“Yes,” said Rebecca. “I like that, but there are too many kinds of trimming for my taste. I think I will have tassels round the hem instead of the lace. It will then match the sleeves, and the effect will be less fussy.”
“Oui,” nodded Madame Dupont. “Yes, you are right. Then just a simple twist of ribbon at the waist?” she asked.
Rebecca agreed. The ribbon would give just the right amount of definition to the high waistline.
That being settled, Madame Dupont took Rebecca's measurements and promised to have the gown ready in time for the ball.
“And for Miss Marsden,” said the modiste, her head again on one side, “I think a shade of orange tawney.”
“Oh, no,” said Louisa, flustered. “I don't think I could wear anything like that. A nice grey, with perhaps some kind of trim.”
“Non,” said Madame Dupont decidedly. “The grey, it robs you of your colour. You put yourself in my 'ands?” she asked, but in such a way that Louisa did not like to disagree. “The orange tawney, it will bring out the gold flecks in your eyes and the highlights in your 'air.”
“Highlights?” asked Louisa, bemused. “But my hair doesn't have any highlights.” She looked at herself in the mirror, trying to see what Madame Dupont was talking about.
“Mais oui,” nodded Madame Dupont. “When the light falls on it, so, it 'as gleams of gold.”
Rebecca glanced at Mrs Camberwell and the two ladies exchanged delighted glances. Madame Dupont had an eye for colour, and had spotted the highlights at once. Moreover, it seemed she was going to be able to persuade Louisa to wear something more interesting than her usual drab colours.
Madame Dupont clapped her hands and one of her assistants brought her a piece of orange tawney silk. When the sample was draped over Louisa's shoulder, even Louisa was delighted.
“Why, I look quite different,” she said.
Rebecca gave her a kiss. “You'll be the belle of the ball.”
Louisa, flustered, denied it, but when, the following day, Monsieur Toulouse had styled her hair, getting rid of the centre parting she had worn for many years and instead pulling her hair back smoothly over her crown and cutting it at the front so that it was possible to arrange it into fluffy curls, she gasped in amazement as she saw herself in the glass.
“You look beautiful, Louisa,” said Rebecca. She added innocently, “I am sure Edward will think so, too.”
Emily and Rebecca exchanged glances, then smiled as they realized they had both had the same idea regarding Louisa and Edward.
Rebecca took advantage of Monsieur Toulouse's skill next, with Emily kindly waiting until last. By the time he left, they had all had their hair trimmed and styled in the most becoming way.
“Monsieur Toulouse may not be able to attend us on the day of the ball, but at least we know what we are aiming at,” said Emily as she regarded her hair in the gilded glass.
Well pleased with their morning the ladies parted, and Rebecca and Louisa returned home.
They were just about to get out their workbaskets, after partaking of a delightful luncheon, when there was a knock at the front door.
“I wonder who that can be?” said Louisa, eyebrows raised.
“I have no idea,” said Rebecca. Privately she hoped it was Joshua. It was not impossible that he might call. He had told her he would let her know what had caused the fire when he knew himself, and she had been half expecting him to call all day.
The drawing-room door opened and Betsy announced Mr Willingham.
Rebecca tried to hide her disappointment, and was glad that Mr Willingham turned to Louisa first. It would not be polite of her to let him see she had been hoping for someone else.
Mr Willingham was looking smart and confident. Not for nothing was he one of the most prosperous mill owners in the area. He bowed politely over Louisa's hand before turning and greeting Rebecca.
“Mr Willingham. This is a pleasant surprise” said Louisa.
“You were good enough to say I might call on you.”
“Of course,” said Louisa. “Pray, be seated.”
He settled himself in a heavy mahogany chair.
“I have called to issue an invitation,” he said, after they had enquired politely into each other's health. “My mother is holding a dinner party at the end of next week and she would be honoured if you would attend. I have the card here.” He drew a gilt-edged card out of his pocket. “It is short notice, I'm afraid, but she feels she must make the most of the opportunity to get to know you, before you leave us again for Cheshire. She is eager to meet you,” he said, turning to Rebecca. “I have told her so much about you.”
“Oh, the end of next week. How fortunate,” said Louisa, taking the card. “We have no engagement for that night. Yes, indeed, we would be honoured to attend.”
“My mother will be glad,” he said. “And so will I.”
“You will be going to Mrs Camberwell's ball, I take it?” asked Louisa.
“Yes, indeed. I am looking forward to it. I hope I may beg the favour of the first dance?” he said to Rebecca.
Finding she had no valid reason for excusing herself, Rebecca was forced to agree to his proposal. But she would rather have given her hand to Joshua, no matter how confused he made her feel.
“Good. We mill-owners, Miss Fossington, must stick together,” said Mr Willingham with a smile.
At that moment there was another knock at the outside door and a second visitor was admitted.
“Joshua!” exclaimed Rebecca as she stood up to welcome the new guest.
“Joshua! How delightful to see you,” said Louisa.
“Marsden,” said Mr Willingham coolly.
Joshua nodded. “Willingham.”
There was a coldness between the two men that Rebecca could not fail to notice. Nevertheless she was glad of it, because when Louisa offered the two gentlemen refreshments Mr Willingham declined, saying, “Alas, I cannot stay. I came simply to bring you the invitation. I am delighted to be able to tell my mother that you accept.”
And with that he bowed himself out of the room.
“You will take some refreshment, Joshua?” asked Louisa. “I was just about to ring for tea.”
“Yes, thank you, I would be delighted.” He settled himself in a Hepplewhite chair.
Louisa went over to the fireplace and pulled the bell. Nothing happened.
“These rented houses,” Louisa said. “There is always something that isn't working. Never mind, I will go down to the kitchens and tell Mrs Neville myself.”
She had scarcely left the room when Joshua turned to Rebecca and said, “Invitation?”
“Yes. Mr Willingham's mother has invited us to dine with her at the end of next week.”
Joshua hesitated. “I would rather you did not go. Willingham's an ambitious man. His family own a weaving mill in Stockport —”
“I know,” said Rebecca. “You are afraid, perhaps, that he intends to play on my lack of business experience, and you are worried that he will try to secure preferential rates for his family when buying cotton from Marsden mill?”
Joshua laughed. “The thought had crossed my mind. But I see it had also crossed yours.”
Rebecca smiled. “I am not my grandfather's granddaughter for nothing,” she remarked.
“No, indeed.” Then Joshua's expression became more serious. “I may be maligning him, but Willingham seldom does anything without an ulterior motive and all I am saying is that I think it would be better if you were to decline his invitation.”
Rebecca sighed. “I'm afraid that will be impossible. Louisa has already accepted.”
Joshua frowned. “That's unfortunate. Still, what's done is done. But be on your guard, Rebecca. If Willingham strays onto the subject of the mill, try and turn him away from it. It isn't just that I think he may try to gain preferential terms from you, I think he may also try to find out details of the running of Marsden mill — what salaries we pay our workers, for example, or how profitable the mill has been in the last year. It would all be useful knowledge for a man who buys his cotton from us. No, I know you would never tell him,' he said, seeing that she was about to declare it, “but he is skilled at conversation, and may well have the information out of you before you know what you are about. You would not be the first mill owner to fall foul of his devious methods.”