“…An entire new wardrobe…something vibrant…pink… Jane?”
She blinked, suddenly aware by the questioning stares trained on her that something was required of her. Pink. Pink. “Pink is a splendid selection, my lady.” Had there ever been a time in Jane’s life where she’d spent her days on frivolous pursuits, permitted luxuries?
Madame Clairemont hurried around the side of the table with a piece of shimmering pink fabric. Jane stiffened and looked questioningly at her, but the woman’s lips moved silently as though she recorded her thoughts. Jane swung her attention back to Chloe. “What—?”
“Well, I do not need new gowns, Jane.” A familiar sparkle lit her blue eyes. “You, however, are in dire need of something more than your dragon skirts.”
Jane jumped and knocked into a table of fabric. She hurried to right the items. “Oh, no.” She held her palms up and glanced about for help. “I’m merely a companion.” Who wished to blend as much as possible with the other companions and hired help. Long ago she’d learned the perils in being noticed. “There is no need for a gown.”
A determined glint replaced Chloe’s earlier enjoyment. “There is every need for a gown.” She shot a look over Jane’s shoulder. “Isn’t that true, Gabriel?”
Jane’s heart thumped wildly and she turned and cast a hopeful look at him. He stood several feet away. How did a man of his impressive height and strength move with such a stealthy grace?
“I daresay it would be impolite of me to agree,” he drawled.
A panicked giggle worked its way up her throat. Where the other gentlemen whose employ she’d found herself in had showered her with words of praise and other nauseating compliments, Gabriel was hopelessly honest. She preferred that honesty, and yet it also proved dangerous for its appeal.
He flicked his gaze over her; this was a coolly impersonal search of her person. “It is decided.”
With little help from the marquess, Jane whipped around. Nothing was decided. “I am extremely grateful.” What was one more lie atop the mountains of mistruths she’d constructed? “I do not,” she held up her hands warding off the other woman’s efforts. “Require any gowns.”
Chloe ignored her and continued with the modiste. “In two nights, we will be attending Rossini’s premiere and Mrs. Munroe must have a gown prepared.”
The woman’s slight frown bespoke her displeasure. “Eez impossible to have a gown readied. I am a veery busy woman with many orders for—”
“My brother,” Chloe motioned to Gabriel, “will pay you quite handsomely for the one.” She smiled. “Well, all of them.” She squared her jaw, all hint of meek, polite miss gone. “But for this evening we require the one.”
“Oh, no.” Jane gave her head an emphatic shake. “I will wear my Sunday dress. I do not need—”
“Don’t be silly,” Chloe scolded. “Tell her not to be silly, Gabriel.”
Jane looked imploringly to a stoic Gabriel. He gave a slight shrug of his broad shoulders. There was little help coming there. She returned her entreaty to Chloe. “I cannot.” Not when she’d already lied her way into the man’s household. She’d not add lavish gowns to her crimes. She looked pleadingly to Gabriel, but he remained stoic and unmoving as he’d been since their first meeting several days earlier.
Alas, not one of the present trio appeared concerned with what Jane wanted.
At the mention of a hefty purse, the sneering modiste turned smiling. “Of course, I can have one prepared.” The woman with a suddenly very English-sounding accent hurried over and took Jane by the shoulders. “Oui, mademoiselle. You are in need of gowns. Let Madame Clairemont help you. With but a little help, you will be very nearly pretty.”
Chloe shot her an apologetic look and despite the fast-spreading panic, an unexpected laugh bubbled up her throat.
Having clearly sensed capitulation, Chloe clapped her hands and then took Jane by the hand. “Come along.” She waved to Gabriel. “Off you go, then. We must keep Jane a surprise for y—” she quickly cut the words short, a blush on her cheeks. “Yes, very well. Off you go.”