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reply, Mari turned to Madam Huette, who owned the shop. “Would you not agree?”
    “Oh, yes. The rim of that bonnet is the latest rage in Paris. I could lace the ribbons through the band.”
    “Good. We will take it. And perhaps this one—” Mari picked up another design, “—as well.”
    “I do not—”
    “With green ribbons this time,” Mari added, ignoring Abigail.
    “Excellent.” Madam Huette took the bonnets and bustled away before Abigail could protest further. “I will have these sent round to the earl’s townhouse. Will there be anything else?”
    “Well…” Mari looked around. “We—”
    “We will just be going,” Abigail interrupted, taking her friend’s hand and tugging her to the door. “Thank you very much, Madam Huette.”
    Once on the sidewalk, Mari pouted. “I do not see why you do not wish to shop.”
    “I am just not that interested in fashion,” Abigail explained for what she felt was the thousandth time. “I am not young. I am not petite with curves in all the right places. Clothes hang on me.”
    “Only because you do not ask the seamstresses to alter your gowns for the right fit. The empire waist looks quite good on tall women. It makes you look regal.”
    Abigail rolled her eyes. “I have never fancied being queenly.”
    “No matter,” Mari answered as they walked toward another shop. “You still need dresses. Half of what you have is at least two years old.”
    “And in fine shape. Nothing is torn or worn.”
    “Shane is a businessman. You do not want his clients’ wives thinking you dress no better than a fishwife.”
    “Shane’s clients transact their business on the docks. Hardly the place for wives to stroll about.”
    Mari smiled and patted her arm. “I am sure Shane must do some entertaining.”
    Abigail hoped not. Once she’d swallowed her pride, she realized how lucky she was that Shane had offered to marry her, even if he wasn’t thrilled about the notion. She would do her best to be a good wife to him.
    The one truly bright highlight to her bungled adventure was moving away from London and the press of parties and social events. She just hoped Shane would forgive her for forcing a marriage. She planned on trying very hard not to be a burden to him. “I doubt it.”
    “Nonsense,” Mari said and opened the door to the newest modiste shop. Madam DuBois greeted them with enthusiasm since Mari frequented her establishment often.
    “Bienvenu,” she said. “How can I be of assistance to two such lovely mesdames? New ball gowns perhaps?”
    “A wedding gown,” Mari answered with a giggle. “Miss Townsend is getting married to Captain Shane MacLeod.”
    “But of course. I read the notice. I am honored you have chosen me to design the dress,” Madam Dubois said. “I think perhaps something in an ivory silk to set off the complexion along with a gossamer overlay of chiffon, non ?”
    “ Non . No. I mean, there really will not be time for an elaborate gown,” Abigail said. “We shall marry within the week since Captain MacLeod must be back to sea.”
    “So soon?” For a moment, Madam Dubois looked defeated and then she rallied. “I shall pull my seamstresses from other gowns. We will get it accomplished.”
    “Good,” Mari said before Abigail could protest again. “And Miss Townsend needs a complete trousseau as well, although those things can be sent to her new home once she has been fitted.”
    “ Certainement. Morning gowns, day dresses, evening ensembles—how many of each, Madam MacLeod?”
    “I really only need two or three dresses of good woolen cloth,” Abigail said.
    “Wool?” Madam Dubois asked.
    “Scotland is cold.”
    “Of course, several of the dresses can be woolen,” Mari said with a wave of her hand. “But you will need finer things as well. And,” she added, “do not forget about the undergarments.”
    “ Oui! I have the softest muslin and linen for petticoats and chemises. One moment.” Madam Dubois hurried to