After selling his ancestral estate, Archibald Colston decides to exchange the pastoral serenity of country society for a chance to make a new life for the Colston family in the wealthy elite of New York City. Upon their arrival, Archibald and his si...
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Olivia thrust her hands deep into her fur muff. The December wind whipped down Broadway and bit at her skin while it whistled its mournful tune. Awnings with their colorful stripes flapped and snapped, sending more whorls of snow into the air. Olivia took in the scene with amusement — of women bundled against the cold darting between the shops. If she closed her eyes, she could have been in London.
From her side, Daphne gave another towering stack of packages to one of the footmen who attended to her carriage. Olivia wished she had the liberty to spend as much as Daphne did, but her family's brush with near financial ruin was enough to make her as frugal as Archibald.
A black and white striped awning ahead caught her eye. Daphne seemed to sense her distraction. "You haven't been to De Rosier's yet, have you not?"
Olivia's stomach knotted at the mention of De Rosier. Harry. She wasn't sure she could bear to watch Daphne flirt with him in front of her, but something about last night's ball rattled around in her head and refused to be ignored. While she hadn't been able to fill a single spot on her dance card with him, he had somehow managed to find his way into her set any chance he could. They weren't partners, but it couldn't be said they didn't dance together. During a figure of a Quadrille, partners were exchanged during the steps and she found herself with her hand in his and the object of a mischievous little smirk that made her wonder just how much he had wanted to dance with her.
She'd told herself it wasn't intentional. She could have believed it was a matter of coincidence until he had escorted her to her carriage while Archibald attended to her mother.
"I'm sorry I wasn't in the position to accept your offer to dance. I very much wanted to," she'd said.
Harry De Rosier had ducked his head as if he leaned in to tell her a secret. "I'm the sorry one. But don't let it be said that I let a full dance card prevent me from engaging you in a dance."
"A figure is not a dance."
"Then I believe etiquette allows me to ask that you save your next dance for me."
Daphne broke Olivia from her reverie with a tug on her arm.
"Come. Let's get off the street before we catch our death," she said as she headed for the door to the House of De Rosier.
Inside, the shop was unlike anything Olivia could have expected. Decorated in the French style, the first floor was more of a lounge, a room with registers where women made their purchases from shop girls dressed in black, and men sipped on complimentary coffees while they waited for their wives. It was decadent and luxurious, and full of just as much personality as Harry.
Daphne seemed to know her way. She led them to an ornate brass lift which would take them to the second floor where only women were allowed. The doors to the lift opened to reveal a room far grander than the average staymaker's shop. Sparkling chandeliers illuminated dozens of gilded tables laden with artfully displayed corsets, lace-trimmed chemises, and silk drawers. Forms along the walls presented the array of dressing gowns and the full kit of underpinnings and bustles available at the House of De Rosier.
