A Good Debutante's Guide to Ruin_The Debutante Files

He crossed his arms. “I take it you heard the news.”

“That I’m to be married.” She nodded once. Hard. “Not that I was consulted, but that’s the news I woke to this morning.”

“And you’re not happy about this?” He snorted. “Well, that’s foolish.”

She released a breath in a hiss. “How’s that?”

“I’m offering you a Season, a future free from the unreliability of your mother. Unless you prefer to live with uncertainty, one step from the gutter. Begging for favors from people you hold only loose connections to.”

Meaning him. He was right. The truth stung.

They studied each other for a moment. Her initial anger began to fade as she considered that what he was offering her was so much more than anything she had hoped for. So much more than many women ever received. A Season as a debutante. The thrill of parties and balls. Excitement, adventure. Suitors. The possibility of finding someone. A chance at love. To put a life of loneliness behind her.

“I see,” she finally said, lacing her fingers together in front of her and now feeling a little foolish for barging in here after all.

He angled his head. “Do you now?”

She did. “I suppose I owe you my gratitude.”

He let loose a bark of laughter. “Doesn’t sound too heartfelt.”

Heat scored her cheeks. “My apologies,” she mumbled, flexing her toes in the carpet. “You’re very generous. You don’t have to do this.”

He smiled thinly. “I’ll tell you what I told your mother the last time I saw her. My generosity has its limits. Don’t squander this opportunity.”

She nodded once. “Understood. Now understand this. I’m not my mother.”

He looked her up and down and his smile turned faintly smirking, as if amused. As if he didn’t believe that. Indeed, he didn’t believe that at all.

“Noted. Now. If you’ll excuse me. I’m late for an appointment.” He stepped past her and exited the room, leaving her alone and staring after him.





Chapter 6


The modiste arrived promptly the next morning after breakfast with four assistants in tow. Rosalie felt her eyes widen as they entered her chamber carrying fabrics and boxes that soon outnumbered the number of articles she had ever possessed. Ever. In her entire life ever.

“Oh, very nice, very nice!” The modiste, Mrs. Ashby, clapped approvingly as she surveyed Rosalie’s body. “We have much to work with here.”

Rosalie smiled uncertainly as she eyed the modiste and four assistants. It was difficult to process that they were working class. They were all attired better than she was in elegant dresses and perfectly coiffed hair.

“Did I not say so?” Lady Peregrine nodded eagerly, her turbaned head bobbing.

And still the boxes and baskets continued to arrive, more maids arriving now to help carry them into the room.

Rosalie leaned down to where Aurelia sat on the chaise, tormenting Lady Snuggles with a scrap of ribbon. The cat appeared in no mood to play, but that did not stop Aurelia from repeatedly flipping the blue ribbon at the growling animal.

“Would it not have been easier to go to their shop?” Rosalie whispered. “Rather than forcing them to come here?”

Smiling, Aurelia shook her head. “Mama does not visit Mrs. Ashby’s shop. Madame Ashby brings the shop to her. To any other highborn lady, for that matter.” Aurelia’s lips twisted wryly. “It’s always so.” Her voice dipped low to add, “No matter that Will’s pockets don’t run deep enough for such lavish treatment, one must keep appearances. She can’t have any of her friends see her calling on the dressmaker.”

Rosalie nodded as though she understood the habits of the aristocracy.

Evidently having enough of Aurelia, the fat tabby lurched at her, swatting her several times with a paw before plopping down to the floor and waddling away.

“Aurelia!” Lady Peregrine snapped. “Leave Lady Snuggles alone!”

Aurelia shrugged and dropped the ribbon and sighed, looking bored.

Mrs. Ashby was a large woman, elegantly dressed, with plump, swollen hands that moved and fluttered like overfed pigeons as she directed her staff with sharp commands.

Rosalie sank down on the chaise, taking Lady Snuggles’s spot. “So . . . much . . . much,” she murmured as three of the assistants departed to fetch yet more.

“Oh, this shall be no small undertaking,” Aurelia remarked. “You require a full wardrobe. Brace yourself for day-long misery.”

“This is going to cost a fortune,” she grumbled, feeling guilty. She did not like the idea of spending Dec’s money so recklessly. And all of this in addition to her dowry? It was far too much. When she thought back to her years at Harwich, and the many girls there who had so little—Mrs. Heathstone herself wore the same frocks year after year after year—it made her chest pinch with discomfort.

She turned and caught Aurelia looking at her oddly. “What?”

“You’re quite the anomaly.”

She frowned. “Why does that sound like an insult?”

“I meant no offense. Any other female would gladly step into your shoes at this moment with no thought whatsoever to the expense. They would greedily take all that my cousin is giving without the slightest hesitation. Goodness knows Mama would accept such generosity if Will would allow it. My brother is too proud to take anything from Declan, and trust me, he has offered. Clearly you are more like my brother, for here you sit. Looking uncomfortable and faintly pale about the gills.”

Rosalie watched with ever-widening eyes as yards of glittering fabrics continued to pile upon the bed for Lady Peregrine’s examination. Dec’s aunt dove into the bolts of fabric with a feral glint to her eyes, sorting through them with expert care, already deep in conversation with the modiste over the various types of gowns Rosalie would need. Morning dresses. Walking dresses. Day dresses. Traveling dresses. Ball gowns. Nightgowns. Riding habits. Corsets. Stockings. Petticoats. Chemises . . .

It made her dizzy. “This is quite out of my depth.”

“You are the daughter of a duchess,” Aurelia reminded her.

A duchess who never had much use for her. Rosalie had been away at school for the last ten years, living a modest existence without even the smallest dose of extravagance. The greatest luxury she ever had at Harwich was, occasionally, mint jam with her toast.

The last of the shop girls returned then. Her arms full of ermine-trimmed cloaks of every conceivable shade.

“Close your mouth,” Aurelia gently suggested.

Blinking, she shut her mouth with a snap, but not before she silently vowed to send a trunk of clothing to Harwich at her first opportunity.

The morning passed in a blur. She was pinched and prodded and pinned. She stood still for their ministrations until her feet ached. Several gowns were pulled over her head, measurements noted, and then two assistants went to work with needle and thread so that she would have something to wear when they left today. It would be several days before the bulk of her wardrobe was ready.

“Mama.” Aurelia fell back on the chaise, clutching her stomach. “We’re hungry. Can we not take a respite for lunch?”

Lady Peregrine looked up from the swatches that she held up for comparison against Rosalie’s face. “We’ve much to do and a short amount of time. Really, Aurelia, think of Rosalie and don’t be so selfish.”