Scandal Wears Satin (The Dressmakers 2)

But maybe it was trite of her to expect a man like Longmore to fret over a minor thing like being in love. He wasn’t high-strung. One couldn’t accuse him of excessive sentiment. He wasn’t emotional. He wasn’t sensitive.

And she rather loved that about him.

And so many other things about him.

Never mind never mind never mind.

She concentrated on now, and getting through this encounter with her poise and dignity intact.

“It’s not a time for Madame to be subtle,” she said.

“Oh, no one’s subtle at Lady Bartham’s ball,” Lady Clara said, oblivious to currents between her brother and one of her dressmakers. “Women empty their jewel boxes on themselves.”

“But not you, Lady Clara,” Marcelline said. “You’ll wear very simple jewelry. Your beauty requires no adornment in any event, and neither does the ball dress. A great dress should not require mounds of jewelry to make it great. But most important, we want to emphasize your purity and innocence.”

“And we want to pretend that I have any purity and innocence,” Sophy said. “That is to say, that Madame has any.”

Longmore moved to the mannequins and examined the blue dress. “What is it you object to?” he said. “This blue will enhance the color of your eyes—your celestial eyes—or was it your lips—or your soul that the Puff Adder proclaimed celestial?”

“I’m celestial,” she said. “My entire being.”

“Did Lord Adderley say that, really?” Lady Clara said.

“He put it in writing,” Longmore said. “Has Madame not told you?”

“When would Madame tell her?” Sophy said. “Lady Clara and Madame are not on warm terms these days, remember?”

“I’m losing track of who is whom and what they’re about,” he said. “Too much subtlety and hidden meanings for my little brain box. Too much subterfuge.”

It was second nature to her, Sophy thought. Or perhaps first nature.

With a fine show of good humor she told Lady Clara about the love letter. She saw the lady glance at her brother—looking for a reaction?—but he didn’t notice. He was walking back and forth in front of the mannequins, hands folded behind his back. He put Sophy in mind of a general inspecting his troops.

In a way, that was what he was doing. Two of those dresses were part of Sophy’s and Lady Clara’s arsenal.

“I’m so glad I didn’t know about it,” Lady Clara said when Sophy had, with suitable pathos, conveyed Lord Adderley’s closing plea. “I should never have been able to keep my composure yesterday when he called.” Her smile was thin. “He was furious about the piece in the Spectacle. Once again he threatened to sue them. He ranted about slander. I sat with my hands folded and waited for him to finish carrying on. I thought Mama would explode, but she only sat very upright and stiff and disapproving. He must have caught on that he was using the wrong tactic, because after a while of getting no sympathy he quieted. Then he assured me the incident was perfectly innocent.”

“I’m sorry I missed that performance,” Longmore said while closely inspecting the blue dress. “I had to put in an appearance at the Marquess of Hertford’s fête.”

He’d gone to that party after he’d told her he loved her, Sophy thought. After he’d told her he loved her and then looked as though it was a joke or a puzzle . . . and laughed . . . and left.

Marcelline joined him. “Is something troubling you about Sophy’s—” She broke off, frowning, and moved to the white dress she’d made for Lady Clara. “Sophy, do you think these sleeves ought to . . .” She looked at the dress, then at Lady Clara. She narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips in that way she did when her artist’s eye discerned something amiss that nobody else could see.

“The sleeves,” she said. “They’re not quite . . . Lady Clara, I must trouble you to try on the dress.”

“Oh, yes, of course. That’s why I came. And wasn’t it good of Harry to take me, when he could have gone to Ascot? The races begin today, you know, and he hasn’t missed an opening day since he came back from the Continent.”

Marcelline only smiled and led her ladyship into the dressing room. The door wasn’t closed, and Lady Clara’s light, musical voice was perfectly audible. “It was too bad he missed Lord Adderley’s performance,” she said. “That might have made up for Ascot. I think Harry would have laughed himself sick. Mama, naturally, doesn’t see the humor in it. She was plainly outraged, but she held herself in check. For which I give her credit. It’s very hard to sit quietly while one’s intelligence is insulted.”

Longmore drew near to Sophy. “I should like to see you dripping diamonds . . . and nothing else,” he said in the very low voice that melted her spine and her brain simultaneously. More audibly, he answered his sister, “I was curious how the snake would account for himself.”

“Oh, he blamed you,” Clara said, her voice slightly muffled. Sophy could hear fabric rustling and Marcelline muttering something.

“I?” Longmore said. He leaned in and licked Sophy’s earlobe.

Her fingers curled into her palms. She really ought to step away, but it was too delicious. Too naughty.

“He claimed you’d hurt Madame’s feelings,” Clara was saying. “He said he was simply trying to cheer her. I said I thought that dining intime with a lady at a hotel seemed an odd way to go about it. Why did he not suggest she take a brisk walk in the open air? Why did he not suggest she visit Astley’s Amphitheater or the zoo or watch a comedy at the theater?”

Longmore was kissing the little bit of Sophy’s throat accessible above the ruche of her chemisette. It was extremely difficult to concentrate on Lady Clara. Yet Sophy was too weak-willed to step away. “That’s . . . good,” she said. “You didn’t forgive him too easily.”

“Not at all,” Lady Clara said. “I know he was annoyed with me. He expected me to smile and accept whatever he said. He thinks that he can do whatever he pleases, merely because he holds the power to restore my good name—the good name he fouled. On purpose.”

Longmore left off kissing Sophy and looked deeply into her eyes. “This is too complicated,” he said. “I can’t do this and think at the same time.”

“Then move away,” she said.

“Don’t want to,” he said.

“I know he wanted to break it off then and there,” Clara went on. “But he doesn’t d

are. A bird in the hand, you know—but, my God, what shall I do if it all goes wrong, and—”

“Hush!” Marcelline said sharply. “It’s not going to go wrong. Trust us, my dear.”

“Trust you,” Longmore murmured, still gazing so intently into Sophy’s eyes. “What a funny, funny thing to say.”

Since it was best for Sophy not to be seen too often in the shop at present, she avoided the showroom. Marcelline was the one who accompanied Lady Clara and her brother downstairs and saw them out—much to the excitement of the customers, no doubt.

Marcelline returned very soon, however, and with a grim look quickly removed the plum dress from the mannequin. She draped the dress over one arm and took hold of Sophy’s arm with her free hand and marched her into the dressing room.

“There’s no need to throw a tantrum,” Sophy said. Marcelline could become temperamental about her designs. “If you say I must wear the blue, I must wear the blue.”

“I know why you want to wear the plum,” Marcelline said. “It’s ravishing. It’ll make Longmore swoon.”

“It might make him do some things,” Sophy said. “But swooning isn’t one of them. He’s the sort of man who tells a girl he l-loves her—and then l-laughs. As though it’s a j-joke.”

To her vexation, she started to cry.

“Oh, my dear love.” Marcelline threw the dress over a chair and wrapped her arms about her sister.

That was all. She simply held her for a time while Sophy cried and cried until she was done.

Then Marcelline led her upstairs to the sitting room and brought out the brandy, the Noirot sisters’ preferred remedy for all sorts of disturbances.

“You work too hard,” Marcelline said after they’d taken their first sips. “You take too much on. Even Leonie says so.”

“But I’ve left you two to manage everything—and you’ve got a husband now! You’re still newlyweds!”

“Leonie and I have sufficient help from Selina Jeffreys and some of the seamstresses,” Marcelline said. “Clevedon and I have no trouble finding all the time we need to be together. Just because one is married doesn’t mean one must be with one’s spouse every waking minute.”