Scandal Wears Satin by Loretta Chase

your idea of sophistication is attending a lecture on stuffed birds at the Manchester Museum.”
    “England’s finest mills are in Manchester!” she cried.
    “Certainly, your ladyship,” Dowdy said. “But I must say a word for our Spitalfields silks, you know. And as to that, I do believe we have exactly the thing for you. Madame Ecrivier, kindly show her ladyship the silk I mean.”
    Ecrivier gave Sophy a swift survey, then glided away to a drawer. She withdrew a length of blue silk.
    “Blue!” Sophy said. “But I never wear blue.”
    “With the greatest respect, milady, perhaps it is time, yes?”
    “What color is my aunt wearing?” Sophy said. “I can’t wear the same color, and I know she likes blue.”
    Dowdy smiled. “I regret that we cannot divulge that information. Her ladyship—”
    “Not divulge it!” Longmore said. “See here. I won’t have my cousin trifled with. And I don’t mean to hang about having my time wasted. You can deuced well show us what my mother is wearing to the wedding. By gad, do you think we’ll report it to the newspapers?”
    He slanted one incinerating black glance at Sophy.
    “Do you know, Cousin, I’m finding this shop exceedingly tiresome,” Sophy said. “Aunt assured me we’d receive every attention. But first we’re made to wait, and then they’re suddenly coy about my aunt’s dress, when it’s of the utmost importance that my own complement hers.”
    “I do beg your ladyship’s pardon, but Lady Warford expressly forbade us to share the details,” Dowdy said. “She was concerned that copies might be made, in advance of the matrimonial occasion, which I am sorry to say has happened in the past. Other dressmakers, you see, send their girls into the shop to spy, and—”
    “Do we look like dressmakers’ spies to you?” Longmore demanded. “I vow, this is the most aggravating experience. Come away, Cousin. I’ve had a bellyful of this dithering and delaying.”
    He started for the door.
    Ye gods, he was perfect .
    Sophy followed. “I cannot think what I’ll say to Aunt,” she said. “You know she’ll ask me why I went to that other place—the French dressmakers on St. James’s Street. What is it?”
    “Maison Noirot,” he said. He opened the door.
    Sophy heard a muttered oath behind her.
    Then, “You heard his lordship, Madame Ecrivier. Show the lady the silk Lady Warford selected.”
    Longmore closed the door. He turned toward the two shop women. “And the pattern,” he said.
    “The pattern?” Dowdy’s beady eyes widened.
    “You heard me,” he said. “Here’s my cousin, fresh from the country. She’s not at all comfortable with London ways, and the treatment she’s received here this day has done nothing to reassure her. Show her the pattern. If she likes it, we’ll stay. If she doesn’t, this will be the last you see of us.”
    S he was Gladys, through and through. Never slipped out of character, even for an instant.
    Longmore didn’t slip, either. Well, how could he, when he was only required to be himself, a role he could perform admirably.
    She, on the other hand . . . but guile came to her so naturally.
    She reacted to whatever he said in the same way Gladys would have done. She had the same mingled arrogance and uneasiness that made Gladys so tiresome. And the same vulnerability.
    Cousin Gladys was disagreeable company, yet he always felt a little sorry for her.
    There were moments when he almost forgot she wasn’t Gladys. But the scent reminded him who she was.
    It was all great fun while he and she played off each other. When she went into another room with the two dressmakers, though, he grew uneasy. She hadn’t told him what he was to do if she was unmasked. She’d dismissed the possibility.
    But when they undressed her how could they help but find out she wasn’t shaped like a potato?
    She’d said she was wearing numerous layers. How many?
    How long would it take him to get them all off?
    That would depend,