There, she saw two boys who must be on their way to someone’s home with a delivery. One carried a greengrocers box, full of lettuce, turnips, and early strawberries. The other, a cold-monger, worked folds to keep a chill over the box.

And there, the girl walking with the young man in a captain’s uniform: was he her brother returned from the seas or a suitor hoping to win her heart? Indeed, the town seemed quite full of young men in uniform, their epaulets and decorations adding a brilliant sparkle to the streets. Jane scanned the crowd, wondering if any of the young men were Henry Livingston and if she would recognize him should she see him. Indeed, he might be the young captain she had seen walking with the girl; the man’s hair had been dark enough.

The carriage pulled to a halt in front of Madame Beaulieu’s Haberdashery, and Jane alighted from the carriage with her mother and sister. Though Mrs. Ellsworth had no need of a new gown, she had contrived to convince Mr. Ellsworth that it was in their best interests for her to have one as well. After all, she said, would not their neighbours recognize the shabbiness of her own dress as an indication of their income? And to imply that their income was lower than it was would surely harm the chances of the girls at wedding. Almost, Jane had declined to accompany them at that point, knowing that her own dress would be but a masquerade to delay the confirmation of her spinster status a while longer, but for all that, she was still a girl at heart and loved pretty things.

Madame Beaulieu’s establishment was crowded with girls. From the chatter it seemed that Lady FitzCameron had invited every eligible maid from the surrounding countryside.

True to her promise to her father, Jane looked through the bolts of cloth for one with roses figured upon it and found but one, which seemed too garish for her features. The roses, worked in yellows and peaches, would only make her skin more sallow.

Jane’s mother and sister finished their business with the modiste and excused themselves from the overcrowded shop while Jane, who had yet to reconcile herself to the yellow roses, continued to look at cloth in hope of finding a fabric which suited her.

In despair, she was about to chuse the yellow cloth when the modiste approached. “I thank you for your patience, Miss Ellsworth. How may I help you?”

Jane sighed and fingered the bolt of yellow roses. “My father has made a special request that I be dressed in roses. I throw myself on your mercy, for this is the only cloth with roses, and I fear I lack the complexion that it requires.”

Madame Beaulieu stepped back and narrowed her eyes, raking them over Jane and seeming to take the measure of her soul as well as her figure. “The figured cloth won’t do, but we may suggest roses by other means.”