two flounces, one going halfway down on top of the other as though she were a cake come to life. The peach-colored fabric was warm and vibrant—“Definitely not orange,” she muttered—and sported several whimsical additions that made it thoroughly and absolutely a lady of leisure’s gown. Suitable only for standing or walking slowly while appearing gloriously beautiful.
The sleeves had multiple layers also, and the modiste had designed the gown so it could be quickly swapped out to transition from a day dress to a ball gown.
Ana Maria was extravagant, but at least she wasn’t foolishly so. Although being a Practical Lady seemed contradictory. Suitable for her walking oxymoron self, she supposed.
“Going? Oh yes. I am taking Miss Octavia to the fabric house. She wished to see for herself the fabrics that inspired my salon.”
“That Miss Octavia seems like a wild one,” Jane said in a warning tone.
“Excellent! Since I am mild myself, perhaps we can meet in the middle and be wildly mild. Or mildly wild.”
Jane rolled her eyes.
Once dressed, Jane worked on Ana Maria’s hair, persuading it to curl where it never had before. Another benefit of being a lady—not having to stand with arms akimbo over your head as you attempted to smooth your tresses into place.
There was something to be said for being a lady. It was just that it felt as though a piece of her was missing.
She’d have to make it part of her Practical Lady mission to find it.
“Good morning,” Octavia said with a bright smile as Ana Maria descended from the coach. Octavia lived in a small apartment in the back of Miss Ivy’s, the club owned and named after her sister. Ivy had just married Ana Maria’s brother, Sebastian, so Octavia was living on her own, something that would have been scandalous if it weren’t already scandalous that Octavia was also working at Miss Ivy’s as a host and occasional dealer.
“Good morning.”
Octavia pushed the door to the club open, gesturing for Ana Maria to walk through. It was empty, of course, but with just a little imagination Ana Maria could envision it in the evening, filled with chattering people from all strata of Society, the clink of coins, the sounds of chips being stacked on top of one another, or scraped away to end up in the house’s bank.
She’d only been here when the club was closed, and she resolved—because this was what she wanted—to come some evening when it was open, to see if she liked gambling. She’d never had the opportunity before, of course, but now Thaddeus was giving her a more than adequate allowance, and she had friends here.
“Come along to my rooms, Carter is already making tea.”
Ana Maria jolted herself out of her reverie of high stakes play, following Octavia as her friend walked briskly to the far corner of the room, opening another set of doors and walking through.
They settled themselves in the small room that was the catchall for anything that wasn’t sleeping or dressing, the maid Carter coming in to deposit a tray of tea things onto the table that was nestled between the two comfortable chairs.
“You should come some evening,” Octavia said as she poured the tea.
Had she read Ana Maria’s mind?
“I should. I will,” Ana Maria replied. “I know Sebastian and Ivy are here most evenings, but is there—is there anyone else I have met?”
Octavia raised one knowing eyebrow. “Sebastian’s friend, that glowering duke, comes a few nights a week. Never gambles, only drinks. Tips well.” The last bit was spoken as recitative facts, and Ana Maria chuckled.
The description likely fit Nash more generally as well—never gambles, because gambling was a risk, and she didn’t get the feeling he did risks, and she knew full well he liked to drink, though she’d yet to see him drunk. The tipping well bit also sounded like him, because even though he worked on his gruff facade, she suspected that he was softhearted, and despised his wealth when it meant others went without.
“When—that is, is there an evening the Duke of Malvern comes more frequently?”
Octavia folded her arms over her chest and leaned back in her chair with a frank look of appraisal. “Are you interested in that lummox?” She paused. “I can see him having a certain brutish charm,” she said, emphasizing the last two words as though she were saying something far more salacious, “but I would have thought you might have preferred a more social person. Someone who, perhaps, will exchange pleasantries rather