“Colin will take you to a ball—”
“No, he won’t.” Though her initial reaction to Colin’s disappearance had been hurt, in the past two weeks Amy had resigned herself to the facts. “Colin wants nothing to do with me; he’s made that perfectly clear. And most certainly not in public.”
“He’ll come around. Trust me. I know my brother. He’s stubborn, but he’s not addlepated.”
Amy’s finger traced a row of embroidered pearls on her skirt. “Colin and I don’t belong together, and we both know it, Kendra. I’m meant to be a jeweler in France. It’s not only what I want, it’s what I have to do.” She smoothed the slick satin, then turned to the seamstress with a rustling swish. “Unlace me, please, Madame Beaumont.”
Amy had been distraught to find Mrs. Cholmley’s shop burned to the ground, and the seamstress herself nowhere to be found. Owing to the king’s passion for everything French, French dressmakers were all the rage. Kendra had insisted Amy order her wardrobe from Madame Beaumont, London’s most sought-after modiste.
The seamstress’s deft fingers loosened the gown, and Amy wiggled out of it. “The hem is fine.” She stepped into the butter-yellow gown she’d borrowed from Kendra and pulled it up. “Will it be ready Monday?
“Certainement. Along with everything else.” Madame Beaumont turned her around to lace her up in back.
“Thank you.” Amy looked pointedly at Kendra. “Do you know if Jason is free Tuesday to take me to Dover?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea, but it doesn’t matter anyway.”
Amy peered into the looking glass, rearranging her long, untamed curls. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You still have to buy stockings, gloves, and ribbons, not to mention shoes for all of these gowns,” Kendra declared gaily. “Then I want help with my Christmas shopping. You won’t be ready to leave for weeks yet—perhaps not until after Christmas.”
“Oh, no.” Amy shook her head, remembering Colin’s original plan to secure her wardrobe within a day or two. Madame Beaumont had taken a full twelve days to create her gowns, and that was after considerable begging and extra payments.
“Oh, yes. You had nothing whatsoever to wear; it takes time to outfit yourself properly. Besides, I’m having too much fun to send you on your way. Why, it’s almost like having a sister.”
“Colin would be furious.”
“A pox on Colin! If he weren’t so obstinate—”
“Marry come up, Kendra! Let’s not start that again.”
“Only if you agree to stop talking about leaving so soon.”
“Well…I did forget about stockings and shoes…maybe I’ll stay an extra week.” Amy stopped fussing with her hair and turned from the mirror to look Kendra in the eye. “But that’s all. Colin and I will never happen. I mean it.”
“Of course you do,” Kendra agreed a little too pleasantly.
A tinkling bell on the door announced another customer. Amy and Kendra prepared to leave as Madame Beaumont rushed out to greet the newcomer. Her melodious voice drifted back to the fitting salon. “Bonjour, Lady Priscilla.”
“No, it cannot be…” Kendra muttered under her breath.
“Your gown is ready for your final fitting.” Madame’s accented words grew louder as she made her way to the curtained salon. “I’ll fetch it from the back room. The salon will be vacant in a moment.” The curtain parted, and Madame slipped inside. “Mesdemoiselles? Is there aught else I can do for you?”
“We were just leaving,” Amy assured her.
The dressmaker stuck her head back into the shop. “Une minute, Lady Priscilla, s’il vous plaît.” She hurried through the salon and into the back, murmuring “Merci, mesdemoiselles” as she went.
“Please let it be another Priscilla,” Kendra whispered, her hand on the curtain’s opening.
“What are you talking about?” Amy whispered back.
Kendra froze and stared at her. “Lady Priscilla.”
“Lady Priscilla?”
“Colin’s Lady Priscilla.”
“Oh…”
Amy wasn’t at all sure she wanted to meet the illustrious Priscilla, but she hadn’t much of a choice, as Kendra grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into the shop.
“Lady Priscilla.” Amy had never heard Kendra sound so sickly sweet, nor seen such a false smile plastered on her face. “It’s a pleasure to see you.”
“Lady Kendra.” Priscilla’s voice was cultured and emotionless, as though she ran into acquaintances everywhere and nothing ever surprised her. She leaned over and pecked Kendra on the cheek; a casual kiss between ladies was de rigueur upon meeting. “I didn’t know you were in town. Is Colin back as well?”
“Oh, no. You know how he feels about the City,” Kendra said slyly.
“Yes, but he was here barely a day last month.”
“He’s very busy at Greystone. Perhaps you should visit him there.” Kendra’s suggestion sounded sincere, although she’d told Amy that Priscilla loathed Colin’s rustic home. “I’m sure he’d be glad to see you.”
“Goodness, not in the state that place is in. Although I’d consider an invitation to Cainewood.” Priscilla’s cool gray gaze moved to Amy. “Who do we have here?”
“Forgive me for failing to introduce you,” Kendra said smoothly. “This is Mrs. Amethyst Goldsmith. Amy, meet Lady Priscilla Hobbs.”
Amy watched Priscilla look her over and instantly dismiss her as untitled and insignificant. “I’m glad of your acquaintance,” Priscilla said with a small bored bow.
Amy opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. The very sight of Priscilla had rendered her speechless. Dear heavens, if Priscilla were Colin’s idea of the perfect girl…
Titles aside, she was Amy’s complete antithesis. Priscilla was tall where Amy was diminutive, fair where she was rosy, straight where she was curvy, and cool where she was emotional. Priscilla’s hair was blond, short, and styled, while Amy’s was dark, long, and unruly.
And those were just the obvious differences.
Amy hadn’t known it was possible to hate a virtual stranger. She felt like a sorry example of a human being, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. If witchcraft weren’t a sin, she’d surely be casting a spell forthwith.
Kendra nudged her with a discreet elbow. “I-I’m glad of your acquaintance,” Amy managed to return.
Priscilla’s pretty
