Chapter Sixteen

Kit

"You did what?" Kit stormed, marching over to the fireplace and leaning against it. "You told him we'd go?"

His mother regarded him out of complacent eyes. "I did indeed. I had no idea I wasn't allowed to accept invitations to balls without your permission."

Kit scowled. "You know that isn't what I mean." He shook his head. "Ordinarily, I would be happy to accept, but not when it's in honor of Fitzwilliam."

His mother pulled her earlobe, where a large diamond earring hung, thoughtfully. "You know how much Ysella likes him. It would have been churlish of me to cry off, and besides which, he brought the invitation in person so it would have been rude to have turned him down." She smiled. "And he is your cousin, even though he's Denby's grandson. Being in Denby's family doesn't oust him from ours."

Kit scowled some more, refusing to be mollified by his mother's attempt at persuasion. "The fellow's a rake and I don't like him."

His mother smiled a smile not unlike her youngest daughter's. "And that's what makes him so attractive, Kit dear. Every nice girl loves a rake. They're so… interesting. You know how Ysella craves excitement."

Damn the woman. Now she was making him feel like a killjoy. Like a fusty old man in his sixties complaining about the younger generation, when in truth, if only she knew it, he was embroiled in activities every bit as exciting as Fitz. Not that he wanted her to know. How did she always manage to do this to him when he wanted to put his foot down about something?

"Morvoren doesn't have anything to wear to a ball," he tried, knowing this was a losing battle already. "I doubt the Misses Sedgewick will have time to make her a suitable gown."

His mother's eyes lit up. "They will if I ask them to," she pronounced, and turned to the footman in the corner. "Albert. Go and ask Miss Ysella and Miss Morvoren to come here at once. I have something to tell them."

Kit sighed inwardly. Knowing his mother, she could indeed persuade the Misses Sedgewick to drop all other commissions in their Marlborough dress shop and set to work on a ballgown for Morvoren. But would she want to go? She'd been so awed by Ormonde, how would she manage at Denby Castle?

The girls arrived, pretty as a picture in their sprigged muslin day gowns, Ysella full of giggles, as usual, and excitement at the prospect of a ball, but Morvoren more restrained and serious. Good. He liked a girl not overly given to silly laughter and chatter the way his youngest sister was.

"Kit will take you girls into Marlborough in the barouche," his mother announced no sooner had the door had closed behind them. "You are to go straight to the Misses Sedgewick and have Morvoren measured for a ballgown. She can hardly go to the ball at Denby Castle in borrowed clothing."

Ysella danced across the room to her mother and threw herself down on the sofa beside her. "Does that mean I am to go as well?" Her dark eyes sparkled with excitement. "I hardly dared hope that you'd let me." She glanced up at Kit, cheeks glowing pink.

"As it's a country affair," Lady Ormonde said, jumping in before Kit could offer a denial, which he'd been going to do. "You may accompany Morvoren and Kit." She paused. "And myself."

Ysella seized her mother's hands in hers. "Oh, thank you Mama! Thank you! Does that mean that I too shall have a new gown? The one I had last year for when we had our own ball here will be out of fashion and probably won't fit me any longer, now I've grown so tall."

The minx. If Kit had been able to have his way, she'd have been staying safely ensconced here at Ormonde until she'd had her coming out next season. But last year his mother had prevailed upon him to hold an autumn ball during one of his infrequent visits home, and of course, Ysella, at seventeen, had clamored to be allowed to attend. She'd worn him down, telling him that she'd spend the entire time with her dear Caro and not dance with anyone at all. This had been a lie, as her card had filled up amazingly quickly and he'd spotted her dancing with a different ardent young man for each dance. And now she was determined to outwit him and attend her first proper ball when he didn't want her to.

His mother huffed. "I suppose you'd better."

Kit tapped his foot on the hearth, but no one looked at him except Morvoren, an expression of compassion on her face. Did she know what he was thinking? Was she a mind reader?

"Oh, Kit, thank you so much!" Ysella gushed. "Come, Morvoren. Let us go and find our things and we can leave immediately if Kit will be kind enough to send for the barouche." She jumped up from her seat beside her mother and threw her arms around him in a bear hug. For a moment he didn't respond, before half-heartedly hugging her in return. She'd bamboozled him into getting her own way yet again. Heaven help whoever she married, because if her own brother couldn't curtail her, no one could.

He resigned himself to having the barouche brought round to the front of the house. In fact, he wouldn't send Albert, he'd walk round to the stables himself and set things in motion. He had no desire to stay talking to his mother a moment longer than he had to, for fear she might extol his cousin's virtues, if he had any.

*

Morvoren

Ysella dragged Morvorenup the stairs to her room where she threw open her wardrobe and rifled through the racks of dresses and coats to produce two very short jackets—one in a deep red that she put on, and one in an almost royal blue that she gave to Morvoren. "We must both go out in our spencers," she said. "In case the weather becomes inclement. Mama would be very pleased I thought of that." She waved an airy hand at the cloudless blue sky. "It might well rain before we're home again."

Martha, on being called, produced two fetching bonnets decorated with flowers to match the spencers, then, wearing gloves, and with Ysella clutching a purse that turned out to be what a reticule was, they descended the stairs with a lot more decorum than they'd ascended.

The barouche, a four wheeled vehicle drawn by two matching bay horses, had a collapsible hood, down at the moment due to the warmth of the day. A liveried driver sat perched at the front, high above where his passengers were to sit, and a footman stood waiting beside the already let-down step.

Not waiting for Kit's help, Ysella hitched up her skirts and hopped in, to take a seat facing the front.

Kit held out his hand to Morvoren, so she took it, feeling that exciting frisson of electricity run up her arm at his touch again. Compressing her lips, and controlling the urge to snatch her hand back, she let him hand her into the carriage. She took her place beside Ysella, and Kit took the opposite seat, his back to the driver.

The drive to Marlborough was uneventful. Ysella kept up a steady stream of chatter that Morvoren felt she only had to acknowledge from time to time, and the views were very pleasing. She had more leisure this time to take them in, as they passed through several small villages.

Marlborough was less busy than the first time she'd seen it. Their driver drew the barouche to a halt outside a smartly painted shop front where a few pretty hats sat in the window along with a fur cape that was never going to be fake. Above the window, a white sign on a blue background proclaimed, Misses H and L. Sedgewick, Dressmakers.

Kit climbed down from the carriage and handed both girls out onto the pavement without even a glance toward the driver, as though that worthy would know exactly what to do without being told.

Ysella pushed open the shop door and they stepped inside.

It was not like any shop Morvoren had ever been into. A room wider than the shop front stretched back into an interior lined with racks of wooden drawers from floor to nearly the ceiling. A wooden desk in the shape of a squared-off U ran around the edge and it was behind this that three plainly dressed young girls, none as old as Ysella, sat with their heads bent, busily working in what couldn't be good light.

Two angular, black-clad women, rather like a pair of crows, set down their own work and rose from behind the nearest section of the long desk. They swept low curtseys before approaching, ingratiating but rather superior smiles on their narrow faces. Both had their greying hair scraped back in tight buns with very small lace caps balanced on the tops of their heads.

"Lord Ormonde," gushed the taller of the two. "What a pleasure it is to see you in our humble shop. And Miss Carlyon too. Pray, do be seated."

Three seats were magicked out of thin air, it seemed, and Kit, Ysella and Morvoren sat in a row facing the Misses H and L Sedgewick.

Kit took off his gloves and nodded his head to them. "Good day to you both, Miss Honoria and Miss Lucinda. My sister's friend, Miss Lucas, is in need of a gown for the ball that's to take place in a week's time at Denby. My sister, also. I trust you can produce two gowns in so short a time? My mother was confident you could." He left his words hanging in the air with the implicit suggestion that if they couldn't, he'd have to go elsewhere.

They clasped their bony hands in unison. "Of course, of course. Our girls will stop all other work and begin your gowns immediately," said the smaller one.

She turned toward her work force. "Girls," she snapped, in a tone quite unlike the one with which she'd addressed Kit. "Finish off the seams you are working on and put away those garments. Lord Ormonde is ordering two ballgowns that need to be completed in a matter of days."

The girls, without lifting their heads, suddenly sewed all the faster. Morvoren narrowed her eyes and took a better look at them: small, undernourished looking creatures with their hair confined in tight braids down their backs. One was sewing a long seam, another attaching some sort of fancy brocade to a bodice, and a third, a row of pins held in her mouth, appeared to be tacking two pieces of fabric together with small, neat stitches.

Kit got to his feet and made a small bow to the sisters. "I have a few small errands of my own to pursue." He drew out his pocket watch. "It's nearly three, I see. I shall be back to collect you ladies in an hour." He fixed Ysella with a stern glare. "See that you have made your selections by then, so we may promptly return to Ormonde. I don't have the time to delay in Marlborough too long." And with that he beat what looked like a hasty retreat.

Ysella giggled. "He is such a bossy-boots today. We have so many things to choose we can't possibly have it done in a scant hour." She frowned. "But I suppose we can try."

The taller sister produced a tape measure and within a few minutes Ysella and Morvoren were both being measured—on top of their clothes of course, and swatches of fabric were being brought out and unrolled before their eyes. Morvoren had very little input in this, as clearly Ysella had an eye for color and fashion and a very good idea of what she wanted not just for herself but for her new friend as well.

"This pale blue silk will reflect your eyes to perfection, Morvoren dearest," Ysella exclaimed as the Misses Sedgewick, in unison, unrolled a bolt of fabric on one of the work benches. She leaned in close in order to giggle and whisper, "Kit will love to see you in this."

Annoyed at the hot blush that rose to her cheeks, Morvoren went with the flow. "It's very pretty." So that was settled and, in the end, Ysella selected the blue for Morvoren and a shimmering gold for herself that would perfectly set off her dark hair and eyes.

"You will be the belles of the ball," one of the sisters said. "The dark and the fair goddesses. Athena and Aphrodite. Opposite extremes in blue and gold. The gentlemen will be awestruck when they see you."

Miss Honoria and Miss Lucinda, as their seamstresses addressed them when adding to the pile of necessaries needed to create a gown, brought out some sketches that Ysella pored over.

"This one here, with the small, puffed sleeves and the train in gauzy stuff," Ysella said, her dainty finger resting on the drawing of an elegant lady with tiny, pointed feet and the most gorgeous gown. "This one I see in the blue for Miss Lucas. And this," her finger moved on to a low-cut gown with no sleeves at all but merely a smidgen of material running over the shoulders, "for me."

"A perfect choice," one of the sisters cooed. "Aphrodite in blue, Athena in gold. And do you need gloves? Shoes? Shawls? We have it all here, and if you don't see what you want, we can get it for you. We pride ourselves in being able to offer a complete ensemble in one place."

Ysella nodded with enthusiasm. "Yes, fetch everything out."

Morvoren's gown was to be covered with a diaphanous silk chiffon as an overskirt that would make a train, something that filled her with a mixture of excitement and dread. It was bad enough trying to cope with the long skirts of her day dress without the possibility of something that trailed on the ground behind her, waiting to trip her up. "Couldn't I just have a dress without a train?" she pleaded, but Ysella overruled her.

"Nonsense, this is a ball we're going to and we have to look our most elegant." She giggled. "It'll be such fun. I'm so glad we'll be going together."

Quite by chance rather than design, they were just finishing their shopping when Kit returned, something over an hour later. A slight aroma of alcohol hung about him as he cast his eyes over the mound of things Ysella had selected. No doubt he'd been to the local inn for his "few small errands."

However, he gave the pile no more than a cursory glance. "Add these things to my account, if you please."

Miss Honoria and Miss Lucinda curtsied again, and Kit swept Morvoren and Ysella out of the shop, leaving those poor little half-starved looking sewing girls to begin working on the dresses. Not without Morvoren feeling guilt creeping up on her, though. If only she had money of her own, she'd have given them some, but she didn't, so there was nothing she could do. But Kit could.

She accosted him as soon as they were back in the barouche.

"Those girls who were working for the Misses Sedgewick," she began, catching his attention. "How old do you think they were?"

Kit raised a supercilious eyebrow. "What girls?"

Had he not noticed them? Were they so far below him that he didn't even know they existed? Although he had only been inside the shop for a very short length of time.

"They had three little girls working behind that counter, at the back of the shop in the gloom. All of them looked a lot younger than Ysella."

Ysella nodded. "Yes, I've seen them there before when I've been to order something with Mama. They're excellent seamstresses. Such tiny stitches."

Morvoren gazed from one well-to-do aristocrat to the other and immediately understood why the French Revolution had taken place. "But they're hardly more than children, and they're being made to sit hunched over and stitching in dreadful light. They're not even fully grown yet."

Kit frowned. "They're lucky to have work. Many do not."

Ysella tilted her head to one side. "They must be at least fourteen, I would think. Any younger than that and their stitchwork wouldn't be good enough for the Sedgewicks' shop. So they're not really children."

Good heavens. She was still such a child herself at eighteen, and in one sentence she'd condemned fourteen-year-olds from a different walk of life to drudgery. Morvoren bristled but held herself under control. With difficulty. "Did you not see their thin little arms and pinched faces? None of them looked as though they'd had a good meal in months."

Kit frowned some more. "They'll be apprenticed to the Sedgewicks, learning their trade, so they won't be being paid much as yet. But I'm sure their parents will be feeding them." He shook his head. "You can't get decent work out of poorly fed staff. But they're nothing to do with Ormonde. I have no power over how the Sedgewicks treat their staff."

How to make them see that this was wrong, even if these badly treated children weren't from Ormonde? "Could we not send them some food?"

Ysella's face brightened. She clapped her hands together. "Yes. What a good idea. We could send them some sweetmeats and fancies as a reward for stitching our gowns at such short notice. We can get Cook to prepare a hamper for them."

Not being quite sure what she meant by "sweetmeats and fancies," Morvoren hesitated. But a hamper as a reward was a good idea. She needed to be more precise about what should go in it, though. "Sweetmeats and flowers perhaps for the Sedgewicks," she said, picking her words carefully. "But for those three girls I would suggest something more substantial that they can take home to their families. A large joint of meat, bread, fruit, perhaps some tonic wine? Foodstuffs that provide good nutrition. That would be more appropriate in their circumstances, don't you think?"

Two sets of surprised brown eyes regarded her.

Kit spoke first. "Ye-es. You have it right there. Even if they don't live in one of my properties, I suppose their want still concerns me because I use their employers' shop. That would be a suitable reward that would help their families as well as them, whereas sweetmeats, nice as they are, have little value for a child." His eyes twinkled. "Why, Morvoren, you have a fine sense of what is right." He paused, suddenly serious. "And it's only what I've done for the poor miners and fishermen in Cornwall in the past."

She sat back against the upholstered seat of the barouche, content at having improved the lot of those three little seamstresses, but most intrigued by his remark about the poor people of Cornwall. Could that have something to do with his reasons for smuggling?