A Proper Companion (7 page)

"I will put my mind to it," he said, grinning at the
enthusiasm with which the dowager faced her new project. He might
be able to enjoy a little diversion himself by falling in with her
plans. He began ticking off a mental list of suitable friends in
Town.

"And she is, of course, quite lovely," the dowager
was saying when Robert's attention was drawn back to their
conversation, "despite her efforts to hide that fact. If only I
could convince her to update her wardrobe before we go to Town. The
poor girl looks such a dowd in those tired old gowns. Unfortunately
I can't simply present her with a pile of new dresses. She is so
stiff-necked, you see, about not accepting any gifts from me
outside of her regular salary. She will, though, stitch up an
occasional new gown if presented with the odd bolt of fabric. But
always something plain and serviceable, never the least
fashionable."

"So I noticed," Robert said as he absently stroked
Charlemagne's back. "Well, perhaps you can convince her that when
in London she would do you a disservice to appear so plainly
dressed. After all, the entertainments as well as the company will
be much more
à la mode
than she is accustomed to in Bath.
Make her believe that she owes it to you to look more fashionable.
Perhaps she can be made to feel guilty enough so that she will
allow you to have a gown or two made up for her by one of your
London modistes."

"My boy, you amaze me. You are more like me than I
ever imagined. I shall do it!"

"And maybe the hair, a little softer on the face
..."

The dowager smiled.

* * *

That evening the dowager asked Emily to come to her
room before she retired. Iris, the dowager's abigail, answered
Emily's knock and led her to the dowager's bed, where the old woman
was propped up on at least a dozen pillows, wearing a frothy lace
bed jacket. Steel-gray curls peeked out from beneath a fetching
lace cap. Charlemagne, curled cozily at her feet, was snoring
quietly. Iris left, and the dowager asked Emily to pull up a chair
next to the bed as she wished to have a particular conversation
with her. Emily did so and, after being seated, said, "Do you wish
to review the London preparations, my lady?"

"Yes, my dear, I do," the dowager said in her usual
drawl. "There is one item of preparation we have not discussed, as
I had not wished to upset you. But I do not have time for
roundaboutation, so I will speak plainly if you do not mind."

Emily's back straightened, the only sign of
increased tension. "I hope you feel you may always be frank with
me. Lady Bradleigh."

"Well, then. It is about your clothes."

"My clothes?"

"Yes. My dear, I am afraid they simply will not do.
In London I will expect you to accompany me to many social
engagements and to join me in my own entertainments at Bradleigh
House, not to mention the engagement ball. I must insist that you
be properly turned out."

Emily squirmed slightly in her straight-backed chair
as she mentally reviewed her wardrobe. "I do have my gray silk gown
which I could update with new ribbons," she said hesitantly. "And I
suppose I could modify the blue sarsnet with a new flounce or lace
at the hem. And—"

"No, no, my dear," the dowager interrupted with a
wave of her hand. "I did not mean that you must go to any extra
work yourself. You have too much to do as it is. I want you to be
fitted by Madame Dubois tomorrow so that she can have a few dresses
made up for you before we leave Bath. Once in London I will take
you to Madame Cécile for a complete wardrobe."

Emily jumped to her feet. "Oh, no, my lady. I 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."

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 particular her friendship with the Marquise de
Pompadour. But today Madame seemed especially pleased to be asked
to outfit Emily.

"Such a fine figure and graceful carriage," Madame
said with heavily accented enthusiasm, as she circled Emily and
eyed her from head to foot.

As Madame tossed bolt after bolt of fabric on the
counter for inspection, the dowager had unfailingly voiced her
preference for the brightest colors and the boldest patterns.
Emily, however, stood her ground. She had agreed to accept the new
wardrobe, but she would not be bullied into colors that made her
look like a circus tent. She was firm in her selection of clear
blues and greens in fine cambrics or textured sarsnets. She had
also selected one simple printed India muslin. As she and her
employer perused the fashion plates in the latest issues of
La
Belle Assemblée
, the dowager was wont to select those dresses
with the most flounces, the most ruffles, and the most elaborate
trimming. Again, Emily stood firm. She had no desire to be thrust
upon the
ton
looking like a wedding cake. Ever conscious of
her position, she preferred the simplest styles.

"Here is a lovely confection," the dowager said as
she pointed to a hand-colored engraving of a very elaborate evening
full dress of pink satin trimmed at the bodice with swags of seed
pearls and with countless tiny ivory satin bows at regular
intervals along the long sleeves. "You would be just the thing in
this dress, my dear."

Emily studied the fashion plate and looked up to
catch Madame Dubois's wary eye. "I am sorry, my lady," she said to
the dowager, "but I think I would prefer something much simpler.
Like this, for example." She indicated a plate showing a soft green
half evening dress trimmed at the neck and waist with pink ribbon
embroidered with a green leaf pattern.

"Hmph!" the dowager snorted. "You may choose as you
like, my dear, although please remember that our purpose is to have
you appear fashionable during the height of the London Season."

"
Mais, oui
, my lady," Madame Dubois
interjected. "And this design," she said, pointing to the fashion
plate in Emily's hand, "is
la dernier cri
. In the right
fabric it will be stunning on Mademoiselle, accentuating her height
and graceful neck." She pulled out a length of pale green silk and
with a flourish swiftly draped it across a very startled Emily.
"
Voilà
! See how it matches the green of her eyes."

Emily, amused at the Gallic enthusiasm of the
modiste, raised questioning brows to the dowager.

"It will do," the older woman snapped. "Proceed,
Madame."

Emily was then taken to a private room, where for
the next two hours she was subjected to endless poking, prodding,
measuring, and pinning. The dowager sat nearby, her brows furrowed
skeptically throughout the fitting. She was still opposed to the
simple styles Emily had selected.

"In my day," she said at one point, "we prided
ourselves on achieving the most elaborate styles. Why, our bodices
were literally covered with bows. I will never understand, Madame,
how we came to these simple vertical designs. And, Emily," she
scolded, "you disappoint me in your conservative selections."

Emily kept quiet, determined to maintain a simple,
albeit fashionable, appearance, in keeping with her position. She
had an unexpected ally in Madame Dubois.

"Ah, but Mademoiselle has excellent taste," she
crooned. "You are very wise not to be—how do you say?—a slave to
fashion. You must define your own style. Simple, uncluttered
elegance will serve you best. Fine fabric in a clean line is more
becoming to your height and bone structure. Follow my advice and
avoid all furbelows, fruit, or flowers.
Jamais, jamais,
jamais
! Let the fabric speak for itself,
n'est-ce
pas
?"

Emily was quite overwhelmed when they left the
modiste's, having ordered two morning dresses, two evening dresses,
a walking dress with matching spencer, a carriage dress, and a
pelisse. After much protestation Madame Dubois promised to have
everything ready in ten days. She also happened to have a simple
evening half dress already made up for another customer who had
changed her mind at the last moment. With the most minor
adjustments, the gown fit Emily perfectly, so that she was able to
take it with her. To Emily's amazement, the dowager informed her
that this new wardrobe would take her through perhaps their first
week in Town, and that many more dresses would be required for the
remainder of the Season. The dowager intended to make a visit to
Madame Cécile's soon after their arrival in Town.

Lady Bradleigh then tugged Emily along Milsom Street
to shop for slippers and half-boots to match the new dresses, as
well as gloves, stockings, bonnets, reticules, and undergarments.
Emily was self-conscious about the expense but kept her own
counsel. When the carriage at last deposited the two ladies back at
Laura Place, two footmen were required to carry in the band boxes
and packages.

It was a typical at-home afternoon at Laura Place,
with the drawing room crowded with friends and admirers come to pay
court to Lady Bradleigh, who was something of an institution in
Bath Society. Sir Percy Whittaker was among the callers and did his
best to pluck Emily from the background. She was staunch, however,
in maintaining her position against the wall, and Sir Percy was
forced to join her there in order to have conversation with her.
Most other callers simply nodded to Emily in polite acknowledgment
while she maintained her place and made no move to join in the
general conversation.

After the last caller had departed, the dowager,
Lord Bradleigh, and Emily remained in the drawing room, drinking
fresh tea and reviewing the day. The fast banter between the
dowager and her grandson, as they discussed each of the departed
guests with wicked amusement, had Emily in tears of laughter. She
had never seen anyone match wits so well with her sharp-tongued
employer. And she had never seen the dowager so enjoy herself. It
was clear that the two had a very close, very special
relationship.