Seductive Deception

Chapter 5

Allegra pushed open the door to Mrs. Wheelwright's textile shop, the tinkling of the bell announcing her arrival as the hard-of-hearing elderly proprietress emerged from the back.

"Madam Cerise," she exclaimed, a smile breaking out on her face as she hobbled to meet her; her translucent skin cool to the touch as she enveloped Allegra's hands in her own. Allegra was average height but towered above the petite woman and, despite herself, always leaned in to speak with her.

When Allegra was in disguise, she wore full mourning attire— a black bombazine dress, a black crepe veil, and a few of her own unique touches including a domino mask and a pair of bright red boots— all of which whipped everyone into a frenzy about her appearance. But that's what she loved most about Mrs. Wheelwright, she never questioned, never fussed, never made a show of what Allegra wore.

"Mrs. Wheelwright," she grinned, patting the woman's hands, "is your back troubling you again? I can have Myra mix up a tincture for you."

The woman, a long-time widow, waved her away, chuckling. "It's nothing a little trip to Bath won't cure...or some laudanum. Oh," she added, shuffling away, "I received the newest Le Follet and have tucked away a copy for you."

Le Follet was a Parisian fashion magazine with all the latest fashion plates, styles, and etiquette guides for the beau monde. Allegra loved nothing more than combing through them for new ideas to jot down in her sketchbook.

The latest articles came out weekly, but with Allegra's limited funds, she didn't have the means to purchase them. Thankfully, Mrs. Wheelwright—bless her—was kind enough to loan them out, asking only that Allegra return them for use in the shop the following week.

"Dear me, Mrs. Wheelwright. You are so kind."

Mrs. Wheelwright grinned, her eyes disappearing into wrinkles as she politely shooed her away. "Bah! Nonsense, my dear, it is of no consequence at all!"

She shuffled into the back and disappeared, leaving Allegra to the myriad fantasy of

fabric swatches— an array of silks, taffetas, cotton, linens, and velvet in endless colors and patterns from rose pink to sunshine yellow, from paisley to checked.

Allegra strolled through the store, humming quietly, examining everything from the tartan silk to the chintz cotton, when she came upon a breathtaking iridescent champagne-colored silk. Under the glow of the gas lights above, it shimmered like a million tiny grains of sand.

What would it look like under the glow of a hundred gilded chandeliers? she wondered, unable to resist its lure as she reached out and stroked the lustrous fabric with her fingers.

"Mrs. Wheelwright," she called out.

Moments later, she popped her head out of the back. "Was that you, dear?"

"Yes, Mrs. Wheelwright, do you know the cost of this silk? The champagne-colored one on the counter."

But she hadn't heard, so Allegra moved on to a series of bolts and patterns on the wall, running her fingers along the ones too tantalizing not to touch when interrupted by the telltale bell tinkling. She turned to find a pair of ladies flanking a rather large man.

The women were like a pair of oddly mismatched bookends despite sharing similar complexions— one tall, the other short, one ample, the other frail, one long nosed, the other with snub, and each with pleasant enough faces.

Catching herself staring, she hurriedly dropped her eyes to a series of bolts laid out on the counter, and feigned interest, unrolling small bits and examining them. She slid the trio curious glances, keenly watching as they browsed.