Page 12 of Doxy for the Ton (Misfits of the Ton #7)

“O h, Jemima, that color on you is glorious!”

Mimi turned one way, then another, admiring how the colors in her skirts rippled in the light. She glanced across the parlor at her guest. “Your Grace, I—”

“ Eleanor , please.”

“Eleanor, I cannot thank you enough,” Mimi said, “and you, Peg, of course.”

The seamstress looked up from stitching the hem. “My pleasure, Lady Rex. I’ve never worked with such fine material. I hope I’ve been able to do right by it.”

“Of course you have,” Eleanor said. “I doubt even my modiste could produce something so fine—the quality of your stitching, and that bead work… I do hope you haven’t strained your eyes.”

“No, Your Grace, that’s very kind of you to ask,” Peg said, reaching for a pair of scissors. She snipped the thread, then stood back to survey her handiwork. “There! That’s all done.”

Mimi’s wardrobe was now complete—three day dresses with matching redingotes and reticules, two evening gowns, and a fur-trimmed cloak. It was almost enough to make her believe she could be a lady again.

Would he like them—or would he be disappointed that they hadn’t been fashioned by the modiste who catered to all his other women?

The seamstress helped Mimi out of her gown, then folded it and set it aside.

“I must settle your account, Peg,” Mimi said as she pulled the bell cord by the fireplace.

“It’s already done,” came the reply. “Mr. Wheeler settled it yesterday.”

Or rather, the Duke of Sawbridge had settled it yesterday.

“I’d best get going,” Peg said. “I mustn’t take up any more of your time.”

“You can take tea with your cousin if you wish,” Mimi suggested.

“May I?”

The door opened and the young footman appeared.

“Charles,” Mimi said, “could you bring the duchess and I some tea? And tell Mrs. Hodge she can take her tea with Peg—you can join them if you wish. Ask the cook to set aside some of that delicious fruitcake—if you’ve not already finished it yourself, of course.”

The footman blushed, then bowed and disappeared, while Peg folded the rest of the gowns.

“I can do that,” Mimi said. “You go and see your cousin.”

The seamstress bobbed a curtsey and followed the footman out.

Mimi sat beside Eleanor and leaned back with a sigh. “I never realized how difficult it was to stand and do nothing—though, of course, it’s not as difficult as kneeling at someone’s feet and embroidering a hem.”

“I can’t think why you don’t have a lady’s maid,” Eleanor said.

“I can carry my own gowns upstairs,” Mimi replied. “Besides, I see little point in hiring someone for only a short while.”

“You’ll be giving someone employment. That can only be a good thing.”

“But I know how to dress myself. Why hire someone to do it for me?”

“Because it gives a young girl work when she’d otherwise starve. Besides, the right lady’s maid does so much more than dress her employer in the morning and undress her at night. She’s a companion, a confidante—a friend.”

“I’d rather not grow reliant on another,” Mimi said, “not for dressing myself, and certainly not for companionship.”

“That’s a bleak approach to life.”

“But practical, for a woman in my position.”

Eleanor lowered her gaze. “Of course. I’m sorry, Jemima. I forget that not everyone is as fortunate as I.”

Nobody was as fortunate as Eleanor—a duchess both loved and respected by her husband.

Whereas I…

Mimi shuddered at the memory. Since the day Sawbridge had ordered her upstairs and taken his pleasure, he had visited her twice. But he hadn’t required the use of her body. He had merely taken tea and reeled off a list of the acquaintances he was going to introduce her to, and the parties to which they’d been invited. Almost as if he were trying to impress her.

But he had already shown his true nature—in the rasp of his voice when he ordered her upstairs to fulfil her duties . And then the laughable way he’d tried to atone for his behavior after he finished inside her, draping the blanket over her naked form—as though he cared for her.

As if she’d fall for that ruse! Many a customer had acted the gallant suitor to ease his guilt. And that’s what Sawbridge was—just another customer wanting to use her body. She needed to remind herself of that if she were to survive.

She jumped as a hand covered hers.

“Jemima? Are you well?”

“Yes, Eleanor, I’m quite well.”

“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to be so forward about employing a lady’s maid.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Mimi said. “Rather than see it as someone indulging in a luxury merely because they can afford it, you’ve painted a very different picture—a means to an end, which I wish to strive for.”

“Which is?”

“The empowerment of women.”

Eleanor’s eyebrows lifted.

“You find such a concept ridiculous?” Mimi asked.

“Astonishing, perhaps, but not ridiculous.”

“I’m not so foolish as to believe I can change the whole world, but I wish to make a difference where I can.”

“Is that what you’re doing here—with Sawbridge?”

Mimi flinched at the undercurrent of judgment in her friend’s tone.

“I know what you must think of me, Eleanor,” she said.

“Do you?” The duchess leaned forward, her eyes darkening into that peculiarly intense expression that stripped a person’s soul bare.

“Outwardly I’m the respectable Lady Rex, newly arrived in town and living off my late husband’s annuity, but you see what I am—a rake’s whore whose tenure in this house will be short-lived.”

Eleanor colored and leaned back.

“You were right to warn me to guard my heart,” Mimi continued, “but you had no need. I have long ago preserved my heart behind a doxy’s armor. I have used my body to earn my living for the past five years. But now, at last, I can do so with a purpose. When I have fulfilled my duty here, then I shall be free to go elsewhere to fulfil my dream.”

“Which is?”

“To live a life of peace and tranquility in my own little corner of the world—where I am mistress of my own fate, not a man’s whims, and where I can, in my own small way, ease the suffering of others. If I can prevent even one woman from enduring the same fate as—”

She broke off as Charles entered with the tea things. After he left, she poured the tea, spooning in Eleanor’s cinnamon and honey.

The duchess took a sip. “Delicious. Have you not been tempted to try it with cinnamon?”

“Cinnamon is expensive,” Mimi said. “I cannot afford to accustom myself to such luxuries.”

“Because once you’ve occupied your—what was it?—little corner of the world, you may not have the means?”

“I must take a practical approach to my livelihood, particularly if I intend to help others.”

“And do you intend to help others?”

Mimi nodded. “There are some I give a little help to now—women who, through no fault of their own, are vilified and shunned. I may not have always had the financial means to help them, but I have time at my disposal—at least when I’m not required to…”

When I’m not required to service him.

Eleanor nodded. “I understand.”

Doubtless she did—insightful as she was.

And yet she’s willing to associate with me.

“I should like to introduce you to my sister,” Eleanor said.

Mimi glanced up. “No, I-I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“She might not accept me.”

“Anyone in Society should be pleased to acquaint themselves with Lady Rex.”

“But I’m not Lady Rex—you noticed that at our first meeting.”

“You are Lady Rex. But, in any case, my sister has particular reason to understand your circumstances if you see fit to tell her.”

“Your sister?” Mimi asked.

“She was betrayed, and suffered because of it. But it’s not my story to tell. Juliette is happy now—as happy as I’d wish you to be. And, if you wish to help women in unfortunate circumstances, I can think of none better to assist you in your quest.”

“I cannot impose on others.”

“You don’t have to do everything on your own,” Eleanor said, “if you can find someone in whom you can place your trust.” She reached for the basket she’d brought. “Might I ask a favor?”

Mimi held her breath. Eleanor meant well, but Mimi couldn’t bear the thought of receiving more visitors—ladies to turn their noses up at her, asking questions about her lineage, about the fictional Sir John Rex.

“Would you permit me to draw your likeness?” Eleanor asked.

“I-I don’t understand.”

Eleanor pulled out two books from her basket and flicked through one—a sketchbook, filled with sketches of trees, tree stumps, and portraits. She stopped at a page and ran her fingertips over it to trace the outline of the face depicted there—a strong face with a firm jaw, straight nose, high forehead, and full, sensual lips, framed by a mane of thick, dark hair. Despite the savage strength of his features, the subject stared out from the page with an expression tender enough to melt the hardest of hearts.

Eleanor let out a sigh.

“Is that…?”

“My husband,” the duchess said. “Montague was kind enough to sit for me last week, shortly after we…” She blushed. “It’s how I see him. He doesn’t always resemble his portrait—which you’ll see when you meet him. He has a rather stern countenance—I confess, I was a little afraid of him at first.”

Mimi stared at the portrait. Anyone would wither under the intensity of that gaze. Doubtless, the tenderness in his eyes was something he gifted only to his wife.

It was the portrait of a man in love.

Eleanor turned to a blank page. Then she pulled a pencil out of her reticule and looked up at Mimi. “Would it be an imposition to add you to my collection?”

Mimi hesitated. Whom would Eleanor depict? Would she draw the doxy, the deceiver masquerading as someone above her station? Or would she draw the bitter, heartbroken creature that Mimi concealed within?

But she couldn’t afford to hurt Eleanor’s feelings, no matter how little she desired to be imprisoned by her pencil. The duchess had befriended her, gifted her with sweets and her father’s silks.

Perhaps that was the mark of true friendship—doing something she didn’t like, to please someone she did.

Eleanor picked up the second book. “I thought, perhaps, if I gifted you this, you might be disposed to sit for me.”

Mimi glanced at the book. “ Das Wohltemperirte Clavier by Bach.”

“I know little about music, but my sister Lady Radham assured me that these pieces are within the capabilities of most. I thought you might like to play them, and I recall your saying you had no music. The book’s somewhat careworn, I’m afraid.”

Mimi took the book and turned it over in her hands. The pages were yellowing at the edges and there was a tear in the back cover. But its value was not in the condition of the pages—it was in the fact that someone had noted her love of Bach and sought this out as a gift for her.

It wasn’t the action of a duchess. It was the action of a friend.

Mimi blinked, and moisture stung her eyes.

“Oh, forgive me!” Eleanor said. “I had no right to ask you to sit for me if you don’t wish to.”

Mimi set the music aside and smiled at her friend. “It would be my pleasure.”

“Excellent!” Eleanor said. “I’m afraid I’m not good at knowing how to ask for favors, but my husband encourages me to just tell people what I want. But I can only ask those whom I trust not to judge me for my awkwardness.”

What a strange creature the duchess was—strange enough that a woman of her station would bother with Mimi at all, but Eleanor often seemed ill at ease in her surroundings. Mimi had at first assumed she was uncomfortable because she considered a doxy beneath her. But Eleanor’s frank confessions about her feelings spoke of something else—that she was in greater need of friendship than anyone.

Mimi reached for her teacup then hesitated. “Do you wish me to sit still?”

Eleanor shook her head, her pencil already moving across the page. “No need,” she said. “I want to depict you . I despise those portraits where the subject was told to pose for the artist. You’re a living, breathing woman—not a statue. Now, ignore my pencil, and tell me about your plans to help the disadvantaged women of the world.”

Mimi took her teacup and relaxed into her chair. At first, she watched Eleanor’s pencil, then found herself ignoring it. The duchess continued the conversation, her gaze only occasionally flicking toward the page.

At length, Eleanor paused and stretched her hands, her knuckles cracking. Then she held the sketch at arm’s length.

“May I see?” Mimi asked.

Eleanor revealed the page, and Mimi caught her breath.

The woman staring back at her had delicate, elfin features and wide, expressive eyes. Her hair framed her face in gentle waves, with stray wisps softening the outline. Her mouth was unsmiling, and her face betrayed no emotion, except her eyes, which revealed a deep yearning.

It was as if she were staring at her true self, stripped bare.

“It’s—” Mimi broke off.

“It’s how I see you,” Eleanor said. “Most subjects want me to depict them as they wish to be seen, not as I see them.”

“And you didn’t think to depict me as I wish to be seen?”

“You’ll be doing that yourself when you enter Society,” Eleanor said. “Your new gowns will depict you as a lady, to be admired by all—and you shall be admired. But I wanted to capture the woman I’ve come to know.”

“You know me after so short an acquaintance?” Mimi asked.

“A brief acquaintance doesn’t necessarily mean a lack of understanding of another person,” Eleanor said. “I have known the Honorable Sarah Francis for at least two years, and I confess I have no more understanding of her than I had the day I was first subjected to her company. In fact, I believe I understand her less. Whereas you…”

She set the sketchbook aside.

“In you, I saw a like mind. And no matter what happens, or where you find yourself, once your… business is concluded here, I hope we can remain friends.”

Mimi lowered her gaze, and Eleanor let out a sigh.

“He must have betrayed you so badly, to have destroyed your faith.”

“My faith in men?” Mimi asked.

Eleanor shook her head. “Your faith in the world—and in yourself.”

“The Duke of Sawbridge and I have an arrangement, that’s all,” Mimi said. “We are, to each other, just a means to an end.”

Eleanor shook her head. “I didn’t mean the duke. I meant whoever betrayed you before—the man who drove you into this life.”

“How did you…?”

“I see it in your eyes, Jemima—the scars of treachery,” Eleanor said. “What did he do?”

Mimi let out a sigh. “He died.”

“Did you love him?”

“In my own way, I did,” Mimi said. “He understood that. But…”

“But, like all men, he didn’t understand the plight of women in our world,” Eleanor said. “He believed in his immortality rather than the necessity for practicality.” She tilted her head to one side. “Do you fear recognition?”

“No,” Mimi said. “I’ve never lived in this part of London. When I was his—” She broke off, her cheeks warming. “I-I lived in Brighton.”

“And his family?”

“They wouldn’t recognize me,” Mimi said. “I met his heir only a few times, and…” She swallowed the memory of the pain and loss—the grief for two lives. “I am much changed now.”

Outside the parlor, a clock struck four times, and Eleanor rose. “Forgive me—I’d quite lost track of time. My husband’s expecting me. We have guests for dinner.”

Mimi rose and found herself pulled into an embrace.

“I meant what I said,” Eleanor whispered. “I am your friend. And, for what it’s worth, Sawbridge is a fool for not appreciating what he has. Our world here is the better for having you in it, and don’t let anyone say otherwise. You will find someone to deserve you, Jemima.”

Mimi smiled at her friend’s conviction.

“It matters not if I don’t,” she said. “I’d rather be alone than dependent on someone who doesn’t love me.”

“Very good,” Eleanor said, releasing Mimi and tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “Then you are safe from heartbreak. Now, take my advice—summon your housekeeper and tell her to hire a lady’s maid.”

After Mimi escorted her friend outside, she rang the bell for Mrs. Hodge.

She might never be able to change the entire world—but she could make a difference for one person in her little corner of it.