Whit was inside the room and gently pushing her back into the chair in under a second. Mirabelle managed, only barely, to keep from laughing. Oh, but Sophie was a wily creature, she thought. Outright weakness might make a man like Whit inclined to pamper a bit, but quiet bravery would destroy him.
“Sit down, Sophie, please. There’s no need for you to walk, for pity’s sake. Alex and I will take you into town.”
“Well, if you’re sure—”
“Of course. Of course, I’m sure. You’ll have all the pastries you like.”
“Looks as if the carriage is nearly ready, ladies,” Whit commented later as their transport, along with his and Alex’s mounts, were brought to the front of the house. “We need only hitch the imp to the front of the team.”
Mirabelle sent him a sneer and climbed in behind a freshly attired Kate. “Rest assured, cretin, if I were to suddenly find myself a horse, the first thing I’d do would be to kick you in—”
“We’re ready to go now!” Sophie inserted enthusiastically as she clambered in and sat beside Mirabelle, making room also for Kate and Evie.
“—the head,” Mirabelle shouted after him before turning to Sophie with a furrowed brow. “What did you think I was going to say?”
“Er…something else. Something…” Kate waved her hand to indicate the lower half of her body.
Realization dawned on Mirabelle’s face, and with it, a delighted grin. “Oh. Oh, that’s very good.” She poked her head back out the window to amend her earlier threat, but found Whit gone. “Blast.”
There was only one dress shop in all of Benton, but as the dress shop was run by Madame Duvalle, one was all that was needed. A London modiste of some import in the previous decade, Madame Duvalle had fallen out of fashion in part because of the capriciousness of the ton, and in part because of her unwillingness to compromise her work to the demands of silly young girls—but according to Lady Thurston, that could only be counted as a mark in her favor.
She’d made the short move to Benton at Lady Thurston’s urging, and kept up a lively business catering to the Coles, their frequent guests, and the surrounding gentry.
Madame Duvalle also held the unusual distinction of being an actual native of France, having been born, raised, and trained in her art in Paris. And just so there would be no misunderstanding on the girls’ part, what Madame Duvalle created was art.
The shop was located with the other shops of quality in the heart of the town. A young woman with a friendly smile greeted them at the door, then disappeared into a back room to discreetly inform Madame that her most prestigious patrons had arrived. Before Mirabelle had had a chance to glance at the new materials, a very tall and somewhat plump woman sailed out of the door the young woman had recently exited. She stopped abruptly, let out an enormous sigh, and clasped her hands to her heart.
“Mes chéries!”
It was an entrance the young women had long grown accustomed to, but as it was no less sincere than it was dramatic, they returned the greeting with smiles.
“Mes belles, look at you,” Madame Duvalle crooned. “Why I should bother to put such effort into your gowns, I do not know. You would make a draped sheet appear a masterpiece of thread and needle. But I am most delighted to see all of you…except for you,” she informed Mirabelle with a sniff and a twinkling eye. “You are too stubborn.”
Mirabelle laughed and, unable to resist, leaned up to kiss a cheek. “You were able to convince me to choose the lavender gown over the brown,” she reminded her.
“Yes, but it was the ivory I wanted you to have.”
And it was the ivory that she had wanted to have, Mirabelle recalled, but it had been too dear, and far less practical than the deep lavender, which would hide stains more easily.
“I’m here twice in as many weeks with the intention of making a purchase, surely that must count for something.”
“Oui, it counts for much.” She gave Mirabelle a hopeful smile. “The ivory this time?”
“Nothing quite so grand, I’m afraid. We’re in need of undergarments.”
“Ah.” Madame Duvalle looked over as newcomers arrived. “You know the way, of course. I will give you time to look while I see to these ladies, yes?”
Unlike the bolts of cloth and the ready-made gowns, items of a more intimate nature were displayed in a separate, windowless room.
“Have you any idea what you might want?” Kate asked Evie as the women took in the contents of the room.
“No, but I’ll own myself intrigued by this.”
Mirabelle looked up from where she’d been studying a fashion plate to see Evie point out a…a something, displayed on a seamstress’s form. Light blue satin cut much too simply to be a gown, hugged rather than draped over the model.
“Well, for heaven’s sake,” Mirabelle laughed. “What is the point of such a garment?”
“I’ve no idea,” was both Kate’s and Evie’s reply.
“To feel delicious,” was Sophie’s. Three heads immediately spun in her direction. She shrugged, a slight bloom of red showing on her cheeks. “Perhaps one needs to be married to appreciate the prettiness of it.”