James glared at the paper.
"What has you so irritable?" Stephen said as he dropped into a wingback chair across from James at White’s, a snifter dangling in his hand as he surveyed the club.
James’s frown deepened as he glanced at Stephen, whose eyes were suspiciously cheerful. He thought about ignoring his friend, but instead pointed to the sketch and tossed him the paper.
Stephen sipped his brandy and picked up the paper. He scanned the illustration and started choking. The paper bunched in his hand.
James rose and pounded heavily on his back. Stephen gave him a devilish glare, putting James in somewhat better humor. Stephen’s color returned to normal and he opened the paper again. James looked over his shoulder at the caricature drawn of him, and then returned to his seat, signaling for another scotch. "It’s a ridiculous drawing. I’d like to wring that man’s neck."
Stephen continued to study the paper, saying nothing. When he finally looked up, he appeared to be laughing at some hidden joke.
"Stephen, you’re getting damn irritating."
Stephen chuckled, causing several heads to turn their way. "This is too good. This artist has been featuring you?"
James did not know what his friend found so amusing about the situation and gritted his teeth. "Yes."
Stephen glanced back at the drawing, and although he vainly tried to hide it, another smile crossed his face. "How do you define irony? This is certainly an interesting turn of events."
An attendant appeared. James grabbed his drink from the frightened man. "And how is that?"
"The artist who composed the drawing put a great deal of effort and feeling into it, don’t you agree?"
James shrugged. When the first illustration appeared, he had known the aspersions were personal. "I suppose."
"Personal grudge, I’d say. What did you do?" Stephen sent him a considering look and took a tentative sip of his brandy. Satisfied, he took a larger swallow.
"Absolutely nothing of which I’m aware. You know I play a discreet role. I’m the epitome of the boring nobleman. I suppose I may want to employ runners to investigate this fellow. He seems a bit too interested in my business and may pose a threat."
Stephen began choking again but recovered quickly and wheezed, "Do you really think that’s necessary? No harm has been done, no secrets uncovered."
James smirked. "Can’t hold down the drink, old boy? It reminds me of our days at Eton."
Stephen glowered and muttered an expletive.
James grinned, his mood lightening.
Stephen looked at him and sighed. "It appears the individual who created this cartoon sought retribution through the pen. Perhaps you inadvertently insulted the caricaturist. What’s his name? Thomas Landes? I doubt you’d find anything physically harmful from the man."
He seemed awfully sure of himself. Suspicion took root. "Is this your work, Stephen?" He pointed at the paper. "Or do you have knowledge of the artist?"
Stephen looked at him in surprised amusement. "You know I have no talent for drawing. " He smiled as he gazed at the picture again. "However, I can’t say it isn’t a grand thought."
James could have cheerfully strangled his friend. "I believe I’ll head over to Jackson ’s. You look like if you could use the exercise. Care to join me?"
Stephen continued to grin. "I certainly know better than to box with you when you’re in such a foul mood."
"Tell me about your new ladybird."
A shuttered look fell over Stephen’s face, and he put the paper on the table. “She is a lady of unusual talents and has an engaging sense of humor. I enjoy her company."
"Did you two really meet in Vauxhall? She reminds me of a lady’s companion who circled the ton several weeks ago. You wouldn’t happen to be chasing the ton wenches, now, would you?"
Stephen gave him a horrified glance. "I would as soon chase a lady of the ton as you would marry."
James smiled in satisfaction. "Then I think you’d better save your hide and give up this particular lightskirt. There’s something shifty about her."
"I am quite content with the way things are at the moment, but I appreciate your concern." Stephen absently rolled a cigar through his fingers, pausing to smell its aroma. " However, I am curious to know why you’re so interested in my lady friend."
The conversation was heading into territory best avoided. "You have recently returned from a serious situation on the continent. Is it wise to give your trust to a new acquaintance?"
Stephen visibly relaxed. "Times are changing, James. Perhaps it’s time you let down your walls a bit."
James stiffened and changed the subject.
They fell into a comfortable discussion and the tension diminished. This was Stephen. It was inconceivable that something as trivial as a woman should ever come between them.
"Stephen, I really don’t think new clothes are necessary. I have many to choose from in the wardrobe department, and I’m not above making modifications if a garment doesn’t suit."
Stephen had been nattering her for the past week about purchasing new clothes. He swung the curricle wide of a large rut in the road and frowned.
"Calliope, it’s not just evening gowns you require. There are day dresses, morning dresses, bonnets, turbans, gloves, fans-"
"Yes, yes, I’m well aware of what constitutes fashion." She tried to keep the disgruntlement from her voice.
"In your previous post with Lady Simpson weren’t you required to dress for the occasion?"
Calliope shrugged. "Yes, but I could service the same unexceptional frocks and accessories for many occasions. Black, gray and brown are rather easy to use over and over. "
He grimaced. "Those obviously won’t suffice."
"Where are we headed?"
"Madame Giselle’s."
Calliope went rigid. "She is the most exclusive modiste in London."
"And she will make you gowns damn well better than serviceable."
She mentally tallied her savings. She could not afford more than a few gowns from the renowned French émigré. Calliope looked down at the only gown she possessed that passed for a fashionable day dress. Stephen was right, her wardrobe needed updating.
She sighed. Two gowns. She would purchase two outrageously priced gowns and consider it a necessary expense.
They reached Madame Giselle’s shop in time to see Lady Simpson and Lady Flanders exit.
"I can’t believe the nerve of that woman. I will have Flanders speak to her right away. Refusing us both, the gall!"
Calliope ducked her head as the two angry ladies entered the waiting carriage in front of the shop. It was more of a reflex, because she knew they would never connect Esmerelda to Margaret Stafford.
Calliope grabbed Stephen’s arm as the ladies’ carriage navigated into the street. "Stephen, Madame Giselle will never outfit me with so much as a bolt."
Stephen grinned. "I’m confident if Giselle knew you were the recent companion of Lady Simpson and ready to take the ton by storm she would instantly lend a hand. Notoriety is good for business."
He assisted her from the curricle and handed the reins to his tiger. They entered the hallowed dressmaker’s shop.
Whatever Calliope had expected, this was not it. The shop looked like a storm had been unleashed inside. Bolts of cloth, sketches and measuring implements were strewn about, and several half-finished dresses lay discarded on the floor near a back room. Three harried girls scurried around trying to tidy the endless mess.
"Ah, Monsieur Chalmers, so nice to see you."
Stephen took the hand of a tall, severely dressed woman with upswept hair. "Madame Giselle, your beauty is a light in these dark times."
"Bah, I am not one of those half-wit females you like to chase. Hurry and tell me what you want. The Duchess of Kent was here today, and she thinks she runs the country already. It was a trying enough day ministering to her whims with-
out you and your empty flattery."