A Duke of Her Own(20)

Eleanor rolled her eyes. "Couldn't Willa just give Rackfort a lesson or two?"

"Rackfort is worse than no maid at all," Anne stated. "You shall have Willa, and I will make do with my second maid, Marie. I've been training her, and she's quite good with hair."

"I suspect you want to travel with us just for the sake of gathering gossip." "Someone has to make sure that you look your best," Anne said virtuously. "I can lend you one of my gowns, if need be,"

their mother said. "Luckily, I have retained my figure."

"Eleanor is not going to wear your gowns," Anne stated, "though I know you meant it kindly. She already has the knack of dressing like a dowager; now she needs to learn a different style."

By nine in the morning two days later, the redoubtable Madame Gasquet had sent the gowns ordered for Anne, as well as a deep blue brocade designed for some soon-to-be disappointed lady who happened to have appropriate measurements.

"It's utterly perfect," Anne said with satisfaction. "I happened to wander into the back room, and the moment I saw the girls stitching I knew that the color was just right for your eyes."

"You snatched it away from whomever had ordered the gown?" Eleanor asked, eyeing her sister.

"Snatched has such unpleasant connotations," Anne said. "I offered Madame Gasquet three times the price. Of course, she was lavishly grateful and practically threw the gown at me. You do know how much your patronage will mean once you are the Duchess of Villiers, don't you?"

"Because the duke is so fashionable?" Eleanor asked, with a pang of misgiving.

"Precisely," Anne said with a nod.

Eleanor opened her mouth to say that she couldn't imagine herself achieving Villiers's splendor when their mother called from the entrance hall. "I just need to say good-bye to Oyster," she said, looking about for him. "He was here a moment ago."

"Oh no, Oyster will come with us," Anne said. "I'll tie a bit of white lace on his collar so that he's more fashionable."

"Don't be a fool," their mother said, appearing in the doorway. "Of course Eleanor is not bringing her potbellied little horror of a dog."

"She must," Anne explained. "She and Villiers had a laugh about Oyster at the benefit the other night. He's a joke between them, you see. An intimacy."

"Nothing could make Oyster look fashionable," Eleanor said flatly.

"I'll pin one of my ostrich feathers into his collar. Queen Charlotte herself adorned her dog with ostrich feathers. Or was it peacock feathers? This will show Villiers that you are truly a la mode.

Everyone has a pug these days."



"But I am not a la mode," Eleanor began. "And more to the point, Oyster is not a pug."

"Part of him is a pug," Anne said, patting the dog. "Wait until you see how wonderful he looks with an ostrich feather." She was wearing a wildly fashionable chip hat lined with sarcenet, with a cluster of white feathers on one side. Without pausing for breath, she plucked one of her plumes and knelt beside Oyster.

"He is a pug," her mother announced. "Mr. Pesnickle said so, and although he might have been more tidy in his dog's domestic arrangements, we must take him at his word."

"No pug has those ears," Eleanor said. "And more to the point, Oyster will not add to the occasion."

"Your sister, young though she is, is much better at understanding men," her mother ruled. "You have never shown the faintest interest in attracting a man's attention, Eleanor; now you must accept advice from a younger sister."

"Voilà!" Anne cried. "He's wearing his feather à la conseilleur. See how it tilts sideways?"

"Who could miss it?" Eleanor asked, leaning down to give Oyster a pat. He panted enthusiastically, looking up at her with adoring eyes. She was very fond of Oyster. But he was one of those odd dogs who just missed being attractive. His body was cream, and his nose and muzzle were black, and then he was pop-eyed. The feather didn't help.

"The point is," Anne told her, "Oyster gives you something to talk about."

Oyster's incontinent habits certainly did generate conversation. "I don't think he likes that feather, Anne." It curled over his back and brushed his tail. Not the brightest of dogs, Oyster was convinced a fly was trying to bite him and so he began twisting around to snap at his own tail.

Though he was far too fat to actually reach his tail.

"It's fashionable," Anne said stubbornly. "Mother, don't let her take the feather off. Oyster will get used to it, and the queen's dog wears one precisely the same. Though I seem to remember hers does wear a peacock feather."