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that the skirts were due back
until Sonya persisted in making me aware. Then I thought to myself,
God has not left me bereft after all. Certainly any needlewoman
with half a”—he cleared his throat—”I mean, after all the work
we’ve given to your shop, certainly you could assist me rather than
disappoint Lady Anne. Of course, you won’t mention that you haven’t
formerly worked among the finer establishments.”
    Alexandra hesitated. She was certainly
capable of fixing the gown, but time was short. And being invited
into the same room as a titled lady was incredible enough, without
pretending to be one of Madame Fobart’s own girls. Why, every one
of them paid a hefty price to apprentice, and for a good number of
years before they made a salary as seamstress. Only the best ever
became show women, taking measurements, helping to select fabrics
and accoutrements, then passing the orders on to others who worked
behind the scenes.
    Still, Mr. Calvert had presented her with an
opportunity. Perhaps it was the opportunity she’d been looking
for.
    “Actually, my stepfather asked me to collect
for the skirts,” she said, holding her breath as she looked into
Mr. Calvert’s watery eyes. “Once I’ve received payment, I’m sure it
would be a small matter to fix the lady’s dress.”
    His eyes narrowed, evidence that he
understood her suggestion to be the demand that it was. “Willy
usually takes care of such business.”
    “I know, but he’s not well today, and we... I mean he... he needs the money, you
see.”
    Calvert glanced over his shoulder. “I
haven’t time to deal with such issues now. After—”
    “It shouldn’t take but a moment.”
    He scowled. “Fine. Here.” Reaching into his
pocket, he shoved several notes toward Alexandra, obviously more
worried about the noblewoman awaiting his return than anything
else. “Here’s at least half, but you’ll receive no more until
you’ve finished with my client. You are competent, are you
not?”
    “Of course.” Alexandra’s heart pounded as
she took the money from Calvert’s outstretched hand.
    “I’ve sewed since I was small. But what
about my clothes?” She was sure her dress constituted nothing
better than a rag by Mr. Calvert’s standards.
    “Sonya will fetch something that’s
appropriate. We’ve a girl who looks to be about your size, though
you’re quite thin. Come, we mustn’t keep Lady Anne waiting.”
    Alexandra felt gratified by her small
victory over Calvert, but still she hesitated. She had never served
the rich, her mother’s world. The very thought made her jumpy. What
if her fingers shook?
    Reminded of her hands, Alexandra groaned
inwardly. Her mother had been a lady, and she could act the part
easily enough. But her hands were working hands. Callused and
pinpricked, they were the most obvious sign of her low station.
    Before Alexandra could voice her concern,
Calvert moved away, obviously eager to return to his influential
client. She stared at his broad back as he disappeared down the
hall toward the front of the house, then swallowed hard.
    Money or not, it was too late to refuse.
    * * *
    Spouting directions in a high, spirited
voice, Sonya dropped a silk dress over Alexandra’s head. As Mr.
Calvert had predicted, it was a bit large. “Do ye know ‘ow ter
carry yerself?” she asked.
    Alexandra nodded, but her answer didn’t stop
Sonya from offering her own advice on the matter.
    “I’ve seen ‘ow they carry on.” The maid
fixed a small lace cap onto Alexandra’s head, one with long
streamers of ribbon that fell over her shoulders down to her feet.
“As ye know, the best show women are French. Monique meets with the
finest clients. She glides when she walks and smiles sweetly. Of
course, she curtseys upon enterin’ the room... but not such a
‘umble curtsey,” she corrected when Alexandra attempted the same.
“Now, ‘old still while I pin yer ‘air. Let’s see. She laces ‘er
talk with ‘m’lady’ this