Several days later, Callie arrived at Ralston House promptly at noon, prepared for a day of dress shopping.
If there was one thing that Callie loathed, it was dress shopping.
Thus, she brought reinforcements in the form of Mariana who, aside from her unnatural love of Bond Street, was also consumed with curiosity over Ralston’s mysterious younger sister.
“I’ve never been to Ralston House!” Mariana whispered excitedly, as they approached the door.
“As well you should not have done,” Callie pointed out, primly. “Until the arrival of Ralston’s sister, this was most certainly not the place for young unmarried women.”
Nor an old, unmarried woman, but that did not prevent you from visiting the marquess.
Callie ignored the little voice in her head and started up the steps to the front door of the house. Before she reached the top stair, the door burst open, revealing an eager Juliana. “Hello!” she said, breathless with excitement.
Behind her stood a wild-eyed Jenkins, looking thoroughly appalled by the fact that the young woman had not waited for a footman to open the door and announce the arrival of her guests. His mouth opened a fraction, then closed, as though he were entirely unsure of how to deal with such an egregious breach of conduct. Callie swallowed back a smile, certain that the stoic butler would not at all appreciate the humor of the situation.
Mariana, however, took in the scene before her and burst into laughter. Clapping her hands together in glee, she crossed the threshold, took Juliana’s hands warmly in her own, and said, “You must be Miss Juliana. I am Callie’s sister, Mariana.”
Juliana dropped a small curtsy—as much as she could curtsy without the use of her hands—and said, “Lady Mariana, it is an honor to meet you.”
Mariana shook her head with a wide smile. “We can dispense with the ‘Lady’ altogether; you must call me Mariana. Can you not see that we are going to be excellent friends?”
Juliana matched Mariana’s smile with a brilliant one of her own. “Then you must call me Juliana, no?”
Callie grinned at the picture they made, heads already bent as if in confidence. Behind them, Jenkins looked to the ceiling. Callie had no doubt that the butler was longing for the days when there were no female residents of Ralston House.
Taking pity on him, she turned to the girls to say, “Shall we be off?”
Within moments, they had piled into the Allendale coach and were on their way to Bond Street, where they were to spend much of their afternoon. Of course, getting there was much easier said than done in the crush of carriages and shoppers. As the coach crept along, Juliana quieted, pressing her nose to the window to watch the bustling activity in the street beyond: scores of aristocrats moving in and out of shops; footmen loading carriages with boxes and packages; gentlemen tipping their hats as they passed clusters of chattering ladies. There was nothing quite like Bond Street at the start of the season. Callie could imagine that Juliana would find the entire experience of shopping alongside the ton rather daunting. Frankly, she couldn’t blame her for it.
Mariana seemed to sense the other girl’s nerves and chattered brightly. “We shall begin, of course, with Madame Hebert.” She placed her hand on Juliana’s, leaning across the carriage to whisper excitedly, “She’s French, of course, and the finest dressmaker in London. Everyone wants her…but she’s very particular about her clientele. In her creations, you’ll be the talk of the season!”
Juliana turned wide eyes on Mariana, and said, “If she is, as you say, particular, why would she accept me as a patron? I have no title.”
“Oh, she shall accept you without question! First, she’s designing my entire trousseau—so she will not be able to turn away a friend of mine. And, if that weren’t enough,” she added, matter-of-factly, “Ralston is a marquess and rich as Croesus. She won’t turn him down.”
“Mariana!” Callie exclaimed in outrage.
Mariana gave Callie a frank look. “Well, it’s true!”
“Nevertheless! It is vulgar to discuss the marquess’s finances.”
“Oh, posh, Callie. Everyone does it among friends.” Mariana waved a hand in dismissal and flashed a grin at Juliana. “It’s true. I’d imagine he’s outfitted several mistresses there.”
“Mariana!” Callie’s voice turned shrill. Juliana laughed, drawing a warning look from Callie. “Don’t encourage her!”
The carriage pulled to a stop, and Mariana adjusted the bow of her bonnet, tying it at a jaunty angle under her chin. She winked impishly at Juliana before hopping down from the carriage to the street below, calling back, “It’s true!”
And, with another laugh, Juliana joined her and the pair rushed ahead, into the modiste’s shop.
Callie followed them, amused. Mari had been the perfect addition to the outing—her natural exuberance was a match for Juliana’s—and Callie was rather proud of herself for making such a wonderful match. Ralston would be happy to hear that his sister had become fast friends with the future Duchess of Rivington; there was no question that such an alliance would smooth Juliana’s entry into society. Assuming, of course, that he never discovered that Mariana was more than willing to discuss his private affairs—all of them, evidently—without a care for discretion. Callie could only hope that the marquess’s own sister was slightly more careful with her words.
Mari was, of course, correct. Most men of London society kept their mistresses well housed and well dressed. Ralston would be no different. At the thought, a memory flashed in Callie’s mind—Ralston in his darkened chamber on that first night, when everything had begun, listing off the things that he had given his mistress at the end of their relationship. You retain the house, the jewels, the clothes. The vision chilled her. She shouldn’t be surprised, of course, but…the pang of jealousy she felt at the thought of his buying clothing for another woman was sharp.
How many had there been?
“Lady Calpurnia!”
The words startled her from her morbid reverie, and she turned to find Baron Oxford approaching from the opposite side of the street. His snug buckskin breeches and dark blue topcoat were offset by his crimson waistcoat, which was perfectly matched to the knob on his cane and the heels of his boots—the brilliance of which was rivaled only by his wide, white smile. Oxford was the height of fashion.
Aside, of course, from the fact that he just bellowed at me from halfway across London.
“Lady Calpurnia!” he repeated as he bounded out of the street to join her on the steps to Madame Hebert. “What tremendous good luck! Why, I was just considering paying a visit to Allendale House…and here you are!”
“Indeed,” Callie said, resisting the urge to ask the baron why he would be at all interested in visiting Allendale House, “here I am!” When Oxford continued to smile at her without speaking, she added, “It is a lovely day for shopping.”
“Only made lovelier by your being here.”
Callie’s eyebrows snapped together. “Oh. Well. Thank you, my lord.”
“Perhaps I could tempt you to forgo your shopping for a fruit ice?”
Was he pursuing her?
“Oh, I couldn’t…You see, my sister is inside.” She waved a hand to indicate the modiste’s shop. “She will be waiting for me.”
“I’m sure she would understand.” He offered one arm to her and, with a wide smile, winked at her.
Callie froze at the gesture. He was most definitely pursuing her.
Why?
“Callie!” Startled, Callie spun toward Mariana, who had popped her head out of the door to the shop to look for her sister. Taking in the scene before her with a look of utter confusion, Mari added, “Oh, hello, Baron Oxford.”
Oxford dipped into an extravagantly low bow, pointing one red-heeled boot in Mariana’s direction. “Lady Mariana, a pleasure, as ever.”
Callie lifted one gloved hand to her lips to cover the smile that escaped at the bizarre interaction. Lips twitching, Mari added, “Yes, well. You will not mind if I steal my sister away, will you?”
Oxford straightened and smiled broadly, “Not at all! Indeed this turn of events will only serve to make it more imperative that I call upon Lady Calpurnia at Allendale House.”
“That would be lovely, my lord.” Callie added in a tone that any but the baron would have noted as too bright. Seizing the opportunity for escape, she hurried up the stairs to Mariana, turning back to wave briefly at Oxford before following her sister into the shop.
“I cannot believe that he kept you waiting in the street! Do you think there is anything in that man’s head at all?” Mari asked under her breath.
Callie grinned. “Aside from teeth?”
The sisters laughed loudly as they approached Juliana, who had already waylaid Madame Hebert. The modiste had clearly decided, as Mariana had predicted, that designing an entire wardrobe for Juliana would be good for business.
Soon, they were surrounded by a gaggle of seamstresses, several of whom had already started measuring the girl, while others scrambled to collect bolts of fabric in every imaginable color and material. One small, bespectacled young woman perched on a nearby stool, taking notes as Mariana joined the conversation.
“She’ll need at least six dinner dresses to start…six day dresses, three riding habits, a dozen morning gowns, five walking dresses…” She paused, allowing the dressmaker’s assistant to catch up with her scribbling. “Oh! And three ball gowns…no, four. They must be stunning, of course,” Mariana said, giving a meaningful look at Madame Hebert. “She must take London by storm.”
Callie smiled as she took in the scene. Mariana had indeed been the perfect choice of companion. Juliana appeared thoroughly dumbstruck. Poor thing.
Mariana looked to Callie. “What have I forgotten?”
Turning to the modiste, Callie spoke up, “Spencers, pelisses, cloaks, and shawls to go with everything, as necessary…and she’ll need undergarments for all, of course. And night rails.”
Juliana spoke for the first time. “I do not see why I need new night rails. Mine are perfectly acceptable.”
“You need them because your brother is willing to buy them for you,” Mariana pointed out, matter-of-factly. “Why not have them?”
Juliana looked to Callie. “It is too much. I am only here for seven weeks.”
Callie shook her head sympathetically, immediately understanding the younger woman’s discomfort. She had barely met Ralston, and now she was ordering a fortune in clothing on his account. Callie moved closer to Juliana, placing a reassuring hand on her arm. Softly, so no one but Juliana could hear, Callie said, “He wants to do this for you. It was his idea. I know it seems too extravagant…” She met the young woman’s clear, worried gaze. “Let him play the elder brother today.”
After a moment, Juliana gave a little nod. “Bene. However, I should like the dresses to be in a more…Italian style.”
Madame Hebert overheard from her place nearby and scoffed, “You think I would take a wild lily and trim it to appear an English rose? You shall meet the ton as a bright Italian star.”
Callie couldn’t help but chuckle. “Capital. Shall we choose some fabrics?”
The words sent the cluster of women around them into a flurry, rolling out yards of muslins and satins, jaconet and crepe, velvet and gros de Naples in every imaginable color and pattern.
“Which do you like?” Callie asked.
Juliana turned her attention to the pile of fabrics, a bemused smile on her face. Mariana approached and locked their arms together. Leaning close, she said, “I adore that mulberry crepe. It would go beautifully with your hair.” Turning to Callie she said, “And you, sister?”
Callie cocked her head in the direction of a willow green satin, and said, “If you don’t leave here with an evening dress in that satin, I shall be very disappointed.”
Juliana laughed. “Well, then I shall have to have it! And I do like that rose muslin.”
Madame Hebert lifted the bolt and passed it to a seamstress. “Excellent choice, signorina. May I suggest the gold satin as well? For evening, of course.”
Mariana squeezed Juliana’s arm, and said brightly, “This is fun, isn’t it?” sending Juliana, nodding, into a fit of laughter. Ralston’s sister warmed quickly to the process, and within an hour she had selected colors and fabrics for all of her gowns. She and Mariana were taking tea and discussing hems and waists as Callie found herself fingering an aethereal blue satin that had caught her eye several times since she entered the shop. For the first time in a very long time, Callie was drawn to the idea of having a gown made. For herself.
“The fabric, it has been calling to you, non?” The deeply accented words of the modiste drew Callie from her thoughts. “It would make a beautiful gown. For your next ball. This satin, it is made for waltzing.”
“It is gorgeous!” Mariana had materialized beside her as the dressmaker had spoken.
“Indeed! You must have it!” Juliana added.
She smiled, shaking her head. “Thank you, but I have no need of a gown like that.”
Madame Hebert’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “You do not attend the balls?”
“Oh, I do…” Callie struggled for the words. “But I do not dance.”
“Perhaps you do not have the right gown, my lady. May I say…if I were to design you a gown of that fabric, you would most certainly dance.” Throwing an excess of the fabric out onto her table, the Frenchwoman worked several moments, pleating and folding. Stepping back, she allowed Callie a look at her work, which barely hinted at being a gown. It was gorgeous.
“We shall lower the line of the neck to show you off, the waist as well. You hide yourself among these flounces and frill—like so many other Englishwomen,” Madame Hebert spat the last words out as if they had a foul taste. “You need the French design. The French, they celebrate the woman’s shape!”
Callie blushed at the dressmaker’s bold speech, but she was tempted by it, nonetheless. Meeting the little Frenchwoman’s gaze, she said, “All right. Yes.”
Mariana and Juliana let out little exclamations of delight.
Madame Hebert nodded, all business. “Valerie,” she said sharply, calling to her assistant, “take Lady Calpurnia’s measurements. She will have the aethereal blue satin. She will also need a cloak.”
“Oh, I don’t think—”
The modiste did not look at Callie, instead pushing forward as though she hadn’t spoken. “The midnight satin. We shall line it with chinchilla. And then the aethereal comes off the shelf. The fabric belongs only to this lady.”
At the words, the girls around the shop tittered. Callie looked to Mariana in confusion. Her sister whispered, “Madame Hebert only removes fabric from sale when she constructs a gown without the help of her staff! Callie! How exciting!”
Callie swallowed audibly. What had she gotten herself into?
Madame Hebert turned back to Callie. “Three weeks.”
She nodded in understanding. “And Juliana’s?”
“The same. We shall send them to her as they are finished.”
“She will need the gold evening gown on Wednesday,” Mariana said, “for the opera.”
Juliana, who had been idly stroking a lavender muslin that was to become one of her new walking dresses, looked up in surprise.
“She must be at the opera on Wednesday, Callie,” Mariana repeated, then said to Juliana, “You will come with us, of course.”
Of course, Mariana was right. Wednesday was opening night at the Theatre Royal and the perfect event at which to launch Juliana into society. She would be introduced as delicately as possible, only having to interact with the ton before and after the opera, and during its intermission.
Callie nodded her agreement. “Wednesday is, of course, the perfect day.”
The modiste, who had remained quiet through the conversation, finally spoke. “It is Monday, my ladies. I can finish the gown for Wednesday, but not without having my girls work through the night.” The meaning was clear.
Callie smiled. Ralston had put her in charge. And he had said money was no object. “Her brother is the Marquess of Ralston. I am certain he will approve the charge.”
Madame Hebert did not press the issue and sharply ordered two of her girls to begin the dress immediately.
Once outside, the trio began a whirlwind tour of the shops of Bond Street and beyond. After visiting the milliner, they made their way down a small, narrow street, and Juliana stopped to gaze through a bookshop window. Turning back to her companions, she said, “Would you mind terribly if we went in? I should like to purchase something for my brothers. To thank them for their kindness.”
“What an excellent idea!” Never one to avoid a bookseller, Callie opened the door with a wide smile, motioning for Juliana to enter ahead of her.
The tinkling of a small bell welcomed the young women into the shop and alerted its proprietor to their presence. With a polite nod, he quickly returned to his work, and Callie and Mariana moved to browse the latest novels, leaving Juliana to consider an appropriate gift for her brothers.
The younger girl had never considered how difficult it might be to choose the perfect gift for Ralston and St. John—something that spoke to their unique interests and would hold additional meaning as the first gift they received from their new, unexpected sister.
After a quarter of an hour of browsing, Juliana had finally selected a large book of illustrations of Pompeii for Nick, hoping that his love of the ancient world would make it the perfect gift.
Ralston, however, presented a challenge. She knew so little of him, aside from the long hours he spent at his piano late at night. Moving through the shop, Juliana ran her fingers along the spines of large, leather-bound tomes, wondering what might be the right choice for her eldest brother.
Finally, she paused, lingering over a German volume on Mozart, nibbling on her lower lip as she considered the book.
“If one is looking for a biography of Mozart, there is none better than that. Niemetschek knew the maestro personally.”
Juliana started, spinning toward the voice.
Scant inches away, stood the most beautiful man she had ever seen.
He was tall and broad, with eyes the color of honey warmed in the sun. The late-afternoon light that streamed into the bookshop played on his golden curls and underscored the perfect lines of his straight nose and strong jaw.
“I—” She stopped, her mind racing as she attempted to remember the rules of conduct for such a situation. Callie and she had never discussed proper conduct when approached by an angel in regard to musical biographies. Certainly it would not be inappropriate to thank him. Would it? “Thank you.”
“My pleasure. I hope you will enjoy it.”
“Oh, it is not for me. It is a gift. For my brother.”
“Ah, well then I hope he will enjoy it.” He paused, and they stared at each other for a long moment.
Juliana grew nervous in the silence, eventually saying, “I am sorry, sir. I am fairly certain that we are not allowed to converse.”
He gave her a small, crooked smile, sending a wave of warmth through her. “Only fairly certain?”
“Almost positive. I am new to London and your rules, but I seem to remember something about our needing to be introduced.” Her blue eyes flashed.
“That is a pity. What do you think will happen if we were discovered? Discussing books in a public place by light of day?”
The scandal in his tone drew a little laugh from her. “One never knows. The earth might well swallow us whole for such a dangerous activity.”
“Well, I would hate to place a lady in such imminent danger. And so, I will take my leave, and hope that someday we will have cause for proper introductions.”
For a fleeting moment, she considered calling Callie or Mariana over to make the introductions, but she felt certain that kind of thing was not done. Instead, she blinked up at the golden man. “I shall hope the same.”
He bowed low then, and was gone, the only sign that he had been there at all the faint tinkling of the bell above the bookshop’s door announcing his exit.
Unable to stop herself, Juliana moved to the window, watching him as he strode down the street.
“Juliana?” Callie spoke from nearby. “Have you selected your books?”
Turning with a smile, Juliana nodded. “I have. Do you think that Gabriel will enjoy a biography on Mozart?”
Callie considered the title. “I think that is a fine choice.”
Juliana took a deep breath, pleased. “Tell me, do you know that man?”
Mari followed the direction of Juliana’s gaze, taking in the tall, golden man moving quickly away from the shop. Wrinkling her nose, she looked back at Juliana and said, “Why?”
“No reason,” Juliana hedged, “He is…familiar.”
Mari shook her head. “I doubt you know him. I can’t imagine his even deigning to visit Italy, let alone actually speak to someone Italian.”
“Mari…” Callie said, caution in her tone.
“But, who is he?” Juliana pressed.
Callie waved one hand dismissively, heading for the sales counter. “The Duke of Leighton.”
“He is a duke?” Juliana asked in surprise.
“Yes,” Mari nodded, guiding her friend to the front of the bookshop. “And a thoroughly awful one. Considers anyone with a lesser title to be entirely beneath him. Which doesn’t leave him many equals.”
“Mariana! Must you insist on gossiping in public?”
“Oh, come, Callie. Admit that you cannot suffer Leighton.”
“Well, of course not,” Callie said in a low voice. “No one can. I do try not to announce my distaste to entire book-shops, however.”
Juliana considered their conversation. He hadn’t seemed at all distasteful. But, then, he hadn’t known who she was. Certainly if he had discovered she was a merchant’s daughter…
“Are there many like him? Many who will discount me immediately, simply because of my birth?”
Mariana and Callie exchanged a brief glance at the question before Callie waved a hand in the air, and said, “If there are, they are not worth the effort. There are plenty who will adore you. Never fear.”
“Indeed,” Mari added with a smile. “And do not forget that I am soon to be a duchess myself. And then…hang them all!”
“I should not like them to be killed,” Juliana said, worriedly.
The other women looked confused for a brief moment before Callie laughed, understanding that Mariana’s words had been lost in translation. “It is an expression, Juliana. No one shall be hanged. It simply means that Mariana will not care about them.”
Understanding dawned. “Ah! Capisco. I understand! Si. Hang them!”
The three women all laughed together and Juliana paid for her brothers’ gifts. After a footman had been charged to deliver their wrapped packages to the carriage, she turned a bright smile on the other women. “Where shall we go next?”
Mariana smiled broadly and announced, “The glover, of course. A woman cannot very well make her debut without opera gloves, can she?”