Selma and Dugan know. They’ll have a better idea of what must be done.

“And then we were most disappointed when that talented young man passed on,” Mrs. Danby was saying.

Having no idea what Mrs. Danby was speaking about, Catherine turned to the mother and daughter duo and began to size them up in more intimate detail. “Let us discuss the type of dresses you would like to have made.”

“Well, as you must know,” Mrs. Danby began, “we host an annual masquerade ball. Not one of those annoying masquerades where everyone must wear a costume that they will never again wear, but instead one with magnificent ball gowns. We have held this ball for nearly twenty years. We are one of the only homes in town with its own ballroom, and because of this we find ourselves obliged to host at least two balls a year, and the Christmas ball is always a masquerade. Every year more impressive than the one before it.”

She barely drew a breath before continuing with a frown. “Well, there was one year when a terrible yellow fever epidemic was followed by an equally bad one of influenza. That year the ball was much altered. It was all very sad.” She halted, as if in respect for the sorrow of that time.

Her pause was all the time Catherine needed to regain the situation. “I have appointments throughout the day, so we would be wise to have you ladies measured. I’d like to take some notes as to the type of gown you would like. While one is fitted for measurements, the other can describe your likes and dislikes.”

“I believe Winifred should have something quite low-cut. The bodice should show off her . . . assets,” Mrs. Danby declared. “She is now twenty and must find a husband soon.”

“And if she does not?” Catherine asked, rather annoyed that the woman would impose such a thing on the obviously shy young woman. Poor Winifred Danby had spent most of the time so far looking at the carpeted floor.

“If she does not, her father will surely arrange a marriage for her. My own marriage was arranged for the benefit of the family, and my husband will do no less for his own daughter. Winifred must look her best for the ball in order that the available young men who also attend can see what a good wife she might make.”

“And they will tell this by the cut of her neckline?” Catherine asked, knowing her sarcasm was uncalled for. However, she didn’t miss the slight giggle that came from Miss Danby.

“They will tell that she is . . . well . . . that is to say that her charms are many,” Mrs. Danby replied. She seemed torn between rebuking Catherine for her comment and remaining in her new dressmaker’s good graces.

Catherine nodded. It was easy to see that Mrs. Danby was a woman used to imposing her wishes on others. Catherine went to the closed door on the opposite side of the room. “Martha?” she called as she opened the door.

A young woman appeared. She was a pretty sort with a tight, trim waist and lovely brown hair. She wore gold-rimmed glasses, much the same as Mrs. Clarkson, and smiled broadly. “How may I assist you, Catherine?”

“Please measure Mrs. Danby. We will need a full accounting, and I am charging you to record the findings very faithfully.” Martha smiled, understanding that Catherine meant for her to take her time so that she might draw out the younger of the Danby women. Mrs. Danby no doubt knew the type of gown that she desired, but Winifred probably had given it little thought.

With Mrs. Danby escorted to the measurements room, Catherine took a seat opposite Winifred. “Now, Miss Danby, if you would be so kind as to tell me what type of gown you would like.”

Winifred looked up, appearing rather startled. “I . . . uh . . . my mother . . .”

“I do not mean to be disrespectful, Miss Danby, but I am certain your mother will speak her mind on what she believes you would like. However, I would rather hear from your own mouth what this might be.”

“Mother means well,” Miss Danby offered. “She can be a bit nervous about these matters.” She looked at the floor again.

“Miss Danby—”

“Please call me Winifred,” the young woman suddenly blurted out. The look on her face told Catherine that she’d surprised herself as much as anyone.

“I would like that,” Catherine replied, trying to sound as if the request were perfectly normal. The social classes demanded otherwise, but Catherine had learned to change her thinking about society and the separation of the classes since her move to America. “You must, in turn, call me Catherine.”

“Thank you,” Winifred whispered. She had gone back into her shell, as if embarrassed by the entire exchange.

Catherine wanted so much to put her at ease and considered the woman and her small frame for a moment. “I believe a skirt comprising a solid piece with perhaps tulle bouillons above the hem would serve your petite frame better than flounces. You would be rather lost in all of that frippery.” She began to sketch it out on a sheet of paper. “See here what I mean.”

Winifred leaned forward as Catherine’s design came to take form on the page. “Yes,” she whispered. “I like that very much.”

“And perhaps we can create a bodice where the tulle puffing is repeated. If we can create a bodice in this fashion with the corsage cut low, then trimmed in the bouillons, it will allow for modesty. The same tulle can be drawn along the neckline, then be used in the sleeves as well. Do you mind baring your arms and shoulders?”

“No, not really.” Winifred continued to watch. “I could not have drawn this better myself. Not that I have much talent for drawing. My watercolors are tolerable, but I have no skill with charcoals.”

Catherine was glad to see the young woman revealing a bit more of herself. “I find watercolors to require a great deal of talent.” Catherine put a few more details on the skirt sketch, then raised her gaze to Winifred.

“What materials and colors are you fond of? For a gown of this style, my thoughts would lean toward satin or silk. Your coloring would suggest something bright and feminine.”

Winifred blushed, as if once again embarrassed. “I am told I’m fond of puce.”

“You’re told that, eh?” Catherine’s tone suggested amusement, but in truth she felt very sorry for the girl. “Winifred, if you truly like that color, we can use it, but I believe it is much too dark.”

“Well, what do you suggest?”

“You really need a more festive color.” Catherine eyed her seriously for a moment. “I would not want you to choose a dark color, although we could trim it in something dark. I think lavender would be lovely on you. We also offer some wonderful shades of pink and dusty rose that blend well. Your coloring would also easily bear ivory, which could be decorated with any number of colors. Think about it. You needn’t decide this moment.”

“Mama will no doubt want to make the final choice,” Winifred said. “We should ask her.”

Catherine leaned forward. “I wish to know what you like.

I find that I can quite easily influence overbearing mothers when I know what would be pleasing to their more modest daughters.”

Winifred smiled. “I like you very much, Miss . . . Catherine.

I have never had a dressmaker who was willing to stand up to my mother. I believe I would very much like the gown to be some shade of pink or rose,” Winifred said rather conspiratorially.

Catherine nodded with just a hint of a smile. “Then it shall be.”

“Winifred, they are ready for your measurements,” Mrs.

Danby announced as she came from the back room.

Winifred rose and headed for the door. Catherine felt sorry for her. The young woman was beautiful and refined, and there was certainly no sense in her mother pushing her at men.

“Now, I have an idea in mind for my own gown,” Mrs. Danby began as she took her seat. “But, of course, I want the design to be yours. After all, your work is the talk of the town.”

Catherine pushed aside the sketch she’d worked on for Winifred, but Mrs. Danby picked it up. “Is this what you had in mind for my daughter?”

“Yes. I believe it will complement her . . . assets . . . as you put it.”

Mrs. Danby looked at the sketch for several moments before putting it down. “I believe it will.”

Catherine hadn’t expected the older woman’s acceptance of her design, but she didn’t really have a chance to say anything as Mrs. Danby launched into a tirade of ball gowns from the past that were most displeasing. After nearly five minutes, Catherine stopped her.