could
not—"
"Oh, yes, you could, and please sit down so I don't
have to crane my neck."
Emily sank stiffly back into the chair, frowning
furiously. She did not like the direction of this conversation. She
had just today been pondering the fortunate circumstance of her
position with the dowager countess. But she would walk away from it
all if she was made to feel a charity case.
"Now, Emily," the dowager continued in a serious
tone, "I will listen to no arguments. I realize that you have never
wanted to accept any gifts from me in the past, but this time must
be an exception to your self-imposed rule. I simply cannot have you
marching around London in those plain round gowns of yours."
"But, my lady, I cannot accept your charity. If I am
unable to provide myself a wardrobe appropriate to your
requirements, then I am unfit for this position. I am—"
"Balderdash! Emily, my girl, I will need you
in London. I cannot take on the preparations for a ball without
your help. So let's not have any ridiculous talk about resigning
your position. That is most definitely out of the question.
Besides, I've grown quite fond of you, my dear, and will sincerely
enjoy having you with me in Town. But we absolutely must update your wardrobe."
Emily heaved a sigh and looked up at the dowager
with knitted brows. Her lips were drawn tightly together, and her
spine was rigid with tension. She loved the old woman, but she was
beginning to feel like a trapped animal, helpless to escape from an
intolerable situation. There was nothing more repugnant to her than
to receive unsolicited offers of what could only be considered
charity. She had fought hard the last seven years to make her own
way in the world, without relying on any sort of charitable
assistance, no matter how well meant. If she accepted a new
wardrobe—and Emily was not unaware of the expense involved—what
would be next?
The dowager reached over and took Emily's hand in
her own. "Emily, my love, you are a proud young woman. I understand
what kind of life you've been saddled with, and, as much as I
detest what your heartless father has forced you to endure, I
cannot but admire your courage in facing the realities of your
life. But, my dear, you must take care that your pride does not
intrude on your good sense. It would give me great pleasure to
provide you with a wardrobe that is, after all, appropriate to a
woman of your background. You must never forget that you are the
granddaughter of an earl. Please indulge an old woman and allow me
to do this small thing for you." She gently squeezed Emily's
hand.
What could she do? How could she reject such a
sincere offer? Emily knew that a rejection would hurt the old
woman's feelings. She dropped her gaze to the floor as she
considered her position. If she refused this offer, she would
likely have to give up her position. She knew that the dowager was
right, that her current pitiful wardrobe would not be appropriate
for London. And she did so want to go to London. Perhaps just this
one time she should swallow her pride and allow herself this
indulgence.
Emily raised her eyes and smiled at her elderly
employer, blinking back the tears she was on the verge of shedding.
How could she deny this sweet old termagant anything? She reached
over and kissed the dowager's cheek.
"Thank you, my lady," she said as she reluctantly
came to a decision. "You are too kind to me. I shall never forget
your generosity."
Chapter 5
The next day the dowager's barouche took Lady
Bradleigh and Emily from Laura Place to Milsom Street to the
establishment of Madame Dubois, one of Bath's most well-respected
modistes. Madame's showroom was one of many bow-windowed shop
fronts that lined the popular thoroughfare, tucked between a print
seller and a plumiere. The dowager had long been a good customer of
Madame Dubois. Emily was aware that the tiny Frenchwoman held the
dowager in much awe due to her past association with the court of
Louis XV and in
not—"
"Oh, yes, you could, and please sit down so I don't
have to crane my neck."
Emily sank stiffly back into the chair, frowning
furiously. She did not like the direction of this conversation. She
had just today been pondering the fortunate circumstance of her
position with the dowager countess. But she would walk away from it
all if she was made to feel a charity case.
"Now, Emily," the dowager continued in a serious
tone, "I will listen to no arguments. I realize that you have never
wanted to accept any gifts from me in the past, but this time must
be an exception to your self-imposed rule. I simply cannot have you
marching around London in those plain round gowns of yours."
"But, my lady, I cannot accept your charity. If I am
unable to provide myself a wardrobe appropriate to your
requirements, then I am unfit for this position. I am—"
"Balderdash! Emily, my girl, I will need you
in London. I cannot take on the preparations for a ball without
your help. So let's not have any ridiculous talk about resigning
your position. That is most definitely out of the question.
Besides, I've grown quite fond of you, my dear, and will sincerely
enjoy having you with me in Town. But we absolutely must update your wardrobe."
Emily heaved a sigh and looked up at the dowager
with knitted brows. Her lips were drawn tightly together, and her
spine was rigid with tension. She loved the old woman, but she was
beginning to feel like a trapped animal, helpless to escape from an
intolerable situation. There was nothing more repugnant to her than
to receive unsolicited offers of what could only be considered
charity. She had fought hard the last seven years to make her own
way in the world, without relying on any sort of charitable
assistance, no matter how well meant. If she accepted a new
wardrobe—and Emily was not unaware of the expense involved—what
would be next?
The dowager reached over and took Emily's hand in
her own. "Emily, my love, you are a proud young woman. I understand
what kind of life you've been saddled with, and, as much as I
detest what your heartless father has forced you to endure, I
cannot but admire your courage in facing the realities of your
life. But, my dear, you must take care that your pride does not
intrude on your good sense. It would give me great pleasure to
provide you with a wardrobe that is, after all, appropriate to a
woman of your background. You must never forget that you are the
granddaughter of an earl. Please indulge an old woman and allow me
to do this small thing for you." She gently squeezed Emily's
hand.
What could she do? How could she reject such a
sincere offer? Emily knew that a rejection would hurt the old
woman's feelings. She dropped her gaze to the floor as she
considered her position. If she refused this offer, she would
likely have to give up her position. She knew that the dowager was
right, that her current pitiful wardrobe would not be appropriate
for London. And she did so want to go to London. Perhaps just this
one time she should swallow her pride and allow herself this
indulgence.
Emily raised her eyes and smiled at her elderly
employer, blinking back the tears she was on the verge of shedding.
How could she deny this sweet old termagant anything? She reached
over and kissed the dowager's cheek.
"Thank you, my lady," she said as she reluctantly
came to a decision. "You are too kind to me. I shall never forget
your generosity."
Chapter 5
The next day the dowager's barouche took Lady
Bradleigh and Emily from Laura Place to Milsom Street to the
establishment of Madame Dubois, one of Bath's most well-respected
modistes. Madame's showroom was one of many bow-windowed shop
fronts that lined the popular thoroughfare, tucked between a print
seller and a plumiere. The dowager had long been a good customer of
Madame Dubois. Emily was aware that the tiny Frenchwoman held the
dowager in much awe due to her past association with the court of
Louis XV and in
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