Page 71 of The Ladies Least Likely

CHAPTER EIGHT

“ T his can’t be proper,” Amaranthe said to the eager faces ranged before her in the borrowed chamber. “Wearing the duchess’s clothes?”

“She’s not about ta wear ’em, is ’er?” Eyde shrugged. “Ye ought to see how many they are, miss. Heaps, and all boughten, not a whit handmade.”

Amaranthe slid a hand over the fine printed muslin robe that Eyde held. “You shouldn’t have gone through the duchess’s wardrobe. Either of you.”

“We just took a peep now, didnus?” Eyde said to Mrs. Blackthorn, who brandished a saffron open robe with a green front. Derwa draped herself in a soft Paisley shawl and twirled before the cheval glass in admiration.

A knock sounded at the door, and Amaranthe clutched at the loose neckline of her bedgown. Letting Eyde borrow a night shift from Sybil’s chambers for Amaranthe to sleep in was one thing. Wearing the duchess’s luxurious gowns was far and away a different matter.

Ralph entered with a pile of indigo silk in his arms. “Mr. Grey said as I ought to bring this to you, miss, seeing as you came yesterday without a bag or luggage.” He smiled shyly. “Picked it out himself, he did.”

Amaranthe couldn’t stop her hand sliding over the expensive silk. The other women joined her, cooing in pleasure at the smooth, luscious fabric. Amaranthe’s resolve weakened. If Grey thought it all right to wear borrowed finery?—

“Ooh, miss, you must have un,” Eyde insisted, and Amaranthe caved.

She didn’t have the proper foundational garments for such a gown, but once Eyde had tied up the skirts and pinned on the stomacher, Amaranthe had no will left to argue.

Derwa clapped her hands in approval, and Mrs. Blackthorn held out an elaborate wig.

The powder was old and Amaranthe feared the false hair was crawling with vermin, but it was too fashionable to resist. Great ladies dressed like this, Amaranthe thought as she stared at herself in the glass.

“Here’s a reticule to go with, since your other won’t do.” Derwa held out her find.

“I am transformed,” Amaranthe said in surprise.

“Quite stripped up,” Eyde confirmed, plumping pillows on the bed. “Now, miss, flutter your eyelashes at Mr. Grey once or twice, and say us two needs a day more here. We needs be sure any maids you bring on can do the place proper.”

Mrs. Blackthorn, hanging the other gowns in the small wardrobe, agreed. “I want a day or more to learn the new cook and be certain the kitchen maids know their work. That scullery needs a scrub like Heaven’s never seen.”

Derwa draped her shawl over Amaranthe’s shoulders, arranging it to her satisfaction. “And Miss Millie wants a governess. You’re best to find her one.”

“Lady Camilla,” Amaranthe said automatically, glancing at the other women. “You don’t wish to return home directly?”

“And leave a duke’s house?” Edye exclaimed. “Is ee daft?”

Amaranthe tamped down a smile. “We’d best not get comfortable with the duke’s things. Mr. Grey means to turn us out as soon as he can, I don’t doubt.”

“Then Mr. Grey can make sure his new cook knows the difference twixt a swede and a potato,” Mrs. Blackthorn answered. “Didn’t you hear Eyde? Use them eyelashes, Miss Amaranthe.”

“And these.” Eyde rearranged the scarf Amaranthe had tucked into her neckline, folding it down an inch so that a slight rise of breast peeked above the stomacher.

“I prefer to use intelligence as my weapon,” Amaranthe called as Eyde gathered up her bedgown and skipped out the door, Derwa giggling in her wake.

“Always best to have a full arsenal.” Mrs. Blackthorn whisked away the breakfast tray with a wink. “Luck be upon you today, Miss Amaranthe!”

Grey went completely still when Amaranthe joined him in one of the smaller parlors, different from that they had dined in the night before. For once Amaranthe didn’t feel overshadowed by the expensive elegance of her new surroundings. The rustle and gleam of French silk was as good as plate armor.

The gown held its own against the velvet upholstery and damask draperies, the mirrors and portraits in their heavy gilt frames and the dizzying pattern of the carpet.

She was more a match today for Grey’s smart suit of brown silk with heavy bronze buttons and gold embroidery.

He looked considerably more expensive, and she wondered if he considered his attire a sort of armor also.

“I felt obliged to wear the gown, since Ralph said you recommended it,” Amaranthe said, suddenly shy. “But are you sure it is wise? Any servants we hire will expect a higher wage, with me looking so fine.”

Grey leaned close and peered into her eyes. She reared back, startled.

“Violet,” he exclaimed.

“I have brown eyes,” she said, feeling strangely overset by his nearness. Had donning a fine dress vanquished her wits?

“Light brown,” he agreed, “but with a ring of violet around the iris. Most unusual. The color of your gown brings it out.” He did not take his eyes from her face.

Amaranthe stepped back, flustered. No one in her life, not since her mother died, had been close enough to note such an intimate detail about her person. No man, not even her brother, had ever showed interest in the composition of her eyes.

Eyde sailed in cradling an exquisite ribboned cap along with a set of cream-colored kid gloves. “Flam-new!” she exclaimed. “It be a shame not to sport un, miss.”

She perched the cap atop Amaranthe’s high wig, fixing it in place with a firm shove of a hatpin. Then she stepped back and blinked her eyelashes rapidly, reminding Amaranthe of her task.

“Shoo,” Amaranthe said. “You may trust I’ll broach the subject with Mr. Grey in due time.”

Eyde bobbed the briefest curtsy and left. Grey raised his eyebrows.

“My staff want an opportunity to review any servants we hire and ensure they will properly execute their duties,” she explained. “They have taken a proprietary interest in the house, as well as a personal interest in the welfare of your wards.”

“And in finding a governess!” sang a voice from outside the room that sounded very like Lady Camilla. “Who knows Latin and Greek!”

Grey’s lips twitched with humor, and Amaranthe smiled in helpless response.

Oh, but the fascination was stronger, here in the light of day.

Spending time with this man, in this gown, was dangerous to her good sense.

With his walking stick and hat, his easy assurance and good humor, he was another step yet from the arrogant cad who’d barreled into her house yesterday.

Now he was making headway into her approval, and that simply would not do.

He held out his arm to escort her from the room, and Amaranthe hesitated.

She had never had an escort. As a girl she’d had playmates and tagged along after Joseph.

Under Reuben’s roof, whether due to her state of dependence or Reuben’s forbidding nature, she had never been courted.

She and Joseph rubbed along fairly well as long as she was allowed her pursuits and he his.

But she did not circulate among social circles, and for a gentleman to hold out his arm to her—that was new.

She slid her hand about his elbow, and something slipped into place. She felt the same eager anticipation as when she opened a new manuscript, knowing the beauties and the oddities and the discoveries that awaited.

She pushed the feeling away. She had a series of tasks before her, and only one of them was to equip the ducal house with servants.

The other was, somehow, to keep Malden Grey from learning too much about her work.

The closer he drew, the greater the risk.

She could not afford to lose her head simply because she was wearing a gorgeous gown.

The matron of the Sisters of Benevolence Hospital for Orphans and Women in Distressed Circumstances supplied almost all of Amaranthe’s needs in a short span of time.

The Hospital prided itself on training its residents for careers, and many of them entered service.

The name of Miss Gregoire served better than guineas to smooth Amaranthe’s way; Miss Gregoire was a founder and patroness, and Amaranthe needed only to mention she had attended her academy for young ladies to be welcomed with the utmost warmth.

Before she left she had a complete roster of parlormaids, chambermaids, kitchen maids, a scullery maid, a tweenie, and a nursemaid.

She lacked only a housekeeper—a position that usually required some experience—and a butler and footmen, since the Sisters of Benevolence served women and young orphans.

But the matron gave her the name of a hiring agency where several previous beneficiaries of the Sisters’ benevolence had found positions, and Amaranthe suspected she would be just as well supplied if she mentioned the magical name of Miss Gregoire there, too.

“I don’t know how to begin to thank you,” Amaranthe said in gratitude as the matron blew on her list of names to dry the ink, then handed the paper to Amaranthe.

They sat in a cozy parlor set back from the street, off a small garden that ran alongside the main entrance.

Herbs grew in tidy beds framed by ornamental flowers, and now and again a girl walked by alone or with a set of children, all of them in crisp undyed linen, clean and shod.

It was Amaranthe’s first glimpse of the Benevolence Hospital, and she could see Miss Gregoire’s quiet influence on the place.

“Only tell us how the girls get on, and let us know if there are any problems,” the matron said.

She replaced her pen in its stand and rose, shaking out her apron.

Amaranthe thought her young to have a position of responsibility over at least a hundred residents and staff, but her demeanor was one of unassailable calm.

“Of course,” Amaranthe answered. “But do you ask no placement fee, or otherwise?” Perhaps she would have to ask Miss Gregoire what was necessary.