George looked at Miss Chance in dismay. Was she driving customers away? The House of Chance was a relatively new business, she knew.

Miss Chance caught her look and laughed. “Don’t give ’em a thought, Lady George. The world is full of small-minded petty bitches—forgive the language, Lady Dorothea—and I learned young never to take notice of ’em.”

“Quite right, my dear, quite right,” Aunt Dottie said briskly. “I have observed an astonishing lack of conduct in ladies of the ton these days. No upbringing at all. Their nannies should have been dismissed without a character—their charges certainly exhibit none. Now, George, my dear, show Miss Chance the design we chose.”

Miss Chance approved their choice, checked George’s measurements—they never changed—and took them through to a back room where a new shipment from China had just come in. It was an Aladdin’s cave of gorgeously colored silks and satins, embroidered fabrics and ready-made sequined and jeweled motifs of exquisite and intricate design. Miss Chance’s husband ran a large international trading company, and she had first choice of their goods.

They oohed and aahed over the glorious fabrics, and Miss Chance showed them the silk she recommended for George’s wedding dress. It was cream silk, fine and luxurious, but heavy enough to drape beautifully.

Aunt Dottie also took collection of a gorgeous new nightdress in delicate peach silk, all ruffles and lace, practically transparent, with a bed-jacket to match. She held the nightie up against her body and posed. “Not suitable for an old lady at all, is it, George, my love?”

George didn’t know what to say. Aunt Agatha would have a fit.

Aunt Dottie giggled. “It’s perfect, Miss Chance, just perfect. Wrap it up—I’ll take it with me now.”

The decisions all made, they left. The carriage was waiting and the footman hurried to let down the steps. A small group of ladies was walking toward them. They lowered their voices as they approached, but George could see from the malicious glances that they were talking about her. She clenched her jaw and waited while Aunt Dottie handed her precious parcel up to the footman.

“. . . scandal that a catch like the duke should be caught by a strumpet of no background.”

“Certainly one of no morals.”

“Do strumpets have morals? I don’t think so.” Tittering, they flounced past George with smug looks and superior smiles.

She gritted her teeth. That. Was. It. She’d had enough.

“Now, George,” Aunt Dottie said warningly.

She gave her aunt a brittle glittering smile. “It’s all right, Aunt Dottie—just realized I forgot something. In Miss Chance’s. Back in a minute.”

She dived back into the House of Chance. Its proprietor looked up in surprise. “What is it, Lady George? Forgot something?”