“Oh, my,” Seleste sighed.
“That is it,” from Seline.
Sesily smiled broadly. “He shan’t know what’s hit him.”
For a fleeting moment, the words summoned a vision of Alec, eyes narrowed to slits, hands reaching for her, just as he had in the carriage on the way home from the Eversley ball. What would she do to capture his attention again? To summon his touch? His kiss?
She’d wear this dress every day for the rest of time.
And then she remembered it was not for Alec. It was for another man. One she must catch. In three days’ time.
The dressmaker pointed to the unattended platform, her staff swarming like beetles, immediately fussing about her, barking orders in French, pinning with wicked speed, as though she had been born with a pincushion attached to one wrist. Lily did not speak French well enough to know what was being discussed, and so she did her best to remain still as they moved about, letting only her eyes move, from the Talbot sisters on the nearby settee to the others in the shop, seamstresses, a woman in the corner who appeared to be calculating the accounts, and the other customer who had apparently completed her fitting and was, in that moment, exiting a dressing room.
Lily’s gaze widened.
Countess Rowley’s gaze trailed the blue gown to the floor, taking in the cut, the fall of the fabric, the hemline, before rising again to meet Lily’s eyes, a knowing, unsettling glint in her own. And when she spoke, it was with all the calm of a queen. “He shall adore that.”
The room quieted in the wake of the pronouncement, the only movement the subtle straightening of the trio on the chaise.
Lily did not speak. Too afraid to do so.
The countess did not feel similarly. “He always liked blue.”
She would not rise to the bait.
“Thank you,” she said, deliberately returning the countess’s appraisal. “I rather like blue myself.”
One blond brow arched. “You know he came to see me three evenings ago.”
“Who does she—” Seleste began.
“Has she been with—” Seline chimed in.
Sesily raised a hand, stopping them from speaking even as she rose to her feet, as though she might save Lily from this moment.
As though anyone could save Lily from this moment.
Three evenings ago, she’d asked Alec if he wanted her. Three evenings ago, he’d said no.
“I don’t believe you,” she said.
It was a lie. She did believe it. Three evenings ago, he’d gone to this woman, this cool, unmoving, unmoved woman. The opposite of Lily. Thoroughly aristocratic and filled with London perfection. And his past.
And Lily had returned home, and waited for him.
And he had not come.
The countess saw the lie for what it was. She smiled and approached, looking every inch as though she was made for this place, this moment. Looking like the kind of woman any man would want. Beyond scandal.
Beyond shame.
Jealousy shot through Lily as the countess neared, a small, knowing smile on her lips. “He came to me, because he wanted the reminder that you are not for him.”
The words stung like a blow, hard and wicked.
Lily refused to show it.
She straightened, willing herself strong. “If he came to you, Peg, then I assure you, I am not for him.”
“Good girl,” she thought she heard one of the Talbot sisters say.
Surprise warred with anger on the countess’s face, there, then gone, disappeared by that cool mask. “Poor Lovely Lily. Don’t you see? Alec is not built for a lifetime, but instead best used for one night.”
Even without full understanding, the words whipped their punishment, and Lily did all she could do, turning to the modiste. “Are you through, Madame?”
“Not quite,” the Frenchwoman said from her place at the hem of the gown. “But the countess is.” Lady Rowley was not given an opportunity to respond before the dressmaker was snapping her fingers and a collection of young women arrived to move her into the front room.
Seline and Seleste released twin breaths from the settee as Sesily rushed forward. “That woman is a termagant.” She drew close. “You handled her beautifully. I was particularly impressed by the use of her given name.”
The name Alec used with her.
The name he’d used with her for God knew how long.
He had gone to her. And he’d left Lily.
“I . . .” She trailed off, unable to find words. She looked down at her hands to discover them shaking. She looked up to Sesily. “I don’t know what to do.”
Sesily met her gaze and took her hands, holding them tightly, keeping them still. “You remain strong. And you never, ever let her see you tremble.”
“Agreed,” Seleste joined them, along with Seline. “Nor him.”
Lily shook her head. “I don’t know to whom you refer.”
Sesily smiled at the proper words. “Of course not. But if you did . . .” She paused. “. . . know to whom we refer, that is . . . if you did . . . I assume you’d choose him over the other?”
Tears threatened, and Lily looked to the ceiling, willing them away. Willing herself away from here. As Madame Hebert stood from her place at Lily’s feet, crossing the room to a cabinet full of fabric, Lily reminded herself that Alec was not an option. He was never an option. And two nights past, he had made it more than clear.
She looked to her friend. “He does not want me.”
“Bollocks,” Sesily said.
Lily shook her head. “It is true. He left me alone in the house. I have not seen him in three days. Apparently he left me to seek comfort in the arms of . . .” She trailed off, and waved an arm in the direction of the front room of the shop. After a long moment, she added, soft and sad, “Yes. Yes of course, I choose him.”
It was the first time she’d admitted it aloud, and the words were terrifying and heartbreaking all at once. She wanted him. More than she’d ever wanted anything. “But he doesn’t want me.”
“Oh, Lily,” Sesily said, climbing up onto the platform and wrapping her in an embrace. Lily had always heard that friends’ embraces made one feel better, but this did not. This made her feel worse. It made her want to give herself up to the other woman, to cry and wail and leave all her sadness, all her hopelessness, at Sesily’s feet.
But somehow, in that wanting, she discovered the truth.