Free Bridal Favors by Connie Brockway Page A

“I depend on it. And on you.”
    “I won’t fail you, Mrs. Vandervoort. You will have a wedding people will talk about for years to come.”
    “Bunny will be pleased. Now, I shall send you a guest list at the end of the week. You can expect a small but exclusive number. Fifty or thereabouts, including the servants.”
    “I shall look for it in the post.” Evelyn came round from behind the desk.
    “When will you leave for the abbey?”
    “As soon as possible. Ten days or so. Mr. Powell led me to understand it is in substantial need of attention.”
    “Then I leave everything in your capable hands. And thank you for introducing me to your mother. Her style is internationally acknowledged.” Mrs. Vandervoort moved to the door. Her hand on the brass doorknob, she paused. “You say Miss Molière dresses her?”
    “Yes,” Evelyn said enthusiastically. “She is true genius.”
    “Does she dress you, also?”
    The question took Evelyn by surprise. “No.”
    “If she is as good as you say and your mother’s example testifies, why not?”
    Evelyn blinked. “I have never had an occasion to make use of her talents. I don’t go to balls.”
    For a brief instant, Evelyn had the oddest feeling that Edith Vandervoort almost smiled, but the instant passed, and when the American spoke, her voice was perfectly cool. “A ball isn’t the only occasion upon which a woman might wish to look her best.”
    Evelyn found this personal turn of conversation uncomfortable. Besides, of what possible concern could her wardrobe be to Mrs. Vandervoort? Being Evelyn, the journey from thought to vocalization was a short one. “Of what possible concern can my wardrobe be to you, Mrs. Vandervoort?”
    There was no chill of reproach in Evelyn’s voice, only honest curiosity, and Mrs. Vandervoort reacted accordingly. “You will be present at my wedding and its preliminary celebrations. No matter in what capacity you are there, your appearance reflects on me. I should like it to be unremarkable, and for you to be unremarkable amongst my friends, you must be dressed in the most au courant styles.”
    “I see.” And she did. But she didn’t see what she could do about it. Her family was comfortable but by no means wealthy, which was one of the reasons her aunt Agatha had gone into business in the first place. Evelyn’s income did not extend to a frivolous, expensive, and unserviceable wardrobe. “I’ll do my best to remain out of sight.”
    Mrs. Vandervoort released a little sigh of impatience. “And how much more comfortable would my friends be, Lady Evelyn, with you dodging behind potted palms whenever they entered a room? Besides, your pride would never suffer it.”
    “Oh?” Evelyn said a trifle stiffly.
    “Come, Lady Evelyn. I see pride in you only because I’m so familiar with its company myself.”
    The admission surprised Evelyn. She wouldn’t have thought Edith Vandervoort a perceptive woman.
    “What do you suggest, then?” she asked, mindful that the pride Mrs. Vandervoort had perceived was even less likely to allow her to admit she couldn’t afford such clothes.
    “That we have your Merry Molière create a suitable wardrobe for you. Of course, as it is I that require you to dress in a particular manner, I assume you will add the cost of the gowns to my bill.”
    “I could never—”
    Mrs. Vandervoort held up her hand, a shadow of impatience crossing her face. “I am not giving you a gift, Lady Evelyn. I am telling you,
as your client,
that this is what I want and expect of you, and that I am perfectly satisfied to pay for the privilege and presumption of demanding that you refurbish your wardrobe.”
    Mrs. Vandervoort had such a lucid way of thinking, Evelyn could not help but admire it, even though her pride disliked the conquest.
    She wished fervently she knew how to accept. “You’ve made a very reasonable argument and you win” didn’t seem proper and “You are generous and logical” sounded asinine.