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Elizabeth Bennet gritted her teeth. She was quite certain that if she allowed herself to speak to the supercilious woman before her, she would let loose such a stream of invectives that would shock even the lowest seamstress.

Unfortunately, she was well aware that such behavior was not the best approach for the future Mrs. Darcy to take upon her introduction to one of the most sought-after modistas in London…

even if Lizzy was beginning to wonder why exactly Madame Claudette Bastarache was so popular.

Madame Claudette (as she preferred to be called) was a big-bosomed, raven-haired woman who sized up her customers with a sharp eye for how much coin they could spend and how much wool she could pull over their eyes.

Her favorite patrons were a pair of dueling duchesses who were constantly trying to outshine one another.

Both had such allowances for their wardrobes as to be infinite for all intents and purposes, and so little confidence in their own taste that, each month, they allowed Madame to dismiss all of their “old” gowns as beyond hope, whether or not they had been worn yet, and commission an entirely new wardrobe.

Claudette’s influence over the two duchesses had begun upon their nearly simultaneous marriages a decade earlier and had allowed her to climb to the very pinnacle of the London fashion scene.

She had expanded her shop such that she now employed a small army of lesser seamstresses and milliners.

She knew all the latest gossip as well as much of the old, and had no compunctions over using her knowledge to cement her own place.

She might not be a member of the haut ton (a fact she secretly resented), but on more than one occasion she had had a subtle hand in forcing the downfall of one who was.

Unlike most modistas who specialized in ball gowns and evening dresses (leaving the clothing of girls not yet out to lesser seamstresses), Madame Claudette had recognized those girls for precisely what they were: future customers.

Each year, she identified a few of the wealthiest and highest born, lavished attention on them, and allowed those girls to feel as if they were receiving a small glimpse into the adult world that awaited them.

In return, she could generally plan on their continued patronage when they grew out of white muslins with pastel sashes and were allowed to wear the rich silks and satins and velvets that they had coveted throughout their youth.

Madame Claudette had grown up poor, cold, and hungry while the French Revolution destroyed her family’s place in Parisian society.

She had hated it and her primary goal in life was to siphon off as much money as possible from those born with it, regardless of nationality.

The customer must always have the richest fabrics, the finest lace, and the most expensive of everything.

That she was paid not only for the designing and sewing of the gowns, but also a percentage for the fabrics and notions she got from the textile warehouses, was not something that they needed to know, but which certainly served to feather her own nest exceedingly well.

Miss Georgiana Darcy had led the two eldest Miss Bennets and their aunt into Madame’s shop at precisely half past ten in the morning.

Although they had an appointment, Claudette gave the girl a nod of acknowledgement but left her and her party to cool their heels for a few minutes while she finished speaking to another customer.

Miss Darcy was one of the young ladies that Claudette was grooming as a future milch cow.

The girl had a nice enough figure and was easy to fit, but most importantly, she was quiet, easily convinced that the modista knew what was best, and very, very rich.

Best of all, the girl had no close female relatives to influence her, only an exceedingly indulgent, if conservative, elder brother.

The Derbyshire bachelor had accompanied his much younger sister the first time she had visited the shop and Claudette had done everything in her power to convince him that the twelve year old orphan would receive only the best of care.

After that, Miss Darcy had always arrived with a governess or companion, but her brother continued to pay the bills with admirable promptness.

They might be for only those prim little muslin frocks at present, but Claudette’s eyes glazed over at the thought of the coming year when Miss Darcy would make her debut in Society.

Then she would be allowed out of the side room where such patterns and fabrics appropriate for girls were kept and led into the main rooms where the shelves glowed with a veritable rainbow of organzas and velvets, ribbons and brocades, and floor models displaying whatever gowns Claudette deemed to be the mode du jour .

The modista had been worried when she heard that Mr. Darcy was to be married, concerned that this unknown female might influence her new sister toward a different dressmaker.

However, those anxieties had been soothed just the previous afternoon by an unexpected visit from two of her best customers.

She knew quite well that Lady Alameda Fitzwilliam and Miss Caroline Bingley were not friends, however desperately the latter might wish it so.

Claudette had very nearly laughed aloud when the pair had descended from the Fitzwilliam carriage and entered her shop.

Miss Bingley had always had more money than taste and was willing to spend any amount to camouflage her roots in trade.

Lady Alameda was more of a mystery to Claudette.

That the lady was the only child of a wealthy baron, raised with seemingly every advantage except family was widely known.

As best as the Frenchwoman could piece together, Alameda Warren had grown up as something of a tomboy, allowed to run wild on the family’s estate in Essex until the death of her parents.

Her care had then fallen to an elderly great uncle, a bachelor with no idea what to do with a female child, who had promptly sent her off to school.

School had been a great shock to Alameda Warren.

She was clever and well read for her age, but the older girls (and almost all were older when she arrived) had sneered at her simple, country styles and unfashionably direct manners.

Over Christmas, she had spent a month at her uncle’s house in London and determinedly set about remaking herself, starting with a long session at Madame Claudette’s.

Within the year, Lady Alameda had become the most fashionable girl at Miss Atkinson’s seminary, the girl whom all the younger students (such as Miss Caroline Bingley) desperately tried to mimic.

A compliment from her was like manna from heaven, and a cut worse than death.

In short, Lady Alameda and those few she condescended to befriend had ruled the school (and later, the first circles of London Society), and Madame Claudette had the distinction (and the remuneration) of dressing Lady Alameda.

When the girl had married the Earl of Matlock’s heir in a sensational London wedding that was the highlight of the Season, her prestige had increased even further.

Whether any of it made her happy was impossible to guess.

Lady Alameda had been piqued when her mother-in-law summoned her to attend Mr. Darcy’s engagement party at a house near Cheapside, of all places. She resented the Countess’ precedence in Society, not to mention the woman’s continuing control over the Earl of Matlock’s households.

However, when she caught sight of a sour-faced Caroline Bingley at the Gardiners’ party, Alameda had smiled for the first time all day. The girl had obviously just been delivered a set down by her brother and had not the sense to cover her chagrin.

The Viscountess had exchanged little more than the barest of greetings with the girl whom Mr. Darcy was to marry, but she had not been impressed.

Granted, Lady Alameda would never have been inclined to like Darcy’s bride, whomever she was.

Since Mr. Darcy had failed to fall at her own feet upon her debut, any lady who did win his attention was to be resented automatically.

Alameda had very nearly laughed in the girl’s face when introduced in the receiving line.

What an odd choice Darcy had made! Miss Elizabeth Bennet had not even the classic beauty of her elder sister, whom Alameda learned was engaged to Charles Bingley of all people.

Worst of all (in the Viscountess’ opinion), was that when Miss Elizabeth turned to say something to her fiancé, her affection showed very clearly in her eyes.

Why, the silly girl was in love with him, for heaven’s sake!

Neither of the Bennet girls was dressed with any particular style, and the sleeves of the elder sister’s dress looked to the Viscountess to have been remade.

Most damning of all to Alameda were their open, artless greetings that immediately labeled them as ‘country’ to anyone with the least bit of town gloss.

Alameda noted a flicker of awareness in Miss Elizabeth’s eyes when the Viscountess delivered a needling slight cloaked in a flattering remark, but she did not care enough to consider it.

With no effort at all, Lady Alameda had drawn Miss Bingley aside and allowed that lady to spew forth all her knowledge of the Bennets.

Caroline had been only too happy to do so; after her brother’s refusal to take her home, her outrage had only grown when Miss Darcy had happily confided her plans to go shopping with Elizabeth, Jane, and Mrs. Gardiner on the very next day.

That Georgiana was taking the Bennet sisters to Caroline’s own modista—one to whom Miss Bingley had only gained an introduction after years of plotting—added insult to injury.