“Come here, my dear.” The seamstress motioned to Faith. “It’s warmer next to the fire.” She held out her hand. “I’m Madame LeClerc. Here are your underthings. Let’s get you dressed. Monsieur Jordan is not a patient man.”
Faith started to protest, but Tempy gave her a warning glance.
A mound of clothing was stacked on the sofa next to the dressmaker. The maid took the top garment from the pile and held it out for Faith. She stepped into pantalets were shorter than the ones she usually wore. The silk, smooth and soft against her legs and buttocks, was decorated with French lace.
Faith sighed reverently. “I’ve never worn anything like this.”
She slipped her arms into a low cut camisole. A dozen tiny pearl buttons ran down the front of the undergarment, and it, too, was made of silk so sheer Faith could see through it.
Madame LeClerc nodded approvingly. “Monsieur Jordan has excellent taste. He likes soft, beautiful undergarments.”
“He selected these things?” Faith asked.
“Who else?” The dressmaker shrugged and handed several more garments to the maid. “Breathe in.”
Faith did as she was told while Tempy laced her corset. It was cut very low in the front and Faith instinctively tugged at the top.
“Leave it alone,” Tempy admonished. “If you tug at it, your dress won’t fit properly.”
Faith sat on the sofa and smoothed a pair of sheer silk stockings over her legs. She slid the satin garters into place and rose from the sofa in corset, camisole, pantalets and stockings waiting for the next layer of clothing and the inevitable hoops. But she waited in vain for hoops that weren’t necessary.
“Now, for the gown.” Madame LeClerc motioned the women forward.
Tempy helped the maid guide the dress over Faith’s head, then stood back to admire her niece.
The bright, burgundy silk shimmered in the light from the fire. The skirt was too narrow to be worn with hoops. The fabric was pulled tight across the front and allowed to fall in elegant folds from small bustle in the back. A two-foot train trailed behind.
The neckline was wide and scooped to frame Faith’s collarbones and breasts. The sleeves were wisps of silk trimmed with silver embroidery. It was a masterpiece of elegance, designed to entice without revealing.
Madame LeClerc adjusted the folds and straightened the train. She whipped out a needle and thread and adjusted the seams along the side to make the dress fit more snugly across Faith’s petite frame.
A knock sounded at the door to the suite. “Ten minutes,” Reese warned.
“Hurry,” Faith urged.
“Let him wait,” Madame suggested. “It does a man good to wait.”
Tempy nodded in agreement with the dressmaker and went to work brushing Faith’s hair.
They took their time, ignoring the unmistakable sound of Reese’s footsteps measuring the length of the hall.
Faith relaxed. She was tired of being rushed. He could leave without her or he could wait like a gentleman.
Reese waited impatiently for twenty more minutes before Faith opened the door.
He noticed her hair first. The straight, black, mane was plaited into one long, fat braid and coiled around the top of her head like a coronet. It was simple yet elegant, and it suited her.
Reese’s brown eyes darkened. He would have liked to see more of her, but she was enveloped from shoulders to shoes in a burgundy, velvet cape.
“We’re late,” Faith reminded him, brushing past him as she stepped through the doorway.
He pulled his gold watch from the pocket of his evening clothes. “So we are,” he commented, as he followed in her wake.
David was waiting for them in the carriage. His satchel was open on his lap, and papers were spread across the seat. The oil lamp beside his head was lit, the wick glowing brightly. He looked up when they entered and nodded a greeting in Faith’s direction. “You look lovely, Mrs. Collins.”
“Thank you.” Faith smiled at him.
Reese glared at his cousin. He sat next to Faith and stretched out his legs, trying hard to disregard the soft lavender scent that emanated from the burgundy velvet.