A Gentleman Undone by Cecilia Grant Page B

outright, without apology or coy reserve. This was the shape that belonged to her.
    “That gown becomes you very well. Just as I knew it would.” Maria, having already approved the fit of her figured white muslin, made a picture of perfect self-satisfaction as she looked on from one of the modiste’s chairs. “The style shows off the merits of your form without being quite so daring as the purple gown.”
    “I prefer the purple.” Eliza, at the next mirror, craned over her own shoulder to admire the back of her gown, a gold-threaded creation with a wide band of scarlet at the hem. “This one leaves everything besides your bosom to the imagination. The purple one will cling when you move.”
    That it would. The knit silk underlayer had been cut very close to her own dimensions and would scarcelyallow for one petticoat underneath. The overdress had a more traditional shape, but was of such thin sheer mull as to leave the underdress, and its close fit, entirely visible to anyone who looked.
    “They’re both very grand.” Maria left her chair to come and make some adjustment to the split sleeve, smoothing the indigo layer away to show more of the royal blue silk underneath. “But I think this is the one you must wear to Mr. Moss’s musical evening.”
    That brought a groan from Eliza. “He’s not truly expecting us to attend, is he? It seems to me a fallen woman could be spared such dreariness. It’s really too bad I should be subjected to insipid harp-pluckers and persons warbling in some language no more than half the room understands, same as any respectable miss.”
    “Courtesans are respectable. Will you never grasp that?” Maria frowned into the mirror as she fussed with the layers of the second sleeve. “Even a Philistine with no taste for music should appreciate the social occasion. Heaven knows it will make a welcome change from the gaming club.”
    Lydia ran her palms once more down her silk front. She ought to change out of this gown, and have it wrapped. “Mr. Roanoke speaks of giving a country house party next month. Has he mentioned it to either of your gentlemen?”
    “A house party.” Eliza swiveled to meet this news. “Now there’s an idea with promise. Do you suppose he’ll invite Captain Waterloo? House parties are always better with unattached masculine guests.”
    Unattached masculine guests, indeed. Captain Waterloo, indeed. “He’s not a captain, you know. He was a lieutenant but he’s sold his commission, so I don’t suppose he’s anything now.” The words rang gracelessly in her own ear. Fine way to answer his charity to Jane.
    But she’d made her answer at the table, hadn’t she, three nights since. No need to go turning generosity into a habit. “He’s a gentleman, merely,” she added after a moment, because decency demanded that much. “Plain Mr. Blackshear, if you want his name. I heard someone say so.” She beckoned to one of the assistants and moved away toward the dressing closet at the back of the shop.
    “Blackshear.” Eliza bit into the word the way she might bite into a juicy piece of orange. “I like that.”
    Well, maybe Eliza would like to amuse herself with him when they all went to Chiswell. Why should she not? Likely it would do him some good. If he could set aside his hopes of rescuing, he might have a very fine time. So might Eliza.
    She held her arms up as indigo silk rustled away, its cool touch at her shoulders, at her neck, at her face, over the crown of her head. The dressing-closet had a mirror too, a smaller, dimmer one. Very little enigma to the woman reflected here. In chemise and stays she looked like nothing so much as the sum of her disappointments. Abandoned. Orphaned. Left barren. Tired and forlorn, and long past rescue.
    Lydia turned her back on the reflection even before her old gown came over her head. What rot. Rescue. That had never been possible. And even if it were, she would not welcome it. She would laugh in the face of any