Joseph fought the urge to glare at her. If she was privy to the things Ellen had told him, she would not make light of Ellen’s chances so much.
“Yes,” he said. “It is possible and necessary, and I need both of your assistance in doing it.”
“What do you need from us, my boy?” his mother asked.
Joseph paused. He wasn’t truly certain where he could even begin, but they had to start somewhere.
“I need your help in changing Miss Garrett’s appearance and deportment in order to help her to be accepted by the likes of Lady Margaret,” he said. “I have promised to remake her so that she can charm London society and, most importantly, obtain an invitation to the Duchess of Westminster’s ball. Do you think you can help?”
His mother and Aunt Josephine exchanged a look of surprise. It swiftly turned into twin smiles.
“We would be delighted to do that,” his mother answered. She exchanged another look with Aunt Josephine, then said, “And I believe we have a few ideas of how to accomplish this aim.”
Joseph smiled in satisfaction as they inched along in the line to reach the carriages. With his mother’s and Aunt Josephine’s help, he was certain Ellen would be the talk of the coming season.
It only occurred to him once they were ensconced in the carriage and on their way home that he’d hardly given any thought at all to the problem of Montrose.
Chapter Six
Ellen hadn’t truly felt anxious about her foray to London or her chances of fitting in with at least some aspect of society…until now. She stood in front of the mirror in the guest room of Lenore and Phineas’s house, studying herself in the full-length mirror. Every dress, skirt, blouse, and belt she’d brought with her from Wyoming—and a few she’d purchased since arriving in London—were draped across her bed or the chairs in the room or the washstand. Every pair of shoes and boots she owned were scattered across the floor. She’d tried on everything she owned in preparation for tea with Lady Vegas and Lady Dorrington—the invitation had come shortly after the day at the races—but she wasn’t satisfied with anything.
She turned this way and that, studying her latest ensemble—a plain white blouse with a high collar and very few frills paired with a plain brown skirt—and frowned. Perhaps a nice brooch would make her excited about the blouse? She just wasn’t certain.
Maybe it wasn’t the blouse itself, maybe it was the woman who wore it.
She blew out a breath through her nose and shifted from studying her clothing to giving herself a frank look in the mirror. There was no point in denying that she wasn’t like the other young ladies searching for husbands in London. She wasn’t like Lady Margaret. Ever since arriving in England, she’d heard people talk about “the English rose” as the ideal model of what a young woman should be. She’d seen that woman in advertisements, on cosmetics, and on biscuit tins—and later learned that the woman she was seeing in advertisements was Joseph’s sister-in-law, Nanette D’Argent—and she saw that ideal when she looked at Lady Margaret Grosvenor.
When she surveyed herself in the mirror, Ellen saw more of a prairie wildflower. Or perhaps a gigantic, brash sunflower. She’d always liked that before, but it wasn’t right in England. It wasn’t proper. It wasn’t what people wanted.
She wasn’t what people wanted.
She drew in a deep breath and tilted her chin up, imitating Lady Margaret’s stance. She pulled her shoulders back and straightened her spine as well. Perhaps if she tightened her corset a bit, she could get that rigid look so many of London’s elite wore. The idea made her groan, since she was very much against tight-lacing, but if it would gain her acceptance into society, she might consider it.
A knock sounded at her door, and she said, “Do come in,” in what she hoped was a sophisticated voice, even as Lenore was already entering.
She sent Lenore a brief smile before returning her attention to refining her posture and schooling her expression to one of serene loftiness.
Lenore let out a small laugh and walked over to stand beside her. “Whatever are you doing, Elle?” she asked.
Without breaking character, she glanced to Lenore in the mirror and said, “I am attempting to appear as and deport myself in the manner of an English rose,” she said in a placid voice. She even caught herself imitating a British accent, though not enough to be noticeable.
Lenore laughed again, which deflated Ellen’s spirits considerably. “And is there a particular reason that you’ve taken on this project?” she asked, her grin wobbling with humor. At least until she glanced around the room and saw the mess Ellen had made.
“I have been invited to tea with Lady Vegas and Lady Dorrington this morning,” Ellen said, fighting to maintain her aloofness. She smoothed her hands over her skirt again and turned to the side to make certain the small bustle was in place, even though the things were going out of fashion. “I must endeavor to appear as ladylike as possible to ensure I make the very best of impressions on the august ladies.”
Lenore’s smile dropped entirely and was replaced by a concerned look. “Is this something that Mr. Rathborne-Paxton has forced you to do?” she asked as she set to work picking up Ellen’s things and putting them in some sort of order.
“No, not at all,” Ellen said, then thought twice about her answer. Keeping her back straight and her expression serious, she started helping Lenore with her clothing. “I asked Mr. Rathborne-Paxton to assist me in my efforts to present myself more respectably and adequately so that I might find greater acceptance with London society.”
Lenore eyed her sideways. “What efforts are these?”
A twist of self-consciousness pinched Ellen’s insides. “I have failed thus far to secure a place for myself amongst London society, and I do not think my current lack of position is tenable. I wish to be able to consider my time in England a success, and Mr. Rathborne-Paxton has generously agreed to make me over in such a way that those efforts might bear fruit.”
Lenore frowned. She finished hanging the dress she’d just returned to the wardrobe and crossed the room quickly. When she reached Ellen as Ellen grasped a skirt she’d thrown over the washstand earlier, Lenore put a hand over hers to stop her.
“Elle, what are you doing?” she asked seriously. “This is not like you at all. If Mr. Rathborne-Paxton has wheedled you into this in any way, I do not approve and I think you should break with him immediately.”
Ellen’s eyes went wide, and she dropped her refined persona just a bit. “Joseph didn’t force me into anything,” she said. “I asked him to help me. I asked him to transform me into someone acceptable.”