The Impossible Ward by Dorothy Mack

try the other one now.”
    The yellow dress, though a bit fussy in Marianne’s private judgment, with a triple frill descending from the moderately cut neckline and another at the hem, met with Claire’s unqualified approval. Certainly there was no question of a too snug fit, in fact the bodice tended to hang a bit loosely around the high waistline, but when Madame Louise indicated a simple alteration to make it lie more smoothly, Claire laughingly declared it perfect as it was, and reminded Marianne that the dress wanted hemming also and must be ready by the time they had finished the luncheon the marquess had promised to provide, or they would be guilty of abusing his generosity. Not surprisingly, this decided Marianne to take the dress with the minimum of adjustment deemed necessary. She cast a lingering glance at the blue velvet while changing out of the silk, and was heartened to hear Madame Louise promise to save the gown until Lady Marianne should return with Lady Lunswick. In quiet accents she confided her intentions of making any adjustments the marchioness should require.
    “The gown was meant for your ladyship,” she finished, still in that confidential tone with a rather enigmatic expression on her face.
    Marianne gazed thoughtfully at the modiste for a long moment, then smiled with unaffected friendliness and agreed that she would like to try the gown on for the marchioness’ viewing the following week when they should have more time to begin ordering a complete wardrobe.
    The girls took their leave then, hastening to a shop where Marianne might purchase a new reticule to carry with the yellow dress, before it was time to meet the marquess. Claire chatted away animatedly, pointing out places of interest. She made a lovely picture in her deep green pelisse and Marianne, noting the number of admiring glances her graceful figure drew, felt utterly drab beside her sparkling cousin. She reflected wryly that for someone who had not given her appearance a second thought until that pregnant moment scarcely a sennight ago when the marquess had glanced at and through her as though she were invisible, she was rapidly becoming immersed in a condition of personal vanity to the total exclusion of all other concerns. She took herself to task and began to concentrate on her surroundings, appreciating, as the marchioness had predicted, the charm and cleanliness of Bath. The air was crisp and the sunshine enhanced her favorable impression of the city. While they walked up Milsome Street to George Street where the hotel at which they had agreed to join the marquess was located, she listened to Claire’s mingled snippets of gossip and opinion on current fashion as represented by the people they passed, with a show of courteous attention that left the better part of her mind free to form impressions of the passing scene. There was not time to stroll by the famous Pump Room, but she was quite content to await another visit in the company of the marchioness.
    Claire was nothing if not lively company, and as the two girls entered the hotel, the marquess, rising from a chair to saunter indolently toward them, noticed that despite her dowdy clothing, Marianne’s flushed and laughing countenance was vibrant enough to warrant her legitimate inclusion in the low-voiced compliment of the old gentleman with whom he had been chatting idly while he awaited their arrival.
    “An attractive pair, by Jove!”
    “By Jove, they are!” he thought, grinning to himself as he led his guests to the private parlor he had engaged. If his smile had an element of smugness in it, this was due to the fact that his tiresome ward had so far forgotten her determinedly aloof politeness in the excitement of the shopping trip as to greet him with absentminded affability. Deciding to test the depth of her forgetfulness, he turned a smiling face to her when they were comfortably seated and quizzed her gently.
    “By the air of satisfaction emanating from the