BY THE TIME that Madame Carême arrived in person to supervise a fitting of her new wardrobe, Gabby was like to go out of her mind with boredom. She took the carriage every morning to visit Kasi but, even so, it had been a supremely tedious month. Lady Sylvia spent her days making calls to her friends, but when Gabby wistfully asked to accompany her, she shuddered and said, “Not in those clothes, gel.” And that was that.

Quill was remarkable only for his absences. He had posted to Bath twice, but he stayed only one night on each visit. Even so, he was rarely seen around the house and certainly didn’t offer to show her about London. Gabby couldn’t help but think that Quill had succumbed to the horror of her white dresses. Perhaps he didn’t want to be seen with her, even at the Tower of London.

Gabby read The Morning Post every day, and she knew that small parties were being given, even though it wasn’t the Season, so-called. Yet Quill never offered to accompany her to a musical evening or other gathering.

He conveyed the daily message from Bath concerning his father’s health. He occasionally joined her and Lady Sylvia for supper and punctiliously inquired about Kasi Rao. But he never asked her to meet his friends or go to a play.

Thus the arrival of Madame Carême and her chattering group of assistants was a relief. On the other hand, Madame’s dresses were not.

“I cannot wear this garment. I cannot!” Gabby cried, growing more distressed by the moment.

“This is the mode.” Madame was unimpressed. She had shocked many a client in her day.

“Miss Jerningham, you are to marry Monsieur Dewland. You must exhibit a strong sense of personal style, because you will be judged harshly due to your husband’s exquisite taste. Since you do not have that sense of style, Monsieur Dewland was wise to put you in my hands.”

Gabby heard this without resentment. “But it is still I who must be seen in this gown,” she insisted.

“You will not be seen. You will be adored,” Madame Carême snapped back. “Men will slaver at your feet.”

It was not an unattractive proposition. But, oh, if her father had seen the dress! Gabby shuddered to think of it.

“I have composed your wardrobe in slightly heavier fabrics than we are using these days,” Madame continued briskly. “They will disguise the curve of your hip.”

Gabby blinked. She quite liked the curve of her hip. Quill seemed to like it too, she thought, remembering how his fingers had lingered and caressed.

“Your breasts are great assets.” Madame was still ticking off her thoughts. “We display them. And your derriere is also an asset. Therefore, each gown—day and evening—has a small train. I am seeking that dip and sway,” Madame said.