An Unlikely Suitor (26 page)

“What colors?”

“Mostly red with swirls of blue and gold.”

“I love deep colors.”

Lucy continued. “And the main skirt would be a red satin and—”

“Gypsies wouldn’t have worn satin,” Mrs. Langdon said.

Mrs. Garmin objected. “They probably had dirty hands and feet too, but I want to be a luxurious gypsy.”

“A gypsy queen,” Rowena said.

“Exactly. A queen.” She waved a hand at Lucy. “Go on. Red satin . . .”

“Red satin, and probably a layer of blue too. Or perhaps a blue-and-gold-striped skirt showing at the bottom.”

“And the blouse?”

The picture in Lucy’s mind was vivid. “Something simple in a white gauze, with flowing sleeves. And a laced girdle in black.”

“A girdle on the outside.” Mrs. Garmin put a hand to her midsection and sighed. “To think I’ll be able to go without a corset for a night. Now
that
is true luxury. Sometimes I get tempted to go without and breathe free and—”

“We really shouldn’t be talking about these things,” Mrs. Langdon said.

“And why not?” Mrs. Garmin said. “These
things
may be unmentionable, but truth be told, they are quite ridiculous and worthy of discussion and disdain. Hourglass figures, my foot. I’d like to see a man wear one of the contraptions we endure every waking hour. Would the world come to an end if we began a revolt and simply refused to wear our corsets?”

None of the ladies answered.

With a dramatic sigh, Mrs. Garmin gave up trying to incite a mutiny. She nodded to Rowena’s drawing. “And your costume, my dear?”

Rowena turned her drawing around so both women could see. “My inspiration comes from the books of Jane Austen.”

Lucy gave the details. “I thought a butter-colored silk would supply color yet represent the pastels of the Regency period. The piece of fabric I’m thinking of is covered with gold embroidery.”

“You have this fabric with you?” Mrs. Langdon asked.

“No, no,” Lucy said. “But it’s in stock at the shop where I work.”

Mrs. Garmin studied the drawing. “I do like the feathers in the headpiece, and is this a width of lace fabric hanging down?”

Lucy nodded. “I was thinking of a lace piece we have that’s a brick red. It would hang from the headpiece and skim Rowena’s shoulder. I think the color would complement the yellow of the dress quite well.”

“I have a citrine necklace that would look beautiful with it,” Rowena said.

Each lady examined her sketch and nodded—to Lucy’s relief.

“So then,” Mrs. Langdon said. “We are definitely impressed with your designs.”

“Your daughter came up with the initial ideas,” Lucy said.

“Then my kudos go to you too, Rowena,” she said. “But the next question involves the implementation of these wonderful ideas. How and when?”

Rowena sat forward in her chair, eager to share the answer. “Lucy needs help, so I thought we should send for her mother and sister—who are also seamstresses. They can come on the train with all the fabrics and supplies she’ll need.”

“Would they be willing to do that?” her mother asked.

“More than willing,” Lucy said. She could hardly wait to send word. If only she could see her mother’s face and hear Sofia’s squeal of joy.

“Then do it,” Mrs. Langdon said. “I’ll talk to my husband and he’ll see that the arrangements are made. Firstly, he’ll send a telegram this very afternoon.” She looked to Lucy. “Could they come on the train day after tomorrow?”

“I’m sure they could.”

“Very well, then. That will be all, Lucy.”

Lucy nodded and left the room.

Two days. In two days she’d see her family!

Then suddenly it hit her. What would Mrs. Flynn’s reaction be? Would she let them leave? Would she let them take supplies? Would she help them get the fabrics Lucy needed?

Lucy hadn’t talked about the expense with the Langdons or Mrs. Garmin, and she wasn’t even sure how much such a costume should cost.

But perhaps money wasn’t mentioned because money didn’t matter. It would cost what it would cost. Money talked.

Surely Mrs. Flynn would let it talk to
her
.

The bell on the front door of Madame Moreau’s chimed. “Hello? Telegram!”

All the ladies turned aflutter at the distraction and received a loud “Shush now!” from Mrs. Flynn—who went to the lobby to retrieve it.

Sofia kept sewing a satin petticoat for a day dress. Since finding her book torn apart, and having the ladies finally believe her about Bonwitter, she’d felt relief overshadow any fear that he was still out there. Yes, Mr. Standish had been called, and had assured them the locks would be changed by tomorrow, but it was more than that. Or actually less. Losing her title of “Baby Sofia” made her feel like one of the group again, which made her want to work harder.

If she thought about it, she had Bonwitter to thank.

Sofia barely looked up when Mrs. Flynn returned to the workroom. She didn’t see her hand Mamma the telegram, but only knew of it when Tessie and Dorothy exclaimed.

“Lea?
You
get the telegram?”

“What’s it say?”

“Who died?” Dolly asked.

Leona slapped her shoulder. “Stop that. Telegrams can be good news. Remember Lucy’s?”

Sofia remembered Lucy’s. Her telegram had been like getting a summons to a royal feast. But now, getting another one . . .

Mamma’s face sagged with worry and she hesitated to open it. Sofia rushed to her side. “Do you think Lucy’s hurt?”

Mamma pressed the envelope into Sofia’s hand. “You open it.”

Her heart pounded and her throat tightened. As much as she envied Lucy, she loved her and . . .
God, please don’t let her be hurt.

She opened the seal and pulled out the note, scanned it, then burst into laughter.

“You’re laughing?” Tessie said. “What does it say?”

Sofia cleared her throat and read aloud. “ ‘Mamma and Sofia: You are needed in Newport to help make costumes for Vanderbilt ball. Train tickets at Grand Centr—’ ”

Mrs. Flynn tried to grab the telegram away. “The gall! What’s Lucy doing, emptying out my workroom!”

“Wait,” Sofia said. “Listen to the rest. ‘Tell Mrs. Flynn much money coming. List of supplies attached. Come Friday. Lucy.’ ” Sofia flung her arms around Mamma. “We’re going to Newport!”

“We’re going to see Lucia!” Mamma said.

Mrs. Flynn clapped her hands. “Hold on there. Only if I let you go.”

Mamma and Sofia parted. Mamma took a step forward. “Please, Madame. Let us go see Lucia and do this work for you.”

Dorothy gave her defense of it. “It
will
be a feather in your cap, Madame. Not just gowns for a Newport ball, but costumes.”

“And not just any Newport ball,” Tessie said. “A Vanderbilt ball.”

Dolly nodded. “They’re richer than Croesus.”

Everyone looked at her. “Do you even know who Croesus was?” Dorothy asked.

Dolly thought a moment. “Isn’t he one of the Vanderbilts’ cousins?”

The laughter was a balm and led to Mrs. Flynn saying, “Let me see the list.”

Sofia was going to Newport!

And getting away from Bonwitter.

So much for meeting Dante.

Lucy sat by the window, furiously mending Rowena’s wardrobe. She had two days to finish her work before her family arrived and the costumes would need to be started. Her leisurely strolls were a thing of the past.

Oh well. At least she’d had a chance to walk along the sea. Once. It was probably best she didn’t go back to see Dante. She knew nothing about him. She didn’t even know if he was an honorable man.

He saved me.

But wouldn’t any man do that?

She tried to shove the thoughts of Dante away.
“Quando la pera è matura, casca da sè,”
she said aloud. All things happen in their own good time.

But they wouldn’t happen at all if she never showed up. Couldn’t happen.

Lucy pricked her finger. Served her right for letting the idea of love enter her head.

She looked up when Rowena entered the dressing room. The look on her face was quizzical. “Why are you here?” she asked.

“Pardon?”

Rowena pointed out the window. “Isn’t it time to meet your Dante?”

Lucy was surprised she remembered. “I have work to do, especially with the three costumes to make as soon as my mother and sis—”

Rowena plucked the needle from her fingers. “Nonsense. I will not have you ruin a chance with your hero because of a split seam. Outside with you, and you’d better hurry or you’ll miss him.”

Lucy was ashamed when her heart began to pound. This whole thing was silly.

But Rowena would not be denied. She pulled a pink dress from the rack. “Here, wear this. You can’t have him seeing you in the same outfit.”

“I have another blouse.”

“Save it for the next time you see him. This dress, I say. Come now. Time is ticking.”

Lucy stopped her argument. The thought of wearing a truly beautiful dress was exciting, one with lace sleeves, a wide ruffle at the hem, and rows and rows of lace.

Rowena buttoned the back of it, then helped Lucy wind her hair into a soft bun. All finished, she turned her around and beamed like a proud mother. “There now. Off with you!”

“But—”

“I expect a full accounting upon your return.”

Rowena stood at the window and watched Lucy run across the grass toward the Cliff Walk. It felt good to be instrumental in bringing two lovers together.

And yet . . . she felt a wistful tug knowing that she would never run into her lover’s arms. At best she’d limp, clod, and stagger.

She closed her eyes and tried to imagine meeting Edward and throwing her arms around his neck. How would it feel to have him pull her close, to actually feel his heart beating next to hers?

There was a knock on the door and Sadie entered, carrying a bouquet of flowers. “For you, Miss Langdon. Just delivered.”

Rowena’s spirits immediately rose. She brought the white flowers to her nose and was met with a biting, sweet smell, not completely pleasant.

“There’s a note, miss.”

Yes, of course.
Forgive me for missing dinner with you
.
Yours truly, Edward.

A smile came without effort.

“Would you like me to put them in some water, miss?”

“Of course.”

Reluctantly, Rowena relinquished the bouquet to Sadie. Then she sat on the bench at the foot of her bed and read the note again. Oddly, the words seemed capable of issuing two meanings. The culprit was the “missing dinner” line. Was Edward missing having dinner with her? Or was he simply talking about being absent from their house for dinner? One was certainly more romantic than the other.

And the flowers he’d chosen . . .

She remembered a small book her mother had given her on her sixteenth birthday and retrieved it from a shelf.
The Language of Flowers.
She’d only had cause to use it one other time when she’d received a tussie-mussie of dandelions from a distant cousin. The book had said those flowers indicated coquetry, but Rowena, knowing her cousin, had determined they simply meant he was cheap and had pulled a bouquet from a neighbor’s lawn.

Edward’s arrangement contained two types of plants: daisies and ferns. She found reference to the fern first. “ ‘Sincerity,’ ” she read. She nodded once, accepting that meaning with pleasure. Now to daisies . . .