while a seamstress measured her waist and hips.
Popping her head out from between a row of dresses, Josephine smirked. “Did he ever try to sleep with you?”
Grace’s cheeks colored. The answer was a resounding yes (one two separate occasions) but it was something she had never told her friends, and had no intention of revealing now. Both times had been so sweet and tender and only just a bit awkward. She knew she shouldn’t have allowed it to happen since she and Stephen were not married, but at the time she had thought it was only a formality they had yet to go through. A stroll down the aisle, a droning priest, and they would be wed on paper as they were already wed in their hearts.
“Well, no,” she lied hesitantly. “But that is because he is a—”
“If you say ‘gentleman’,” Margaret piped up from across the dressing room, “I will strangle you with this ribbon. What do you think, Catherine? Blue or teal?”
“Oh, most definitely the teal. It will bring out her eyes.”
Grace squinted at the two pieces of ribbon Margaret was holding up. “What is the difference?” she said grumpily. “They both look the same to me.”
“And that is why we are in charge and you are not,” Catherine said. Smoothing a long piece of blond hair into place, the svelte beauty sauntered across the room and pursed her lips as she leaned over the seamstress’s shoulder to eye the measurements she had written down. “I am sorry to say this, dear, but no more pastries until after Almack’s.”
“No more… no more pastries?” Grace whispered, aghast.
“Until after Almack’s,” Catherine repeated firmly.
“That is not so bad,” Margaret said, coming up behind her and giving her a consoling pat on the shoulder. “You need only wait until Thursday morning.”
Almack’s Assembly Rooms hosted a ball every Wednesday evening for the who’s who of London Society. The vouchers required to gain entry were quite difficult to come by and cost ten guineas to boot, a small fortune that Grace’s family could ill afford, but Catherine had used her husband’s considerable influence to procure one for free as a small favor from Lady Cowper, sister to Lord Melbourne – the Prime Minister with no relation to Stephen – and one of the Almack’s seven esteemed patronesses.
“Oh, let her have a pastry or two,” Josephine said. “What is it going to hurt? Our Gracie is not meant to be slim as a rail. She has a woman’s curves, lucky duck that she is. Besides, that dastardly old goat that you have chosen to marry—”
“Josephine…”
“I am sorry. It just slipped out. I meant, that hairy troll you found under a bridge—”
“ Josephine !”
“Fine.” Rolling her violet eyes, Josephine sighed and said, “ Stephen asked you to marry him when you looked just as you do now.”
For once, Grace could not find fault with Josephine’s logic and nodded her head in agreement. Margaret and Catherine, however, were not so easy to convince.
“We need the mere sight of her to sweep him off his feet,” Catherine said.
“She needs to be so dazzling he will never think of leaving her again,” Margaret said. Belatedly realizing the double meaning that could be taken from her words, she flushed and hastily added, “Not that there was anything wrong with your appearance before, sweetling.”
Grace raised her eyebrows – the only part of her body she could move without fear of getting jabbed by a pin – and said, “I still need to find out why he left the first time. I cannot… That is, I will not…” Here she paused as she struggled to form her thoughts into words. Thankfully her friends knew her better than she did herself at times, and Catherine was quick to intercede.
“You cannot risk being with him again knowing that at any moment he may leave,” the Duchess said.
“Yes.” Grace nodded. “That is it precisely.” She dared not imagine what would happen to her if Stephen left a second time… The
Popping her head out from between a row of dresses, Josephine smirked. “Did he ever try to sleep with you?”
Grace’s cheeks colored. The answer was a resounding yes (one two separate occasions) but it was something she had never told her friends, and had no intention of revealing now. Both times had been so sweet and tender and only just a bit awkward. She knew she shouldn’t have allowed it to happen since she and Stephen were not married, but at the time she had thought it was only a formality they had yet to go through. A stroll down the aisle, a droning priest, and they would be wed on paper as they were already wed in their hearts.
“Well, no,” she lied hesitantly. “But that is because he is a—”
“If you say ‘gentleman’,” Margaret piped up from across the dressing room, “I will strangle you with this ribbon. What do you think, Catherine? Blue or teal?”
“Oh, most definitely the teal. It will bring out her eyes.”
Grace squinted at the two pieces of ribbon Margaret was holding up. “What is the difference?” she said grumpily. “They both look the same to me.”
“And that is why we are in charge and you are not,” Catherine said. Smoothing a long piece of blond hair into place, the svelte beauty sauntered across the room and pursed her lips as she leaned over the seamstress’s shoulder to eye the measurements she had written down. “I am sorry to say this, dear, but no more pastries until after Almack’s.”
“No more… no more pastries?” Grace whispered, aghast.
“Until after Almack’s,” Catherine repeated firmly.
“That is not so bad,” Margaret said, coming up behind her and giving her a consoling pat on the shoulder. “You need only wait until Thursday morning.”
Almack’s Assembly Rooms hosted a ball every Wednesday evening for the who’s who of London Society. The vouchers required to gain entry were quite difficult to come by and cost ten guineas to boot, a small fortune that Grace’s family could ill afford, but Catherine had used her husband’s considerable influence to procure one for free as a small favor from Lady Cowper, sister to Lord Melbourne – the Prime Minister with no relation to Stephen – and one of the Almack’s seven esteemed patronesses.
“Oh, let her have a pastry or two,” Josephine said. “What is it going to hurt? Our Gracie is not meant to be slim as a rail. She has a woman’s curves, lucky duck that she is. Besides, that dastardly old goat that you have chosen to marry—”
“Josephine…”
“I am sorry. It just slipped out. I meant, that hairy troll you found under a bridge—”
“ Josephine !”
“Fine.” Rolling her violet eyes, Josephine sighed and said, “ Stephen asked you to marry him when you looked just as you do now.”
For once, Grace could not find fault with Josephine’s logic and nodded her head in agreement. Margaret and Catherine, however, were not so easy to convince.
“We need the mere sight of her to sweep him off his feet,” Catherine said.
“She needs to be so dazzling he will never think of leaving her again,” Margaret said. Belatedly realizing the double meaning that could be taken from her words, she flushed and hastily added, “Not that there was anything wrong with your appearance before, sweetling.”
Grace raised her eyebrows – the only part of her body she could move without fear of getting jabbed by a pin – and said, “I still need to find out why he left the first time. I cannot… That is, I will not…” Here she paused as she struggled to form her thoughts into words. Thankfully her friends knew her better than she did herself at times, and Catherine was quick to intercede.
“You cannot risk being with him again knowing that at any moment he may leave,” the Duchess said.
“Yes.” Grace nodded. “That is it precisely.” She dared not imagine what would happen to her if Stephen left a second time… The
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