The modiste's shop in the heart of Mayfair was warm, smelling strongly of lavender water and fresh, expensive fabric. Bolts of rich silk, heavy velvet, and delicate lace were stacked high against the walls. It was a place where the wealthy women of London came to buy beauty and status.
For Lady Celine Farrington, however, the shop felt quite the opposite.
She stood perfectly still on a small, round wooden pedestal in the center of the fitting room. She was surrounded by three tall floor mirrors that reflected her pale, unhappy face from every possible angle.
A skilled French modiste knelt on the soft carpet at Celine's feet. Her mouth was full of silver pins, and her hands moved with quick, practiced speed as she adjusted the hem of a breathtaking ball gown. The dress was made of pale, icy blue silk. It was meant to make Celine look like a perfect, fragile doll.
The modiste removed a pin from her lips and looked up.
