Kisses and Scandal (A Survivors Series Anthology ) - Shana Galen Page 0,85

the screen forward.” She continued to give instructions as her assistants rushed about like mice. It soon became clear to Raeni she was a seamstress, a French one if Raeni’s limited knowledge of the language was correct.

“Madam, I am sorry to inform you that Mr. Gaines is not here today. You must be mistaken about your appointment.”

The woman looked down her nose. “I am not here for Mr. Gaines. I am no tailor. I am a modiste; Madame Renauld, one of the finest modistes in Paris and the finest in London. Why would I deign to make men’s clothing? There ees no art in a coat or pantaloon.” She waved a hand dismissively.

“Then who are you here to see?”

The modiste snapped her fingers at one of her assistants and the woman looked up from the stack of fabrics she was trying to arrange. “Mees Sawyer.”

Raeni started. “But that’s me.”

The modiste narrowed her eyes. “I was afraid of that.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Look in a mirror and you will understand. Phaedra, take that wrap off her head and burn it and the dress.”

Raeni clutched her turban. “You will not!”

“Mees Sawyer, do you know how much my services cost?” Madame Renauld asked.

Raeni shook her head. The modiste gave a number, and Raeni balked.

“That ees per hour. So I suggest you cease wasting time because each minute you stand in that awful garment, you cost Mr. Gaines money.”

As though she were walking in a dream, she allowed the assistants to help her disrobe. While they sniffed over her shabby underclothes, Raeni recalled that Mr. Gaines had said that as his clerk, she must look acceptable. But if Madame Renauld was not lying about her fee, why would he pay so much for a few conservative dresses his clerk would wear?

Madame Renauld came around the screen, took one look at Raeni’s chemise and stays and said that none of her creations would touch such shoddy linen. Raeni was provided with new undergarments, which she donned quickly, embarrassed to be unclothed in front of these strangers. The new chemise was light and soft and the stays fit her well, lifting her bosom. They laced in the back, though, and Raeni wondered how she would manage to put them on or remove them by herself. She supposed the finest modiste in London did not worry about such mundane matters.

Then Raeni was clothed in a dress of brown wool, which was surprisingly pretty, though too short for her. Still, she was led to a fabric-covered box in the middle of the floor and told to stand on it. A mirror had been placed across the room so while Raeni could see how short the dress was, she had to admit the cut and style of it was lovely and would be perfect for a clerk.

“Not thees color,” Madame Renauld said between measurements she called out and which one of her assistants wrote down. “We will make it in cream. That will set off her skin.”

Raeni shook her head, and Madame Renauld raised a brow. “You doubt me?”

“No. It’s just—”

The modiste’s hands went to her hips again. “Yes?”

“My skin is so dark. Perhaps it is better not to set it off.”

Madame Renauld looked at her as though she were mad. “Ma fille, have you looked at yourself in the mirror? Your skin ees lustrous and rich. We will show it off, not hide it. Now your arms—they are too thin. Those we will hide.”

And just like that Raeni, who had suddenly felt beautiful, was put back in her place. And yet she could not stop looking in the mirror. Was her skin beautiful? Was she beautiful?

“Now for the gown,” Madame Renauld said. She snapped her fingers and one of her assistants rushed behind the screen, returning with an armful of sumptuous silks and satins in every hue. The second assistant lifted some of the garments trailing on the ground and then stood before the modiste, presenting the choices.

Madame Renauld flicked a finger at the blond seamstress, seemingly allowing her to choose. The blond extracted the red and draped it over Raeni’s body.

Raeni shook her head. “I have no need for this.”

“You are correct,” Madame agreed. “That color does not suit. Betsy, take it off.” The seamstress removed the fabric, and as the soft material slid over her skin, Raeni felt her heart sink. Even though she would never have any occasion to wear a dress made of such lustrous fabric, she had loved the feel of it against her skin.