“Did she give you a hard time?”
“She warned me that I’d be setting tongues to wag in the Polite World. As I care naught for the so-called Polite World, her argument fell flat. Lady Atwood’s a bit high in the instep but she is a good woman. Thankfully, the Duke supports my decision.”
She set down her teacup and saucer and rose from the table. “I shall ring for Mary before Mrs. Griffith arrives.”
Rebecca’s lady’s maid was a small bird-like woman that Kendra recognized from her first breakfast in the upper staff dining room, before her demotion. She gave Kendra a look, sharp with distrust.
“Please take off your clothes,” Rebecca ordered Kendra.
“I’m usually offered dinner before that request.”
“Pardon?”
“Never mind,” Kendra sighed, and began to strip. She couldn’t hide her scars, and knew the instant the two women saw them. Rebecca gasped.
Suspicion flared in Mary’s dark eyes. “Looks like ye’ve been shot, miss.”
“Yes,” Kendra said simply.
“How—never mind,” Rebecca said abruptly. “Forgive us. I understand all too well what it’s like to be stared at.” She turned to Mary, who began unrolling her measuring tape. “What is the gossip below stairs, Mary?”
“Everyone’s all aflutter at how ye hired the miss here to be yer companion.” The woman shot Kendra another narrow-eyed look as she looped the tape around her waist. “Miss Beckett says the countess was apoplectic.”
Rebecca waved her hand airily. “I am well aware of the countess’ objections.”
“Are ye certain ye know what ye’re about, milady?” Mary fitted the tape snugly beneath Kendra’s armpits, intersecting across her bosom.
“The countess may wish me to Jericho, but I know what I am doing.”
“This is about the gel in the lake, ain’t it? Talk is she be mixed up in that business, too.”
“I didn’t ask to be here,” Kendra muttered beneath her breath.
“Why’d ye come, then?”
Why, indeed? “I’m still working that one out.”
“Hush, Mary. Miss Donovan is not the enemy.”
“They think she’s queer in the attic. Hold still, miss.” She knelt down, measuring from waist to hem. “They may give ye the cut for supporting the likes of her, milady.”
“They wouldn’t dare. Not with the Duke of Aldridge lending his support. At least not a direct cut. You’ll need slippers, Miss Donovan. You can hardly wear those dreadful boots to dinner. And, oh, we really must do something with your hair. Mary, suggestions?”
“Why ever did ye cut it so short?” Mary gave Kendra an accusatory look.
“Some ladies have cut their hair . . . but this style is rather unusual, Miss Donovan.” Rebecca circled Kendra, tapping her chin critically. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Maybe I’ll start a new trend.”
Mary sniffed. “Not bloody likely.”
“I’m not so certain,” Rebecca said. “It is odd, but rather becoming. Still, we shall have to be creative, Mary. Miss Donovan is an Original.”
“What exactly is an Original?” Kendra asked.
“Someone who is unique, one-of-a-kind. You most certainly are that. Mary, we must make the most of it.”
The maid muttered, “We’re doomed.”
Rebecca rolled her eyes, but before she could respond to that dire prediction, Mrs. Griffith, the local modiste, arrived. She wasn’t alone. She was accompanied by two young women and five large trunks, which the footmen brought in. As Kendra watched in amazement, Rebecca’s bedroom was transformed into a dressmaking atelier. The five trunks sprung open to reveal countless bolts of fabric, trimmings, and fashion plates.
This was, Kendra thought with a sinking heart, way before the time of ready-to-wear, before women could buy an entire wardrobe in about twenty minutes at Macy’s or Walmart, or, better yet, order it online. Here, it was painfully obvious to Kendra that each item would have to be individually designed, cut, and stitched by hand. How long will this take?
Rebecca performed introductions. “We shall need morning dresses, walking dresses, underclothes, and several evening gowns,” she explained. “I would like most of it done and delivered in a week. Is that possible?”
“Certainly, your Ladyship.”
“We shall need you to alter one of my evening gowns for this evening. Mary has Miss Donovan’s measurements. And I must insist on a gown or two to be delivered tomorrow. An afternoon dress and an evening gown. Is that possible?”