Wicked Again (The Wickeds #7) - Kathleen Ayers Page 0,60

is Miss Ives.”

“Madame is expecting you both. This way, please.”

As she and Jordana made their way through the shop, Marissa pointed out the groups of women, reciting their names and titles to Jordana.

“Over there is Lady Ralston and her daughter, Emily,” Marissa whispered. “She’s to be married shortly to the eldest son of the Earl of Devon and her mother is giving a grand ball to celebrate. I myself will be in attendance. Everyone will be there.”

Jordana’s lips puffed in agitation. “You’re always spouting off everyone’s names and titles as if you expect me to remember them all. As if it were of importance. Which I don’t believe it is.”

Jordana was being particularly difficult today.

“Perhaps we should purchase you a small notebook to take down the things I tell you.” Marissa patted her arm. “I leave myself notes all the time to help me remember what is important.”

“I still won’t remember because I don’t care to.”

Marissa pursed her lips. She’d made progress with Jordana, but there was still much more work to be done. Jordana seemed determined not to engage with society and not to marry. She delighted in informing Marissa she meant to spend her life as a midwife or something equally disagreeable.

“Ah, Lady Cupps-Foster.” Madame Fontaine came forward and kissed Marissa on both cheeks. “I see you’ve brought me another young lady, no? Lady Malden wasn’t enough?”

Madame Fontaine towered over Marissa and every other woman milling about her establishment. Taller than most men, the modiste favored red painted heels which added several inches to her height. Along with her tower of hair which was often full of the pencils she used for sketching, Madame Fontaine resembled an overly large, fashionable porcupine. The gossips whispered the modiste had left France after murdering her married lover.

The story seemed suspicious, especially when the modiste’s accent slipped. No matter the truth of her origins, Madame Fontaine was one of the most sought after modistes in London. Her original designs were nothing short of stunning, her taste impeccable.

Marissa adored her.

Madame Fontaine plucked a pencil out from the mountain of her hair. Glancing first at Jordana and then back to Marissa, her tongue flicked over the end of the pencil, a small leather-bound notepad appearing from her pocket.

“May I present Miss Ives.” Marissa brought Jordana forward.

“Miss Ives.” Madame Fontaine peered down from her great height at Jordana.

“Madame.” Jordana’s eyes had widened to the size of saucers taking in the modiste.

“She will need a new wardrobe, from scratch, as I explained earlier.” Marissa produced a list from her reticule and handed the paper to Madame Fontaine. “Perhaps you have two or three dresses which can be fit for her today while the rest can be delivered later? Something appropriate for paying calls?”

“I have just the thing.” Madame looked down her long nose, studying Jordana while taking notes. “Blue-grays, perhaps. Or violet. Periwinkle. Her eyes are a most unusual color. We must take advantage.”

Jordana shot the modiste a defiant look.

Madam Fontaine laughed softly. “Oh, my dear Lady Cupps-Foster, I find your new charge very similar to Lady Malden in temperament.” She tapped the pencil against her temple. “I remember the dark colors so favored by your niece. I wept every time she came in for a fitting,” the modiste said dramatically. “Staid, matronly fashions which gave no hint of her lovely figure. Such atrocious colors for such a gorgeous creature. Now she adores crimson.” Madame Fontaine lowered her voice. “As does Lord Malden.” Her long graceful fingers waved in invitation as she began to move in the direction of the fitting rooms. “Come, come.”

Jordana hesitantly stepped behind the curtain as directed by Madame Fontaine, shooting Marissa a look of reproach.

Marissa gave her a not-too gentle nudge.

Madame Fontaine clapped her hands and two assistants immediately appeared, rushing forward to remove Jordana’s dress and take her measurements.

Jordana stood frozen, eyes looking up at the ceiling briefly before her gaze settled on Marissa with no small amount of hostility.

Marissa ignored her and settled herself on a damask-covered settee. Accepting a glass of wine, she began leafing through a pattern book as she waited for fabric swatches to be brought to her.

“Is this necessary?” Jordana blushed furiously on the small block while the two girls stripped her down to her chemise. She shifted on the balls of her feet, jerking as if in the throes of a fit, clasping what remained of her clothing around her.

Marissa was half-afraid Jordana would leap from the podium and run half-naked from the shop