Ralston watched, noticing the slight tremble in the baron’s hands as Oxford adjusted the sleeves of his topcoat, and said, “After your boorish behavior, Ralston, I shall enjoy lightening your coffers even more.”
Ralston spun on his heel and left the room, saying nothing, telling himself that his behavior had been in defense of a lady to whom he was greatly indebted.
It was easier to convince himself of that reasoning than to consider the emotions that still roiled at the idea of Callie’s becoming a baroness.
Callie pushed open the door to Madame Hebert’s shop on Bond Street later that afternoon, eager to be done with what was certain to be another excruciating part of her day. After Ralston had stormed from the house, Callie had cried for several long minutes before receiving word that the dressmaker had completed work on the gown that she had commissioned, as well as on several pieces of Juliana’s new wardrobe.
Taking the message as a sign that she could not while away the day feeling sorry for herself, Callie had prepared for an afternoon at the dressmaker’s, an outing that held only slightly more appeal than a funeral. Nevertheless, she was in dire need of a distraction, and the French modiste was guaranteed to provide just the thing.
She’d convinced Mariana to join her for the afternoon, and the younger Hartwell sister had left Allendale House ahead of Callie to retrieve Juliana, who would spend much of the afternoon in fittings for her own dresses. Callie would have ordinarily joined the other girls, but she simply couldn’t bear the thought of meeting Ralston again today—however unlikely an event that might be—and so, here she was, standing just inside the door to the dressmaker’s salon, waiting for someone to acknowledge her presence.
The shop was buzzing with activity, Madame Hebert was nowhere in sight, but her assistants rushed back and forth through the curtained entrance to the fitting room, arms laden with lengths of fabric, buttons, laces, and trims. There were three other women in the front portion of the shop, considering the dresses on display, marveling at the artistry of the seamstresses’ hands.
“Oh! Lady Calpurnia!” The soft, eager words, were spoken in the thick French accent of Valerie, Madame Hebert’s trusted apprentice, who had come from the back of the shop and dropped a quick curtsy in Callie’s direction. “Madame Hebert sends her apology that you are kept waiting. She is just finishing with another lady, but we have cleared her schedule for the afternoon, and she will join you”—she waved her hand in the air, searching for the correct phrase—“tout de suite… at once. Yes?”
“Yes, of course. I am happy to wait.”
“Valerie!” Madame Hebert’s voice traveled from beyond the curtain mere seconds before the Frenchwoman poked her head out into the main shop. “Bring Lady Calpurnia back. I will begin with her immediately.” The dressmaker waved Callie forward with an encouraging smile. When she and Valerie were closer to the curtain, Madame Hebert added quietly to her assistant, “You may finish with Miss Kritikos.”
Callie froze midstride, just outside the entrance to the fitting room. Had she heard correctly? Was it possible that Ralston’s former mistress was in the room beyond? Of course she was. It was the perfect addition to this disaster of a day. She squared her shoulders, preparing to enter the room. Nastasia Kritikos had no reason to know Callie; therefore, Callie would simply pretend not to recognize the opera singer.
Pushing through the curtains, Callie discovered that such a task was far easier planned than performed. Nastasia stood on a raised platform at the center of the fitting room, her back to the doorway, larger than life. Callie marveled at the prima donna’s hourglass form, her hips flaring in perfect concert with a bosom that women everywhere would covet. Nastasia turned from side to side, casting a critical eye at her image in an enormous mirror, taking in the details of the stunning scarlet silk gown she was wearing. The gown was beautifully fitted to Nastasia’s long, lush body, its bodice secured at the back with a row of small, elegant ribbons, each tied in a perfect tiny bow.
Callie swallowed, immediately feeling pale and plain, wishing she’d chosen another day to retrieve her gown. Realizing that she was gaping in the direction of the other woman, Callie caught herself and turned to follow Madame Hebert. Passing behind Nastasia, Callie couldn’t help but sneak a look at the opera singer’s reflection and marvel at the woman’s beauty. She and Ralston must have made a stunning couple. Nastasia was grand—she boasted the kind of beauty that women like Callie could only dream of having, mostly because her porcelain skin and shining black tresses and lovely, bow-shaped mouth were only part of her appeal. More than any one physical characteristic, the opera singer’s obvious confidence and self-awareness made all the difference. She owned the room the way she owned the stage—wholly and completely.