Page 13 of Venus in Disguise

Somehow, Narcissa managed a reply, though she couldn’t have said what, and they carried on until they got to Madame Blanchet’s. Both Delia and Narcissa slowed their steps, assuming this was where they were going, as Madame provided many of their gowns for them.

“No.” Mr Anson shook his head and kept walking. “Madame Blanchet is well enough, but rather uninspiring. She is also indiscreet, and I assume you would rather no one knew of my involvement in the choosing of your gowns.

Delia and Narcissa exchanged glances. Though she had known she was behaving badly, Narcissa had not stopped to consider quite how shocking it would be if anyone discovered he had helped them do anything so intimate as choose their gowns.

“I suppose that is an excellent reason for going elsewhere, but she is the most sought after modiste in town,” Delia ventured.

Mr Anson let out a huff of laughter. “That is because people have no imagination. I, however, do.”

With that, they had to be satisfied as he led them onto Brook Street and to a small but elegantly appointed shop announcing the owner as Madame Amandine. In the window, a dressmaker’s dummy was richly swathed in a gown of dark aubergine embellished with tiny jet beads.

“Oh,” Narcissa said, avarice burning in her heart as she imagined wearing such a stunning creation.

“Indeed,” Mr Anson replied, his tone smug. “Though not for the likes of you, I’m afraid, my lady. Not until you’re wed could you dare something like that. Until then, you need spring colours that highlight your youth and innocence and bring all the gentleman buzzing around you like—”

“Flies?” Narcissa replied, her disappointment over the gown having restored her wits somewhat.

“I was not intending to conjure such an unpleasant image, but if you prefer,” Mr Anson replied coolly.

He opened the door for them and, in short order, a feminine army of seamstresses appeared, all under the sway of the rather terrifying Madame Amandine.

Madame was a tall woman of ample proportions who showcased her own talents splendidly. Jet black hair was coiled in a complicated arrangement of plaits at the base of her neck, highlighting a face that was handsome rather than beautiful. At perhaps the high side of forty, she was elegance personified and Narcissa and Delia immediately relaxed, aware they were in the presence of a woman with an innate sense of style.

“Monsieur Anson, ’ow charming to see you in my little shop,” the woman replied, curtsying to him in grand style.

Delia shot Narcissa a wide-eyed look as she pressed her fingers to her lips to stifle a giggle, for if Madame Amandine was a French woman, Narcissa was a chimney sweep. The accent was ludicrous and Narcissa stammered through the introductions as she exerted a tremendous effort to keep a straight face. She did not dare look at Mr Anson, uncertain if he would be offended, as he obviously regarded the woman’s skills with admiration.

“I apologise for the short notice, Madame,” Mr Anson said smoothly. “But it is a desperate case. These two lovely creatures are to go to Lady Roxborough’s ball and, like Cinderella, they have nothing to wear.”

Madame clucked and tsked over this as her ladies fluttered about bringing this bolt of fabric and that sample of lace as the lady demanded.

“Voyons,” Madame announced after much cogitating. “For the Lady Narcissa, it must be the acid green, bright and so vibrant, n’est pas? She will be like the springtime, all that promise yet to come. For the Lady Cordelia, it must be the blush pink, so sweet. A perfect confection of spun sugar with a sprinkle of star dust, oui?”

“Oui, Madame,” Mr Anson said gravely. “And if I might be so bold as to make the smallest suggestion.”

Madame tilted her head in acquiescence as Mr Anson gave detailed instructions for this trim and that cut, with a flounce here and a detail there whilst Delia and Narcissa listened with growing fascination.

“Isn’t he marvellous?” Delia said, clearly delighted by him. “Just think, one moment he’s discussing the merits of satin and taffeta, and the next he’s drawing some fellow’s cork.”

Narcissa nodded mutely, vibratingly aware of the large masculine figure which was highlighted far too dramatically by the excesses of lacy femininity currently surrounding him. Though Madame could easily have become a figure of fun to a fellow with a cruel streak, Mr Anson treated her with the utmost courtesy, discussing the designs the two of them finally settled on with obvious enthusiasm.

Having arranged everything to his satisfaction, Mr Anson presented each of them with a rough sketch of the gowns he had arranged, asking if they approved or wished to make any changes. As both Narcissa and Delia were aware the gowns were things of exceptional beauty, they could do nothing more than nod their agreement.

Mr Anson returned to Madame and just as Narcissa had begun to despair about him ever being done, he bade the lady a good day, thanked her for her time and expertise, and escorted them from the shop.

“She will have them ready in plenty of time and will send word to you by the end of the week to come for a fitting,” he said as he walked them back towards Bond Street.

“Thank you,” Narcissa replied.

“I am so excited to see my new gown,” Delia added, beaming up at him. “Thank you so much.”

Mr Anson inclined his head. “It was my pleasure. Now, if you ladies would excuse me. I am afraid I must leave you here. Enjoy the rest of your shopping trip.”

He executed an elegant bow and strode off, not looking back.

Narcissa stared after him, watching as he disappeared into the crowd.

“Well,” Delia said, giving a heavy sigh. “That was unexpected.”