the chair. “Your posture is exactly why you aren’t permitted to go, not to mention your chewing. Look at you.”
Phaedra defiantly wiggled one slippered foot.
Margaret shot Phaedra an affectionate look. Never having had any siblings of her own, she was envious of the easy way the sisters talked and tormented each other. They had all embraced Margaret with smiles, asking to be addressed by their Christian names even after such short acquaintance. Including the mysterious Theo who had decided to leave her studio and join them in the large parlor today. It was as if the duchess and the girls were her family. She’d been so busy enjoying their company, she’d almost forgotten all about Welles and the thoughts he’d put in her head.
Almost.
Last week, Margaret had appeared promptly to accompany Olivia and Phaedra on a new piece the three were going to learn and surprise the duchess with. But an hour or so into practice, Romy had interrupted, measuring tape in hand, insisting Margaret come with her immediately. Her friend had the perfect costume in mind for Margaret to wear to Lady Masterson’s. Romy had already put some of the pieces together, but the gown had to be properly fitted.
Since Margaret hadn’t had a clue what she would wear to such an event and was pleased Romy had gone to so much trouble on her behalf, she’d followed her friend out, much to the dismay of Phaedra and Olivia.
Romy had whisked Margaret to the parlor where a dressmaker’s dummy sat swathed in the green silk Margaret now wore. After whipping about the measuring tape, taking notes, and sticking pins everywhere, the gown had begun to take shape. Today was the final fitting before Lady Masterson’s party. Romy was definitely talented, as the gown was beautiful. Margaret doubted she could have conceived of anything half as lovely.
“What made you decide on an iris, Romy?” Margaret had been meaning to ask her why she’d chosen that particular flower. “Why not a peony? Or an orchid?”
Romy tilted her head, her eyes the same startling blue as her brother’s. The sight brought Welles to mind again and Margaret stubbornly pushed him aside.
“I suppose,” Romy said, “because Mother and I were walking through the garden when she told me you would be accompanying us. We stopped right before a patch of miniature irises. Fate, I suppose. I was looking at all those tiny, delicate flowers and thought how you reminded me of one.”
“I hardly consider myself delicate. I did grow up in Yorkshire.”
“Yes, but the iris is also hardy, Margaret. And blooms wherever it is planted. You must promise to come here the day of the party and we’ll get ready together in case your gown needs a last-minute adjustment. I’m sure your aunt won’t mind.”
Margaret agreed. Her aunt had barely spoken ten words to her since the discussion over how Margaret had come to be acquainted with the Duchess of Averell. She was sure by now Aunt Agnes had confirmed with Lady Patson that the duchess hadn’t been in attendance at the party, but she would not be inclined to contradict the duchess. Her aunt would sit on her suspicions until she could spring them on Margaret at an appropriate time.
“I’ll be here right after breakfast; will that suit?”
“Yes. We’ll have tea and get dressed together. And Mother’s lady’s maid is a marvel with hair. I’m thinking fresh cut flowers from our gardens should do the trick.”
“You’ve gone to so much trouble on my account,” Margaret said.
“Nonsense. It’s what I love to do,” she said in a wistful tone. “Just as you love music and composing. Now look, what do you think?”
Margaret turned to face the large oval mirror one of the footmen had brought in. She did look smashing. The cut of the gown highlighted her small waist and made her bosom seem larger. Romy was truly a wizard to accomplish such a thing. She moved back and forth, watching the way the silk moved about her body.
“I like the way the sleeves flutter about. Very pretty.”
Margaret jumped with a squeak at the words and turned to the door.
Welles leaned against the wall, eyes hooded as his gaze ran slowly down the length of her body, as if he were touching each bone beneath her skin.
Her palm fell over her madly fluttering heart, begging it to cease such foolishness at the sight of him.
“Tony, do knock before you enter when I’m …doing things,” Romy chastised him. “What if Miss Lainscott,” her tone