to avoid being fitted. Goodness. The last thing she expected from the girl was such extreme shyness what with her having three sisters, not to mention her unnatural interest in . . . body parts.
She looked so miserable.
“Jordana,” Marissa said, putting the wine aside. “If you tolerate being pinched and pinned without complaint, I will take you to Mr. Coventry’s. The apothecary.”
“Truly?” she said in a blissful tone, lips tilting up at the corners.
“Jordana, I’m shocked. You appear to be smiling.”
“Perish the thought, my lady.” Her mouth immediately resumed the usual tight-lipped scowl. “And I should like nothing more.” She slapped at the assistant who attempted to measure her waist. “Sorry,” she murmured to the girl. “You startled me.”
Marissa pressed her fingers to her forehead. Jordana would try the patience of a saint. “You must stay still, dear, and allow your measurements to be taken without injuring Madame’s assistant,” Marissa admonished. “In case I was not clear before.”
“Fine.” Jordana stoically fixed her gaze on something across the room, ignoring the small flurry around her. “You promise?”
“I do indeed. I must stop there and pick up something for myself, at any rate.” Marissa had mentioned Mr. Coventry’s establishment during one of the girl’s recent visits. Jordana had been in the midst of describing a drink the local midwife had mixed for Jordana’s mother after her sister Delphine’s birth when Marissa had brought up the apothecary. Jordana had been pestering Marissa to visit Mr. Coventry ever since.
Marissa regarded Jordana standing on the block, her shoulders stiff and unyielding, facing the world with a stubbornness few females her age possessed. She admired Jordana’s single-minded purpose in wanting to become a physician because she knew where it came from—the agonizing death of her mother. But society would not look kindly on Jordana or her interests if she were given freedom to pursue them.
Possibly I can find her a gentleman who would be encouraging of her passions.
Marissa had played matchmaker before with excellent results. But it would take some time to find the correct man for Jordana. One who was open-minded and would not be intimidated by her intellect or her dedication to helping women.
Jordana now had her arms stretched out and was glaring daggers at Marissa.
“My lady.” Madame Fontaine came forward and looked at the pattern book in Marissa’s lap. “If I may give my opinion?”
Marissa nodded. “Please.”
The dressmaker flipped open the book, pointing an elegant finger stained with pencil lead to the pattern of a simply cut dress. “This one, I think. Simple, with clean lines. The design can be adjusted easily to a ballgown as well. She does not strike me as a young lady who will appreciate frills or additional embellishment. Modest necklines.” Madame Fontaine cocked her head taking in Jordana. “Her bosom is generous.”
“It is?” Marissa sat up and looked at Jordana. Madame was right. She’d never taken notice with Jordana always jumping about in dresses much too girlish for her.
The modiste nodded.
“Agreed.” Squinting at the pattern book in her lap, Marissa finally sighed in resignation before reaching into her reticule for a pair of reading glasses. Perching them on the end of her nose, Marissa leafed through the pages, agreeing with the suggestions or choosing something else, but staying with the same basic design Madame Fontaine had suggested. After selecting fabrics for a handful of dresses appropriate for paying calls and walking in the park, Marissa took off the glasses and set the book aside.
“I also have these.” Madame Fontaine gave a sharp clap.
An assistant rushed forward to drape a lovely dress of periwinkle over a dressmaker’s dummy to Marissa’s left. “I will add a ribbon of darker color here,” her hand ran along the neckline, “as well as the sleeves. This can be ready in a day or two.” She snapped her fingers and another dress was brought out, this one the color of summer grass.
“These are the only two I have at present, my lady. But both dresses need only minor alterations to fit Miss Ives.”
“Perfect, thank you.”
“It is my greatest pleasure, Lady Cupps-Foster.”
Madame Fontaine sauntered off and pulled another pencil from her hair. “I assume you will want new underthings for Miss Ives as well?” she said, brow raised at Jordana’s slightly worn chemise. “Petticoats. Chemises.” She gave another wave of her hand.
“Yes. Thank you. Everything to be sent to the home of Lord Haddon.” Marissa rattled off the address.
Once the assistants had whisked away the two dresses, Madame Fontaine informed Marissa the gowns she’d ordered