The Luck of the Bride (The Cavensham Heiresses #3)(35)

She closed her eyes and said a little prayer. Finally, her family was safe. If fate was kind to both Julia and Faith, and both were lucky enough to make matches this Season, then March would consider their sojourn to London an unqualified success.

Even March never lacked for company. Emma, the Countess of Somerton, visited quite frequently with her husband, Lord Somerton. As Emma was her friend and her banker, March found herself growing more and more comfortable in Langham Hall. She’d even developed a friendship with McCalpin’s beautiful cousin Claire, the Marchioness of Pembrooke.

After their sweet kiss, it was hard to think of Michael as McCalpin anymore. He visited frequently, but spent most of his time with his father and William behind closed doors. The brief glimpses she enjoyed of his presence always made her day a little more joyous.

To think anything of the time she’d shared with Michael that night at the family townhouse was beyond foolish. She schooled herself to forget such nonsense. It was pleasant to be around such a lovely family, and that was all.

Moreover, one thing March was certain of, she was never foolish.

Over the past several weeks, the duchess had declared March and her sisters needed new wardrobes. Like an army general commanding the troops, the duchess would take the trio of sisters to the best clothing and haberdashery establishments in town. Today March left on her own for a few items from Mademoiselle Mignon, the duchess’s favorite dressmaker in all of London.

Once inside the shop, March idly stroked the blush-colored velvet. The slightest hint of pink immediately brought to mind Julia’s perfect complexion. For her sister to wear in public a gown made from the striking fabric would cause a near riot in any London ballroom. Whatever it took, Julia would own such an ensemble before the month was out.

As was habit, March kept careful records of everything spent on their family. The vast wardrobes for Julia and Faith were no exception. She, on the other hand, had declined any new dresses. Yet, the duchess had insisted. Finally, March had agreed to a new morning gown for social calls and an evening gown for the duchess’s ball. She’d politely refused any other purchases. There was no cause for such extravagance. When her sisters eventually settled with a husband and their own home, March planned to move back to Lawson Court until Bennett was grown and ready to assume his responsibilities.

What she would do after was still under consideration. She feared she’d be too old for matrimony and a hindrance to Bennett once he married and started to raise a family.

She pushed aside such worries. Other things demanded her attention, such as ways to enhance the gowns she’d made from her grandmother’s old dresses. She took the lace, braided cord, ribbons, and other trims she had selected to the front of Mademoiselle Mignon’s shop, the most exclusive dressmaker in all of England. Her reputation was legendary since her mother had helped dress Marie Antoinette.

March patiently waited for assistance. Since there wasn’t much call for a sheep farmer’s skills in the city of London, she’d hoped to offer her bookkeeping services in exchange for the trim or a least a discount. Money was always a worry, and she’d do everything possible to protect her family’s fortune.

The modiste attended two elegantly dressed young women and an older woman who probably was their mother if her dress was any indication. The woman wore a dark peacock pelisse while the girls were dressed in sturdy but fashionable lilac-colored broadcloth cloaks. A polite argument about a lower neckline on one of the young ladies’ gowns had erupted between the three women. Mademoiselle Mignon excused herself.

Dressed in a magnificent purple velvet with yards of black lace as an overskirt, the seamstress approached. “How may I help you today, miss?”

The modiste’s warm dulcet tone enhanced her French accent, and her sharp gaze made March pay attention. As Mademoiselle Mignon evaluated her, March made her own quick calculation and came to the conclusion she could negotiate with this woman. Her own experience haggling over prices of wool throughout the years had given her a keen sense of a person’s bargaining capability, and the seamstress had an abundance of it. No wonder her shop was so successful.

March carefully laid the bolts of trim on the table. “I would like to purchase ten yards of each.”

The shop owner nodded her head and took the bolts to her cutting area.

March’s gaze swept the shop. There must be hundreds of items that required a precise inventory in a shop this size along with careful records of the junior seamstresses’ time and wages. “Mademoiselle, I wonder if you would consider some type of exchange for the trims I’d like to purchase. I have experience bookkeeping for establishments such as yours, and—”

The shopkeeper gently laid her scissors on the table. “Miss, if you don’t have the money for the trim.”

A deadly quiet settled as the three customers immediately stopped their argument to overhear her private conversation with the proprietress.

March bit her lower lip in an attempt to harness the familiar emptiness in her stomach. It always occurred when she discussed her lack of funds. However, she had the one thousand pounds that Michael had given her. It was more than enough to pay for her purchases.

Why she felt humiliation at all was puzzling. Perhaps the trim pieces represented nothing more than an extravagance. Deep down, she couldn’t deny the real cause. The women overhearing the conversation would understand her circumstances and recognize her as the outlier she was—a person that had no place in their rarified society. “I have the funds. I bank at E. Cavensham Commerce.”