Free The Naked King by Sally MacKenzie Page B

dear heavens.” Anne sat down abruptly. This was shaping up to be a complete nightmare.
    Mr. Parker-Roth sat down next to her. “It won’t be so bad, Anne. I’m sure Madam Celeste is overstating the case. Yes, people will be curious, but many will be happy for me—for us.”
    “Um.” She stared at the table, though she didn’t see it. It would be bad enough if she were really Mr. Parker-Roth’s betrothed, but she wasn’t. She would be forced to act that part with all the ton —all the nasty, gabble-grinding ton —watching her every move.
    She was going to be ill.
    She covered her face with one hand and waved the other in Madam Celeste and Mr. Parker-Roth’s direction. “Why don’t you just pick out a few things for me?”
    Madam Celeste did not need to be told twice. She spread her sketches out on the table at once and began talking in a very animated way to Mr. Parker-Roth.
    “Anne,” Evie said quietly, “are you certain you don’t want to look at Madam Celeste’s drawings? Her dresses are wonderful—nothing like the plain old things Mrs. Waddingly makes up.”
    “No. I’m sure madam and Mr. Parker-Roth know what is fashionable.” Since she was such a stick, it wouldn’t matter what they hung on her frame. She would still look like a boy in his older sister’s dress.
    Evie cleared her throat hesitantly. “I never liked to say it, but I do believe the clothing you wore at home . . . that is, I think Mrs. Waddingly does not know how to make dresses that compliment your figure.”
    “That’s because I don’t have a figure, Evie.” Anne did not begrudge her sister her curves, but she would admit to a small pang of jealousy in the present circumstances. Any dress would look lovely on Evie.
    “That’s not true at all. You are just thinner than many women.”
    “Mmm.” She hadn’t been quite so thin ten years ago—she’d still had a bit of baby fat—but she’d never been voluptuous. Why had Brentwood singled her out—a skinny, red-headed, bespectacled, awkward miss?
    He must have been bored or there must have been a wager involved. That was all she could surmise from the many times she’d pondered the matter.
    “Here, Anne, let’s see how this color looks on you.” Mr. Parker-Roth had concluded his discussions with Madam Celeste and now had a swatch of reddish cloth dangling from his fingers. That jolted her out of her reverie. She gaped at him.
    “Are you blind?” How could he overlook the mass of red curls on her head? “I can’t wear red.”
    “Let’s see if you can or not.” He held out his other hand to help her up. “Come stand before Celeste’s mirror and we’ll see what colors become you.”
    “Brown.” Though she couldn’t really say brown became her; it just didn’t call attention to her. Her dreadful hair did that well enough. “Mrs. Waddingly always made my dresses in brown.”
    Madam Celeste smacked her hand hard against the tabletop and Anne jumped.
    “Mon dieu! This Madam Waddingly is an imbecile of the first order—and blind aussi. She should not be permitted to make the dresses—or even to own a thimble.” Madam Celeste pointed an accusing finger at Anne’s frock. “That . . . thing—bah!” She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “It is the color of mud—non, of horse dung. I would not let a dog wear it.”
    Mr. Parker-Roth raised an eyebrow. “It’s not a pleasant shade, I’ll grant you that. As soon as your new dresses arrive, Anne, you must burn it and all the other things this misguided Mrs. Waddingly made for you.” He grinned. “I’ll help, and I daresay Evie and the boys will as well. What do you say, Evie?”
    “Oh, yes—I’ll be delighted to set fire to Anne’s old wardrobe. And I will gather all the things for the bonfire if Anne is hesitant to do so.”
    “I am not going to burn the clothes Mrs. Waddingly made,” Anne said, frowning at Mr. Parker-Roth as she stepped in front of the mirror. “What a shocking waste of money that