Wicked Intentions (Maiden Lane #1)(27)

“What?” Temperance took the paper, opening it blindly. She hadn’t heard from Lord Caire since the night of his injury, and while she’d been terribly worried for his health, at the same time she hadn’t been entirely sure if sending a letter to inquire would be quite the thing. “I don’t…” She trailed off as she read the elegant handwriting.

He was calling for her at four this afternoon. Temperance’s gaze flew to the old clock on the kitchen mantel. The hands read just past noon. She was conscious that the kitchen had become suddenly silent, all the children staring at her.

“Dear God.” For a moment, she was frozen, the missive crumpled in her hand. “I have nothing to wear.” She thought she’d have at least a week to find a new dress!

Nell blinked and straightened like a soldier called to arms. “Mary Evening, you are in charge of the kitchen. Mary Whitsun, Mary St. Paul, and Mary Little, come with me. And you”—Nell pointed a stern finger at Temperance—“go to your little sitting room and take off your dress.”

Nell left with her minions marching behind her.

Temperance looked down at the sheet of paper in her hands, carefully smoothing it straight. Lord Caire’s words jumped out at her, bold and firm. She would see him tonight. She’d accompany him to a respectable entertainment. She’d be on his arm. Oh. Oh, goodness. She felt her cheeks flush at just the thought, and while the majority of her emotions were fear and trepidation, there was a small but very definite part that leapt in excitement.

Temperance snatched up a candle and hurried into her small sitting room. She swiftly stripped off her shawl, dress, and shoes. By the time Nell came back with her troops, Temperance stood in only shift and stays.

“I’ve had this for five years or more,” Nell said as she entered with a bundle. “I couldn’t bear to part with it even when I was at my most desperate.”

She laid the bundle on a chair and unwrapped it. Shimmering red silk slithered across the chair’s cushion. Temperance stared. The dress was beautiful—bright and colorful and far, far too bold.

“I can’t wear that,” she blurted before she could think of Nell’s feelings.

But Nell merely set her arms akimbo. “And what else might you be wearing, Mrs. Dews? You can hardly go in that.”

That being Temperance’s usual black stuff dress, lying now across the back of the armchair. Temperance had exactly three dresses, and all were practical black stuff.

“I—” she began, but was immediately muffled as Nell threw the red dress over her head. She fought her way through the sleeves and bodice and emerged sputtering. Nell ran around behind her and began hooking up the back.

Mary Whitsun cocked her head critically. “It’s a pretty color, ma’am, but the bodice doesn’t quite fit.”

Temperance looked down, realizing she’d never before seen so much of her bosom on display before. The bodice was extremely low. “Oh, no. I can’t—”

“No, you certainly can’t.” Nell came around to examine her. “Not like this anyway.” And she plucked the loose fabric at the bodice, pulling it forward to two points in front of Temperance’s own smaller breasts. Nell let the silk go and it sagged in the front. “No, we’ll have to take it in.”

“What about down here?” Mary Whitsun asked. She’d bent to peer at Temperance’s hem, which unfortunately was several inches off the floor.

Nell grunted. “That too. Ladies, we have a busy afternoon ahead of us.”

And they did. All afternoon, Nell and her company tugged and stitched and cut.

Nearly four hours later, Temperance stood in the kitchen for a last inspection. In the intervening time, she’d bathed and washed her hair. Nell had set it expertly, threading a bit of crimson ribbon through her hair. The cherry-red dress almost glimmered in the firelight as Temperance attempted to yank up the neckline. It was still far too low for her tastes.

“Stop that.” Nell batted at her hands. “You’ll pull out the stitches.”

Temperance froze. The last thing she needed was the dress to completely fall off of her.

“It’s a pity you don’t have proper slippers,” Mary Whitsun said.

Temperance pulled aside her skirts to look at her sturdy black buckle shoes. “Well, these will just have to do. And with the addition of the ruffle Nell added to the hem, I think they’ll hardly be noticeable.” The ruffle was black silk and had once been one of Papa’s nicer coats.

“It does look lovely,” Mary said.

Temperance’s mouth trembled. “Thank you, Mary Whitsun.”

She was absolutely terrified. Only now did the full implication of her bargain with Lord Caire bear upon her. She was going to rub shoulders with the aristocracy—with those sparkling people, so elegant and bright they hardly seemed human. Would they think her a figure of fun?

How could they not?

Well, Lord Caire was certainly human enough. Temperance squared her shoulders. What did it matter what these exotic creatures thought of her? She was attending the musicale to save the home. For Winter and Nell and Mary Whitsun and all the other children. For them she could certainly endure one night’s humiliation.

So she smiled at her audience of small children and said, “Thank you all. You’ve been—”