“Will you please put the covers back up where they were? Better yet, why don’t you get dressed? We have a lot to do today if we’re going to get you ready for a week-long house party.”
She leaned forward, intrigued. She’d never been to a house party before. “Like what?”
He groaned, as if in pain. “Proper clothes, for one. We can’t have you showing your bosoms to my nearest and dearest. You’ll need an entire wardrobe, and toiletries, and…everything, really. Well, my girl, what do you say?”
Angelica sat, speechless. This wasn’t what she had in mind at all.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
He was taking her shopping. This man, who thought her used body so repugnant, was buying her an entirely new wardrobe. Puzzling, to say the least. Not to mention the fact that he intended to introduce her to his family. The plan made no sense, yet Angelica didn’t question him about his motives. She merely took his arm, and allowed Captain Neill to escort her into the High Street dress shop.
Inside, she smelled fragrance—delicate, costly perfume—and the scent of fur, leather, and crisp, clean cotton. Angelica had loved going shopping with her mother. She enjoyed touching the different fabrics, pressing her cheek to the soft silks and stiff brocades. She liked how the ladies who ran the dress shop had fussed over her and given her sweets. She had dreamed of the days when she would be a grown-up, and could wear all the pretty fripperies and furbelows.
She eventually outgrew her girlhood frocks, and began to raid her mother’s wardrobe. Sadly, in those days, her mother had only worn black—mourning for Father, who’d been taken by the Spanish Flu. Angelica continued the tradition, mourning the loss of her old life, snatched from her by sickness, war, and privation.
The color was not important to her. She could not remember red from green, or blue from yellow. But the idea behind the garb of woe appealed to her. She liked black. Blackness was her world. It was all she knew.
Returning her thoughts to the High Street shop, Angelica let Captain Neill guide her between the racks of frocks and coats. She knew people were staring—they always did—but, bundled up in his greatcoat, she must have looked like an urchin he’d pulled in off the street.
“Wait here, Angelica.” He steered her aside, and went in search of a sales clerk. After a moment, she heard his low voice whispering discreetly, though she could not discern his words. Then, he came back to her and placed a woman’s soft, cream-scented hand on her arm. “This is Magda. She is going to take you to a fitting room and help you shop. Choose whatever you need. My family has an account here.”
For the next few hours, Magda and the other sales girls treated Angelica like a pretty doll. They picked the things they liked best, dressing her as if they too had an unlimited budget.
She was shocked to discover how short everything was now—short hair, short skirts, short sleeves in the summer. The first frock Magda slipped her into barely passed her kneecaps!
“I don’t think I can wear this,” Angelica said, tugging at the soft jersey hem.
The woman moved it back into place. “Don’t be silly. You have lovely legs.”
She felt exposed. Where were the layers of corsets, underdrawers, and petticoats? The only things shielding her from the world were a pair of silk stockings, some lacy step-ins, and this flimsy piece of fabric.
“You remembered what I said about selecting only black, didn’t you?”
Another sales girl lifted a blouse over Angelica’s head. Magda fussed over it for a moment before replying, “You can’t go around dressed for a funeral, Miss Grey. People will think you’re batty!”
“They’ll certainly think I’m a madwoman if I try to dress myself in colors and patterns,” Angelica explained. “I won’t know what goes with what. It’s easiest for me to stick with one solid shade.”
Magda forced another blouse on her. “I’ll make certain that everything we choose can be worn with everything else. You can be confident that whatever you put on will suit. And, if you’re still not sure, you can ask Captain Neill.”
The fitting room exploded in to a flurry of feminine laughter.
Angelica did not get the joke. “What do you mean?”
“He’s your beau isn’t he?” the woman asked. “He’s so very handsome. Every girl in here would die to trade places with you.”
Other women found Captain Neill attractive. She didn’t know why that surprised her. He had such a pleasant, deep voice. When he’d held her in his arms that first night on her pallet, his body had been lean and firm. Strong. Virile, even despite his sickness. Women responded to that sort of thing. The fact that he had an appealing face only sweetened the pot.
Magda touched her shoulder. “Didn’t you know?” When Angelica shook her head, the woman added, “He’s ever so tall and fit. Strong jaw. Nice teeth. Brown hair, leaning toward auburn—but not ginger.”