Free Magnolia by Diana Palmer

Paris, but this is—this is extraordinary. How very talented you are, Claire!”
    â€œThank you,” Claire replied demurely.
    â€œYes, I want this,” Evelyn said immediately. “And I don’t care about the cost.”
    â€œYou will.” Claire winked. “It’s going to be quite expensive.”
    â€œAnything worth wearing to the governor’s ball should be,” came the reply.
    Emma nibbled on her lower lip and glanced at Claire. “I suppose it will take all your time to make Evelyn’s gown…?”
    â€œNot at all.”
    Emma brightened. “Then could you do one for me as well?”
    â€œAnd one for me?” Jane added.
    â€œNot of this design!” Evelyn cried, aghast.
    â€œCertainly not,” Claire said. “Each gown will be individual, and suited to its wearer. I’ll work on the sketches and you can come Friday to approve them. How will that do?” she asked Jane and Emma.
    â€œWonderful,” they said in unison, beaming.
    Â 
    C LAIRE HAD VERY LITTLE free time after that. If she wasn’t baking or helping with some worthy charity, she was buried upstairs in her room with the sewing machine and whatseemed like acres of fabric, sewing madly to meet her deadlines.
    Of John, she saw little. That suited her very well, given their last conversation. She was still bristling from his disapproval. He seemed to avoid her afterward, but he chanced to come home early one Friday, and, since Claire’s bedroom door was open, he went to speak to her.
    The sight that met his eyes was a surprise. “What in God’s name are you doing?” he asked curtly.
    She’d been sewing an underskirt for Evelyn’s gown, and thank God she had the rest of the project safely hidden in the closet. She didn’t want John to know that she had a separate income from the household money he gave her. Her independence was sacred, and she wasn’t sharing the news with the enemy.
    â€œI’m making myself a dress,” she said calmly.
    His eyes narrowed. “You aren’t living with your uncle now, Claire,” he said. “You don’t have to manage with homemade clothes. Go down to Rich’s and buy yourself some clothes. I have an account there.”
    â€œI like to sew my own things.”
    His gaze went over the plain blue dress she was wearing, which was one of her older ones. It was faded, but very comfortable to work in. “So I see,” he replied mockingly. “But that’s hardly the sort of thing you need to wear in town.”
    Her chest rose and fell angrily. She’d make herself a gown for the governor’s ball, too—and then he’d see something!
    â€œWhere in town did you have in mind?” she asked coolly. “You haven’t take me out of the house since we married over a month ago.”
    He scowled. “Has it been so long?”
    â€œIt seems like much longer,” she returned quietly. She pushed back a loose strand of brown hair. “If you don’t mind, I’m quite busy. I’m sure you have some exalted function to attend, or a dinner with colleagues.”
    He leaned against the doorjamb and studied her. It hadn’t seemed like a month. Claire had been conspicuously missing from their apartment—and his life—every time he looked for her lately. He’d supposed that she spent her time shopping, but she seemed to have nothing to show for it. There was the fabric she was working on, but it seemed an odd choice for a day dress…or for any kind of dress. It looked more like a slip.
    His eyes darted around her room and found it neat and clean, but with very few obvious signs of occupation—save for the brush and hand mirror on her dresser, and the small porcelain powder and jewelry boxes.
    â€œI hardly see you,” he said absently.
    â€œA blessing, I should think, considering the opinion you have of me and my wardrobe,” she