Jackson smiled. “I should like to make some changes to Lady Gwen’s gowns. We have a possible design…” His voice trailed away as he reached for the foolscap still clutched in Lady Gwen’s hands. She stepped back in confusion, her shoulders so tight they seemed to reach her ears.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “How do you know my modiste?”
“Oh la,” Madame Juliette trilled. “He is a wizard at finding things that I need. He’s been helping me find silks for your family for years.”
Lady Gwen’s mouth parted as she put the pieces together. “You mean for Aunt Isabelle.”
Jackson huffed. “I have been living and working in London for the last decade. I have spent most of my time finding profitable enterprises for your aunt.” He gestured to the modiste. “Madame Juliette is one of those businesses that enjoys increased trade because of supplies brought in at a discount through Isabelle’s canals.” In return, Isabelle took a cut out of Madame’s profit. He knew. He was the one who had negotiated the bargain.
“Lord Sayres is a great friend,” Madame Juliette said. “Now come. Tell me what it is you want.”
And so the negotiations began. Madame took them to a large table where Lady Gwen lay the paper down. All three of them crowded together as they discussed the possibilities while Madame made notations or adjusted the sketch. Well, two of them crowded together. Lady Gwen set herself on the opposite side of the table, making comments though the image was upside down to her.
She was keeping herself apart for some reason, and he resolved to do everything he could to bring her into the discussion.
“The ribbons cannot be made that large. It will look hideous,” Madame began.
“Lady Gwen said that’s important so they can hold vases of flowers.” He looked to her. “Correct?”
“Yes—”
“Vases! You are joking, aren’t you?”
No, he wasn’t. “Pin vases, I believe. What do you think, Lady Gwen?”
“I suppose that could—”
“You are mad,” the dressmaker said.
Jackson was silent a moment, then he turned to the modiste. “Madame, if you interrupt my lady one more time, then we shall take our business elsewhere.”
“Oh,” gasped Lady Gwen. “It’s not important. I would like to hear what she says.”
“And I would like to hear what you say first,” he countered. “I cannot abide rudeness in anyone. Even the lowest bootblack may speak his peace. It is common courtesy.”
Gwen tilted her head in confusion. “You have been in Aunt Isabelle’s company for ten years, and yet she interrupts at every turn.”
“Which is one of the very many reasons we have gone our separate ways.” He took a breath. “And I was in her employ, not her company.” It wasn’t something he would usually confess with a servant around. Thetontook a dim view of anyone who worked for their supper. But he decided it was better to let everyone know he had been engaging in trade with Isabelle rather than whatever depravities she laid at his feet. Especially since she had quite the imagination when she set about destroying someone’s reputation.
Meanwhile, Madame was all apologies. “I do beg your pardon, Lady Gwen. It will not happen again. What were you saying?”
“I—I don’t…um…”
She had no idea what she’d been saying. He’d forgotten it as well because he was focused on the way she stammered as her cheeks turned bright pink. Damnation, the woman was so used to being ignored that she grew confused when people gave her the respect that ought to be her birthright. She was the daughter of an earl, after all, but he’d never met one so uncomfortable in her own skin.
“That’s all right,” he said as he tapped the design. “What material do you think for the gown?” he asked.
“Silk, of course,” inserted Madame, but then she fell silent at his cold stare.
“Lady Gwen?” he prompted.
“I should like something more durable. And silk shows water spots.”
“So it does,” Jackson mused. “I should like you to appear like Hebe, the Greek goddess of spring. You should have light clothing with the flowers adorning you.” He cocked his head toward Lady Gwen. Fortunately, Madame had learned her lesson and kept silent.
“I think I have too large a frame for light clothing. As if an oak tree was trying to dress all in lace.”
He gaped at her. “I would bet you are echoing your mother’s words. You do not resemble an oak tree.”