The next day the dowager's barouche took Lady Bradleigh and Emily from Laura Place to Milsom Street to the establishment of Madame Dubois, one of Bath's most well-respected modistes. Madame's showroom was one of many bow-windowed shop fronts that lined the popular thoroughfare, tucked between a print seller and a plumiere. The dowager had long been a good customer of Madame Dubois. Emily was aware that the tiny Frenchwoman held the dowager in much awe due to her past association with the court of Louis XV and in particular her friendship with the Marquise de Pompadour. But today Madame seemed especially pleased to be asked to outfit Emily.

"Such a fine figure and graceful carriage," Madame said with heavily accented enthusiasm, as she circled Emily and eyed her from head to foot.

As Madame tossed bolt after bolt of fabric on the counter for inspection, the dowager had unfailingly voiced her preference for the brightest colors and the boldest patterns. Emily, however, stood her ground. She had agreed to accept the new wardrobe, but she would not be bullied into colors that made her look like a circus tent. She was firm in her selection of clear blues and greens in fine cambrics or textured sarsnets. She had also selected one simple printed India muslin. As she and her employer perused the fashion plates in the latest issues of La Belle Assemblée, the dowager was wont to select those dresses with the most flounces, the most ruffles, and the most elaborate trimming. Again, Emily stood firm. She had no desire to be thrust upon the ton looking like a wedding cake. Ever conscious of her position, she preferred the simplest styles.

"Here is a lovely confection," the dowager said as she pointed to a hand-colored engraving of a very elaborate evening full dress of pink satin trimmed at the bodice with swags of seed pearls and with countless tiny ivory satin bows at regular intervals along the long sleeves. "You would be just the thing in this dress, my dear."

Emily studied the fashion plate and looked up to catch Madame Dubois's wary eye. "I am sorry, my lady," she said to the dowager, "but I think I would prefer something much simpler. Like this, for example." She indicated a plate showing a soft green half evening dress trimmed at the neck and waist with pink ribbon embroidered with a green leaf pattern.

"Hmph!" the dowager snorted. "You may choose as you like, my dear, although please remember that our purpose is to have you appear fashionable during the height of the London Season."

"Mais, oui, my lady," Madame Dubois interjected. "And this design," she said, pointing to the fashion plate in Emily's hand, "is la dernier cri. In the right fabric it will be stunning on Mademoiselle, accentuating her height and graceful neck." She pulled out a length of pale green silk and with a flourish swiftly draped it across a very startled Emily. "Voilà! See how it matches the green of her eyes."

Emily, amused at the Gallic enthusiasm of the modiste, raised questioning brows to the dowager.

"It will do," the older woman snapped. "Proceed, Madame."

Emily was then taken to a private room, where for the next two hours she was subjected to endless poking, prodding, measuring, and pinning. The dowager sat nearby, her brows furrowed skeptically throughout the fitting. She was still opposed to the simple styles Emily had selected.

"In my day," she said at one point, "we prided ourselves on achieving the most elaborate styles. Why, our bodices were literally covered with bows. I will never understand, Madame, how we came to these simple vertical designs. And, Emily," she scolded, "you disappoint me in your conservative selections."

Emily kept quiet, determined to maintain a simple, albeit fashionable, appearance, in keeping with her position. She had an unexpected ally in Madame Dubois.

"Ah, but Mademoiselle has excellent taste," she crooned. "You are very wise not to be—how do you say?—a slave to fashion. You must define your own style. Simple, uncluttered elegance will serve you best. Fine fabric in a clean line is more becoming to your height and bone structure. Follow my advice and avoid all furbelows, fruit, or flowers. Jamais, jamais, jamais! Let the fabric speak for itself, n'est-ce pas?"

Emily was quite overwhelmed when they left the modiste's, having ordered two morning dresses, two evening dresses, a walking dress with matching spencer, a carriage dress, and a pelisse. After much protestation Madame Dubois promised to have everything ready in ten days. She also happened to have a simple evening half dress already made up for another customer who had changed her mind at the last moment. With the most minor adjustments, the gown fit Emily perfectly, so that she was able to take it with her. To Emily's amazement, the dowager informed her that this new wardrobe would take her through perhaps their first week in Town, and that many more dresses would be required for the remainder of the Season. The dowager intended to make a visit to Madame Cécile's soon after their arrival in Town.

Lady Bradleigh then tugged Emily along Milsom Street to shop for slippers and half-boots to match the new dresses, as well as gloves, stockings, bonnets, reticules, and undergarments. Emily was self-conscious about the expense but kept her own counsel. When the carriage at last deposited the two ladies back at Laura Place, two footmen were required to carry in the band boxes and packages.

It was a typical at-home afternoon at Laura Place, with the drawing room crowded with friends and admirers come to pay court to Lady Bradleigh, who was something of an institution in Bath Society. Sir Percy Whittaker was among the callers and did his best to pluck Emily from the background. She was staunch, however, in maintaining her position against the wall, and Sir Percy was forced to join her there in order to have conversation with her. Most other callers simply nodded to Emily in polite acknowledgment while she maintained her place and made no move to join in the general conversation.

After the last caller had departed, the dowager, Lord Bradleigh, and Emily remained in the drawing room, drinking fresh tea and reviewing the day. The fast banter between the dowager and her grandson, as they discussed each of the departed guests with wicked amusement, had Emily in tears of laughter. She had never seen anyone match wits so well with her sharp-tongued employer. And she had never seen the dowager so enjoy herself. It was clear that the two had a very close, very special relationship.

When the discussion reached Sir Percy Whittaker, Robert began teasing Emily about her conquest. "It is clear the man is besotted with you, Miss Townsend. When are you going to put him out of his misery?" he asked, grinning at Emily.

"Sir Percy is merely a good friend, my lord," she replied shyly, "nothing more. Our conversations generally go no further than a discussion of his latest novel."

"You can forget about Whittaker, Robert," the dowager interjected. "We can do better than that. We have spent the morning with Madame Dubois, preparing a new wardrobe for Emily. I have no doubt that her new look will have gentlemen falling at her feet. More interesting specimens than Sir Percy, you can be sure."

Emily stared at the dowager in astonishment.

Robert flashed her a roguish grin. "Yes, I can think of several gentlemen of my acquaintance who might be willing to oblige."

Emily suddenly sat up even straighter than usual, and she felt her jaw tighten as she tried to hang on to her composure. She studied her two smiling companions with narrowed eyes. "Excuse me," she said very quietly, "but if I am correct in sensing there is matchmaking afoot, I beg you to leave me out of it." She turned stiffly to face the dowager. "My lady, I very reluctantly accepted your generous offer of a new wardrobe because I thought—"

"Yes, yes, my girl," the dowager interrupted, "the new wardrobe's purpose was exactly as I stated it to you. I simply required that you appear more fashionable when you accompany me to Town. However," she continued as she flicked a nonexistent piece of lint from her sleeve, "if it also results in drawing eligible admirers to your notice, then I will be doubly pleased."

"Oh, dear," Emily said, her voice cracking in her distress. She could no longer look either of her companions in the eye. Anger and fear immobilized her. These people had lived in the highest echelons of wealth and privilege their whole lives. They could have no idea what it meant to be dependent upon others for one's very existence. They could surely never understand the humiliation that would result from active matchmaking on her behalf, the shame she would feel if presented to Society as an impoverished gentlewoman on the hunt for a husband.

Years ago, when her father's death had left her destitute, she had made a conscious decision not to present herself on some distant relative's doorstep, to be taken in as a poor relation. She would certainly never have approached her mother's hateful family. Instead she had chosen a life in genteel service, which had allowed her to maintain some degree of dignity. She suddenly felt that that last scrap of dignity was was about to be torn away from her.

She knew the dowager's determination was sometimes an unstoppable force. If the old woman had decided to find her a husband, she would be tenacious in achieving that end. She must think. Her mind was in a whirl, but she must think. Somehow she must not allow the dowager to place her in such an awkward position.

Lord Bradleigh apparently noted the distress on Emily's face and jumped into the fray before his grandmother could cause more damage. "Don't worry. Miss Townsend," he said in a soft croon that caused Emily to look up again and meet his eyes, "I can assure you from experience that Grandmother is not given to matchmaking. She has left me alone for years. Although," he added with a wink at his grandmother, "I suspect now she wishes she hadn't."

Emily returned a weak smile, but then dropped her eyes once again, staring at the hands clasped tightly in her lap.

"Miss Townsend," he said gently, "you may trust me when I tell you that I will not allow Grandmother to embarrass you while you are guests in my home."

"Robert!" the dowager cried. "You offend me!"

Emily lifted her eyes to find the dowager smiling affectionately at her.

"I am very fond of you, my dear," the older woman said, "and only want to see you happy. But I would never do anything to embarrass you," she said, glaring briefly at Robert, "no matter whose guest you are. But, honestly, what harm is there in simply introducing you to a few eligible gentlemen?" She flicked a speaking glance at Lord Bradleigh.

"I confess, Miss Townsend," Robert said, grinning sheepishly, "that I have agreed to bring a few of my friends to your attention. I would be pleased to introduce you, if I might be so bold."

"Your friends?" Emily asked softly, still somewhat bewildered by this conversation.

"Oh, don't worry," he said with a laugh, "not all of my acquaintances are rakes and libertines. I actually know a few upright fellows who might even be considered respectable."

Emily realized that she may have inadvertently insulted the earl. Her innate politeness rose to the surface, overwhelming any previous awkwardness. "I had not thought otherwise, my lord. I should be pleased to make the acquaintance of any friend of yours." She looked at the dowager, her resolution once again in control. "You must understand, however, that I am not interested in marriage, and I would be made to feel quite uncomfortable if it were generally believed that I did hold such hopes. It would be most awkward, considering my position. I appreciate the kind sentiments of you both, but I must ask that you respect my wishes in this matter."

"It shall be as you say, Miss Townsend," Lord Bradleigh said. He rose and bowed toward both ladies. "I shall leave you now to your discussion of your shopping trip. I will join you again for dinner."

The dowager swiftly launched into a lively monologue of the various fashions they had seen that morning, obviously determined to avoid any further mention of matchmaking. For the moment, thought Emily with rueful resignation.

As they discussed their purchases, the dowager insisted that Emily wear her new dress that evening for dinner. "We must try it out on Robert!" she exclaimed, rubbing her hands together in anticipation.

"I beg your pardon?" Emily asked warily.

"I mean, let us see how Robert likes it," the dowager replied, a sheepish flush staining her cheeks. "He has excellent taste, you know. Why, you should have seen some of the gowns he had made up for ... Well, never mind that. Anyway, he is a great judge of fashion. I should like his opinion. I do not mean to criticize, my dear, but you were just a tiny bit more conservative in your selections than I would have preferred. I know that Madame Dubois was very agreeable to your suggestions, but I think we need a man's opinion."

Later that evening the dowager sent Tuttle, her own dresser, to help Emily dress for dinner. This lofty personage was obviously put out at having to work for someone in Emily's position, but the dowager had insisted, and Tuttle condescended to do as she was asked. The dour Tuttle was almost a relief for Emily after having endured Lottie's endless prattling for the last half hour.

"Oh, miss," Lottie had gushed upon seeing the new dress lying on the bed, "'tis a lovely gown. It's right glad I am to see you dress more ... well, you know, more feminine, like. Thomas told us he had carried in a heap of parcels for you when you came home this morning. We was all so glad to hear that her ladyship opened her purse for you. It'll be a rare treat to see you in such finery, miss."

She went on and on in this vein while Emily waited patiently for her to finish with the fire and remove the basin of used water. "Oh! And won't his lordship think you're fine!" Lottie exclaimed. "Now mind, miss, what I said before. He's a rogue, that one. When he gets a look at you in that dress ... well, I don't like to think what might happen. You watch your step, miss."

"Don't worry about me, Lottie," Emily replied, smiling at the girl's serious expression. "I will keep up my guard," she teased, "though I am sure it won't be necessary."

"Little you know," Lottie muttered as she left the room.

Tuttle had made her entrance a few moments later and began with a close inspection of the new dress. She mutely helped Emily into it and began fastening the tiny buttons at the back. It was a dusky rose lutestring, with a high waist and low bodice edged with Brussels lace. A darker rose satin ribbon tied around the high waist, just under the bosom, and the ends floated down almost to the hem. The dress emphasized Emily's tall, slender figure. New pink kid slippers peeked out from the scalloped hem.

Tuttle next sat Emily down at her dressing table and began to dress her hair. Emily started to object, being quite comfortable with her modest chignon, but instead held her tongue. Tuttle brushed out Emily's long, softly waving hair and then twisted it into an intricate Grecian knot high up on her head. She then deftly tugged a few curling tendrils forward near her face and allowed one long curl to escape at her nape. The loose tendrils had a softening effect, and the entire result enhanced the impression of elongated elegance.

Emily stood before the cheval glass and was astonished. She almost failed to recognize herself, having become so accustomed to her plain gowns and simple chignon. Emily was not oblivious to her appearance. She knew that many found her to be attractive, and had certainly been aware of her effect on the young men in the household in Kent where she had first been employed as a governess. She had even suffered a few mild flirtations from more than one of the dowager's visitors. She continued to affect as simple and unremarkable an appearance as possible, however, feeling that her position required that she draw attention away from herself. This mode had become so natural that Emily had totally relegated thoughts of her appearance to the back of her mind. She was therefore dazzled by what she saw reflected in the mirror. She smiled with genuine pleasure. "Oh, Tuttle. This is quite wonderful." The normally reticent Tuttle allowed herself a smile of appreciation.

"Do you know, Tuttle, I think I should like to wear my mother's pearls." Emily went to her bureau and pulled out a small jewelry case. Inside were the only treasures she owned: those jewels of her mother's which she had managed to save, the rest having been sold by her father to pay off gambling debts. There was a fine emerald pendant with matching earrings, a small diamond and ruby brooch set in gold filigree, and a single strand of perfect pearls with matching drop earrings. Emily removed the pearls and held them up to her throat. As Tuttle fastened them, Emily was suddenly reminded of her mother, whom she closely resembled. She could recall her beautiful mother wearing the pearls on several occasions. Emily had never until now had the occasion to wear any of her mother's jewels. She smiled at her reflection in the mirror, wishing her mother could see her now.

At that moment there was a brief knock on her door. Tuttle opened the door to admit the dowager, who stopped in her tracks. "Good God!" she cried. She circled Emily, eyeing her up and down through her jeweled quizzing glass. She stopped in front of Emily, taking both her hands. "My dear girl, where have you been hiding? You look absolutely divine! Tuttle, my congratulations." She fingered the pearls at Emily's throat and raised a questioning brow.

"My mother's," Emily said.

"Perfect!" The dowager took Emily's arm, smiling triumphantly, and together they descended to the drawing room, with Charlemagne, as always, close behind.

* * *

Robert had preceded them and was pouring a glass of sherry. He looked up as the two women entered the room, and his breath caught in his throat. From the first moment he'd met her, he had thought Miss Townsend a very attractive woman. But just now she looked utterly beautiful. The glow of the candles in the nearby sconces set lights dancing in her green eyes and shot sparkling golden highlights through her hair. The new hairstyle gave her high-cheekboned face a softer look. He had never really noticed how tall she was, but just now she looked as regal as a duchess. Good God, she was glorious! His hand involuntarily reached out toward her.

Emily smiled at the earl, and he smiled back with such warmth that she felt herself blush. He locked eyes with her as he began to cross the room, hand outstretched, oblivious to Charlemagne's determined dash toward his favorite chair.

Dog and man collided with a force that sent Lord Bradleigh tumbling on his backside. Charlemagne growled accusingly at him, then made his way to the cherished fauteuil. The earl, thoroughly stunned, looked up at the grinning ladies in confusion.

"You see, Emily," the dowager drawled, "I told you that gentlemen would be falling at your feet. Behold: your first victim!"

The earl dropped his head into his hands and shook with laughter. The ladies could no longer contain their own amusement and laughed along with him. Finally each reached out a hand and helped tug him to his feet. After brushing himself off and running a careless hand through his hair, he reached down and took Emily's hand and bent over it.

"Please forgive my clumsiness, but I am afraid you quite literally took my breath away, Miss Townsend," he said in a soft, seductive tone. "You look lovely."

Even after such an ignominious fall, the charm that had helped establish his rakish reputation was much in evidence.

"Thank you, my lord," Emily answered as she felt the telltale heat of a blush color her cheeks.

"I can see that your shopping trip was a great success." He spoke without taking his eyes from Emily.

She felt compelled at first to drop her eyes, not sure she could bear the heat she felt from his gaze, but rejected this instinct, and vowed to hold her ground. She was not, after all, a green girl fresh from the schoolroom. She locked her eyes boldly to his and held them, arching a teasing brow.

"Indeed," the dowager said. "I am glad you approve, Robert. We will soon see our dear Emily relinquish all her old, dark round gowns in favor of more fashionable ones. She will set London on its ear, do you not think so, Robert?"

"Undoubtedly," Robert said, his eyes still fastened to Emily's.

"Right you are," the dowager said. "Now, let us go in to dinner. I am quite sharp set."