Honor's Players - By Holly Newman Page 0,67

her eyes danced gleefully.

Mme. Vaussard did not miss the Viscountess’s reaction, nor the caress in the Viscount’s tone when he introduced her. It was a wise businesswoman who kept an ear to the society rumor mill and Mme. Vaussard was no one’s fool. She had heard of the Viscount’s wedding and knew the reputation of the former Lady Elizabeth Monweithe. It appeared society was about to have its aristocratic nose put out of joint. It was an endeavor Mme. Vaussard was glad to aid.

“So, you wish a new wardrobe? One befitting a Viscountess?”

“Yes,” Elizabeth answered, “immediately. I need a ball gown to wear to my sister’s betrothal ball. Unfortunately, her ball is only two days away.”

“Two days? Mon Dieu, what am I? A witch to conjure up a stunning, and of course, totally unusual, for thus it must be, ball gown?”

“More likely a fairy godmother.”

The modiste looked down her narrow nose at him, pursing her lips. “And you, milord, are an arrogant jackanapes. Come, my dear, let us go in the back and see what we have.

Where do you think you are going?” Mme. Vaussard asked St. Ryne as he made to follow them.

“With you.”

"Non. This time you will sit out here and wait while Madame La Viscountess and I consult. You are de trop now,” she relented.

She escorted Elizabeth to a back room filled with jewel toned materials, partially made gowns, and a scattering of drawings. “You certainly knew how to handle Justin," Elizabeth said once they were in the privacy of the back room.

Mme. Vaussard shifted bolts of material aside. “All gentlemen are basically leetle boys at heart, so, if one talks to them like their old nurse or governess, they just crumble. Now let us see what we can do for you.” She looked up from the piles of fabric and pinned Elizabeth with a considering eye. “Hannah! Hannah! Bring more candles!”

“Yes, Madame,” called a small voice from upstairs, and a moment later Elizabeth heard the clatter of footsteps on the stairs. The creature who appeared at the bottom was a slim young girl of some fifteen or sixteen summers clutching two candelabra and a fist full of candles to her flat chest.

"Parfait, mon chou. Now, place them high. One on the highboy I think, and the other on the pedestal where the plant is. We will create the feeling of the light at a ball," she explained to Elizabeth. “I have two fabrics here which I wish to drape you in. Here, Hannah, hold this one up against her ladyship like so. It is called Cote de I’Azure for the sea in the south of France.”

Elizabeth stared, spellbound at the cascade of blue material. It was a gloriously rich and vibrant color.

“Too remote,” came a clipped voice from the doorway.

The three women in the room turned with a start.

“Milord,” began Mme. Vaussard repressively.

“Dash it, woman, I’ll not sit kicking my heels in your charming little reception room! I’d like some say in how my own wife appears at this ball.” He looked at Elizabeth, his expression softening. "It’s important to us.”

Mme. Vaussard snorted delicately but made no further argument to his leaving. “You don’t like this material?” she asked instead.

“It’s beautiful, but not for this dress. Dressed up in that, she’d appear too cold and remote, like some damned doll on a pedestal.”

“Justin, please,” implored Elizabeth, laughingly embarrassed by his forthright language.

Mme. Vaussard tapped her forefinger against her chin. “You want heat, a touch of passion? Perhaps the Italian Rosi—Hannah!”

“Right away, Madame,” the child said, gathering up the blue silk. In its place she draped a rose-colored silk shot with gold thread.

Elizabeth’s eyes opened wide. It was a stunning material but it made her feel uncomfortable. “I don’t know, Madame,” she said hesitantly.

“It’s beautiful for you,” St. Ryne said. “It reflects the pink of your cheeks and the gold in your eyes.”

“Monsieur le Viscount is correct, cherie. ”

“Yes, but I don’t think I care to be quite that—that conspicuous.”

“May I make a suggestion, Madame?” Hannah asked timidly. Mme. Vaussard raised an eyebrow yet bowed her head in consent.

Hannah took a deep breath. “Two days ago I unpacked a new shipment of material, and there was one I think would be perfect for her ladyship. Let me get it—” She scurried over to a cupboard. “There wasn’t a lot of it, probably only enough for one gown,” she went on, her voice muffled among the fabrics. “Here.” She pulled out a bolt of gold silk. With reverent