Page 4 of A Wallflower Demands Satisfaction

At a light tap of the door, she said, “Come,” and their Graces’ head footman entered with an elegant white rectangle imprinted with black flowery script on a silver tray.When Olivia took the card, John Footman intoned, “Madame Clarot and her assistant await.”

“Please have them meet me in the small drawing room.”After John snicked shut the heavy door behind him, she gathered her warm, woolen shawl around her and headed toward the wide staircase leading to the formal level below.

* * *

When Olivia joinedthe modiste and her assistant, the two women were patiently waiting, measuring tapes draped around their shoulders and pincushions attached to their wrists.

A fragile-looking, thin white muslin dress lay carefully spread out across a blue silk settee.The dress had elongated puffed sleeves from shoulder to elbow that tapered to fitted, silver-embroidered fabric that would encase her arms from elbow to wrist.A quilted border trimmed the hem, and tiny pearls followed a path about two inches above the border.More silver embroidery accented the bodice.

When she entered the drawing room, both women sucked in a shocked breath.“What’s wrong?”she demanded, wondering what social transgression she might have committed.She knew the two women were aware of her previous vocation of laundress to the wealthiest members of the ton.Madame Clarot had in fact called upon her many times to fix disastrous stains and rips in some of the ton members’ finest clothing.

By tacit agreement, and no doubt generous bribes as well as threats from the duchess, the two women had been sworn to silence on the matter of Olivia’s former calling.The two women had worked with her on numerous occasions in the past, so their current shock at her appearance could have nothing to do with what they already knew about her past.

Madame Annalise Clarot hastily covered for their shocked silence.“Good morning, mademoiselle.”A younger apprentice had been sent to take Olivia’s measurements several days earlier preparatory to the rapid construction of the dress designed for her come-out ball.

Madame and her partner Marie were meeting Olivia to finish off measurements and fabric choices for her extensive wardrobe for the Season.“Pardonne-moi,” Annalise continued, “but your eyes…your eyes…c’est magnifique.”Annalise turned quickly to Marie, and the two exchanged an odd, knowing look.“Now we know which colors to choose for the rest of your wardrobe for the season.”

“One encounters such striking, deep blue eyes but rarely,” Marie added, before the two women exchanged a second look full of meaning.

Olivia could swear something was off from the way the modistes were reacting, but she was too nervous about getting her wardrobe right to waste time interrogating them.

“How much will this wardrobe cost?”Olivia believed in coming to the point as quickly as possible.She refused to weave around the May pole in her dealings with tradesmen.

“How much does perfection cost?What is the right match with a paragon of a gentleman worth?”Madame Clarot threw her hands wide in what Olivia was certain was meant to be an exaggerated French gesture.

Olivia frowned before giving the two women a strained eye roll.“I don’t want to be a burden on His Grace.”

Marie twisted her mouth into a self-deprecating moue and feigned ignorance.“Her Grace said no matter the cost of the wardrobe, she’ll never be able to repay you for making her laundry such a success.”

“Oui,” Annalise added.“Everyone in London wants to know how you get linens so white whilst still keeping that mysterious lavender fragrance.”She added, “One of our clients in Surrey swears that just opening a box from your laundry makes her whole house smell like spring breezes, even in the depths of winter.”

Olivia groaned inwardly.What were these two women up to?She could swear their entire conversation was designed to keep her from asking too many questions about their earlier demonstration of shock when she’d first entered the room.

And then all the talk about her laundry, actually El’s laundry at Goodrum’s, sent a sharp twinge of guilt straight to her gut.She worried about all of her regular customers.Were the men and women she’d so carefully trained over the last year truly ready to carry on her high standards?

Of course, she also worried about the most precious bundle of laundry she received and personally watched over each week: the clothes of her old friend and recent “Peeler” hire, Will Beckford.She seethed whenever she thought of his new job of which he was inordinately proud.

The Peelers had to work seven days a week as well as remain on call day and night.And…they were expected to wear their uniforms at all times in public, even when not working.As such, managing his laundry was damnably difficult.She’d taken over that onerous part of his chosen profession.

Olivia had personally purchased a spare uniform for her old partner in crime.When she’d gone to Moore & Co.on Old Bond Street to obtain a second pair of white trousers for Will, she’d been appalled at the price which the newly formed police force officers had to take on as personal expense if they desired an additional set of trousers to maintain cleanliness, beyond what they were issued by Sir Robert Peel.In addition, they were allowed only five days off a year, which included all holidays.

3

APRIL 15, 1830

PICCADILLY STREET

* * *

Piccadilly Street, Mayfair

Will Beckford swung along Piccadilly in the weak morning sun, Dickie Jones hurrying along at his side, gamely trying to keep up with the tall Peeler’s stride.

“Is this a race or are we actually headed somewhere important?”Dickie gave up trying to pretend he wasn’t bothered by the lightning pace they’d maintained down so many city streets.He sucked in a deep, noisy breath and huffed it back out.“Do you always walk this fast, or are yer tryin’ ter kill me?”A shortness of breath had brought on a fit of the cant of the rookeries his adoptive father had worked for months trying to eradicate from his speech.

“We’re going to check on Olivia before I’m missed at station…and…I have to cover this beat in double time so I won’t be caught out having left the street to make sure your sister’s safe.

“Why wouldn’t she be safe?Is there something you’re not telling me?Somethin’ I should know?”