The caveat did not surprise her. Lenore nodded. “Very well. In that case, I wish to double the order.”
“Comment?” Lafarge’s eyes grew round.
“For every article His Grace ordered, I wish to order another,” Lenore explained. “In a different style, in a different colour and in a different material.”
Agatha burst out laughing. “Oh, well done, my dear,” she gasped, once she had caught her breath. “An
entirely fitting reaction. I had wondered how you would manage it, but that, at least, should set him back on his heels.”
“Quite,” Lenore agreed, pleased to have Agatha’s support. “I could hardly be so insensitive as to not appreciate his gift, but neither will I be dictated to in the matter of my own wardrobe.”
“Bravo!” Clapping her hands, Agatha raised them to Lenore in salute. “Heavens! But this will take an age. Are you free, Madame?”
“I am entirely at your service, my lady.” Shaking her head at the incomprehensible ways of the English, Madame summoned her assistants. Far be it from her to complain.
The following hours were filled with lists, pattern cards and fabrics. As she argued the rival merits of bronzed sarcenet over topaz silk, and cherry trim over magenta, Lenore felt some of Trencher’s excitement trip her. Agatha encouraged her to air her views. In the end, Lafarge paused to say, “You ’ave natural taste, m’moiselle. Strive to retain it and you will never be anything but elegant.”
Lenore beamed like a schoolgirl. The appellation “elegant” was precisely what she was aiming for. It seemed only fitting if she was to be Eversleigh’s bride.
At last, having duplicated the long list approved by His Grace, they paused to refresh themselves with tiny cups of tea and thinly sliced cucumber sandwiches.
Suddenly, Lafarge set her cup aside. “Tiens! Fool that I am—I forgot the bridal gown.”
She clapped her hands, issued a stream of orders and the repast was cleared. The curtains at the back of the shop parted to permit her senior assistant to enter, reverently carrying a gown of stiff ivory silk covered in tiny seed pearls.
Lenore simply stared.
“That’s Georgiana’s wedding gown—or part of it, if m’memory serves.” Agatha looked at Lafarge.
The modiste nodded. “Monsieur le duc’s mama? Mais oui. He asked for the gown to be re-made in a modern style. It is exquisite, no?”
All Lenore could do was nod, eyes fixed on the scintillating gown. As she climbed into it, she shivered. The gown was unexpectedly heavy. Lafarge had exercised her own refined taste in its design; the high neckline with its upstanding collar and long tightly fitting sleeves met with Lenore’s immediate approval. The long skirts fell from just below her breasts straight to the floor, the long line imparting a regal elegance most suitable for a ducal bride.
Once the gown had been adjusted and removed, Lafarge hesitantly brought forward a silk confection. “And this, monsieur le duc ordered for your wedding-night.”
Resigned, Lenore shook out the shimmering folds and held them up. Agatha stifled a chuckle. “I dare say,” was all the comment offered. She handed the scandalously sheer, tantalisingly cut nightgown and matching peignoir back to Lafarge. “I expect you had better send them with the rest.”
It was after two when they descended once more to the carriage. The first of the gowns, three day dresses and one evening gown ordered by Eversleigh, would be delivered that evening, along with some chemises and petticoats. As she followed Agatha into the carriage, Lenore heaved an unexpectedly satisfied sigh.
Agatha heard it and chuckled. “Not as boring as you expected, my dear?”
Lenore inclined her head. “I have to admit I was not bored in the least.”
“Who knows,” Agatha said, settling herself back on the seat. “You might even come to enjoy town pleasures. Within reason, of course.”
“Perhaps,” Lenore replied, unwilling to argue that point.
“Tell me,” Agatha said. “Those gowns you ordered—not in the usual style but not in your usual style, either. Don’t tell me Eversleigh has succeeded where your aunt, myself and my sisters all failed?”
A subtle smile played on Lenore’s lips. “My previous style was dictated by circumstances. Situated as I was, going about the estates alone, with my brothers bringing their friends to stay, it seemed more practical to wear gowns that concealed rather than revealed, dampened rather than excited. As you know, I did not look for marriage.”
Head on one side, Agatha studied her charge. “So you don’t mind Eversleigh’s choices?”
“I wouldn’t go quite so far as some of the styles he favours, but…” Lenore shrugged. “I see no reason, now I’m to be wed, to hide my light under a bushel any longer.”
Agatha chuckled. “And you wouldn’t get any bouquets from my nephew for attempting to do so.”
Lenore smiled and wondered how long it would be before Eversleigh came to see her.