Miss Goldsleigh's Secret by Amylynn Bright Read Free Book Online Page B

Olivia smiled to ease the interruption of their banter. “Promise you won’t spend too much money on me, and I will do my best to make you proud. But you should know I don’t have much in the way of town bronze.”
    “Nonsense.” Evelyn stood and reached out her hand to Olivia. “You are a well-mannered young lady. And as my sister said before, the dances are all the same.”
    “Madam,” Evelyn called to the proprietress of the shop. The seamstress hurried over when Evelyn beckoned and gave a curtsy. “We are going to need something magnificent for tomorrow evening, a ball gown.”
    “Excellent.” The seamstress looked at Olivia with an appraising eye while she tried not to fidget. She knew what the modiste saw—a petite woman who looked fragile beyond the fashion. She was very thin, too thin.
    “I am sure I know just the thing.” Madam Bolivant steered Olivia into a dressing room. Olivia glanced back at the rest of the ladies, but they had all become engrossed in fabric samples and patterns. Penelope glanced up and smiled in encouragement before she was drawn back into the fray.
    Once inside the private room, Olivia was stripped of her borrowed dress, and the seamstress’s assistant helped her into a lovely creation, a sheath of pale yellow silk with an overdress of delicate gold lace. It had a high waist as was the fashion, with a band of gold-beaded satin under the bosom and cap sleeves with the same color bugle beads on the edges. The lace was pulled up and artfully pinned around the bottom of the skirt, creating a lovely scalloped effect. The skirt flowed loosely from the high waist into a short, beaded train to trail behind her as she walked.
    The dress was stunning, and she was stunning in it. Even under her own critical eye, she admitted she was beautiful. The dress took on a kaleidoscope effect as her eyes filled with tears. If only her mother or stepmother could be here to enjoy this moment with her. She gazed wistfully at her reflection and considered how much she looked like a fairy tale come to life, just like they had promised. After a deep breath and a long blink, she brought herself back under control.
    The seamstress and her assistant came up behind Olivia and clucked and crowed over the fit and the alterations that needed to be made, plucking and pinching at the fabric. Olivia stood like a statue while they fussed about her, tears ruthlessly unshed. She couldn’t allow tears, not here in this fashionable establishment where too many curious eyes would notice, not anywhere. She’d given up the right for frivolous girlish emotions the minute she grasped her brother’s hand and fled into the night leaving a dead body on the kitchen floor.
    At last the shopkeeper looked up at her, smiling broadly, and spoke to her in her heavy French accent. “I was right,
cherie
, zis is the perfect color for
mademoiselle
. You are glowing with this color. You will be a goddess.”
    Penelope nodded her agreement from the doorway to the changing room.
    By the time Olivia had been fitted and measured and fussed over for what seemed like hours, she was finally allowed back into her borrowed dress and permitted to step down from the dais. Madame Bolivant promised to have several frocks delivered to the townhouse by the end of the day and, most importantly, the ball gown would arrive by noon the next. Evelyn had ordered more dresses than Olivia thought she could ever wear; morning dresses and walking dresses, a riding habit and dresses for evening. There were several pelisses and capes and other things Olivia lost count of. The footmen loaded box after box into the boot of the carriage.
    “Excuse me, miss.” Olivia tapped the shoulder of one of the young ladies working in the shop. “May I please have a copy of the bill you’ll be sending to the marquess?”
    “Ummmmm.” The girl looked around with nervous eyes. “
Désolée, mon Anglais n’est pas très bon.
”
    Right, French.
She thought back to the