“Who can think of worms at a time like this?” the marchioness chimed in. “Worms have nothing to do with weddings!”

Pippa thought it was rather a perfect time to think of worms. Hardworking worms that had left the life they’d known—and all its comforts—and spun cocoons, preparing for a life they did not understand and could not imagine, only to be stopped halfway through the process and turned into a wedding gown.

She did not imagine that her mother would care for that description, however, and so she said nothing as the woman began to pin, and the bodice of the gown grew tighter and tighter. After several long moments, Pippa coughed. “It’s rather constricting.”

Madame Hebert did not seem to hear her, instead pinching a quarter of an inch of fabric at Pippa’s waist and pinning it tight.

“Are you sure—?”

Pippa tried again before the modiste cut her a look. “I am sure.”

No doubt.

And then the dressmaker stepped away and Pippa had a clear line to the looking glass, where she faced her future self. The dress was beautiful, fitted simply to her small bust and long waist without making her look like any kind of long-legged bird.

No, she looked every inch a bride.

The dress seemed to be growing tighter by the moment. Was such a thing possible?

“What do you think?” the dressmaker asked, watching her carefully in the mirror.

Pippa opened her mouth to respond, not knowing what was to come.

“She adores it, of course!” The marchioness’s words came on a squeal. “They both adore them! It shall be the wedding of the season! The wedding of the century!”

Pippa met the modiste’s curious chocolate gaze. “And the century has barely begun.”

The Frenchwoman’s eyes smiled for the briefest of instants before Olivia sighed happily. “It shall indeed. And Tottenham shan’t be able to resist me in this dress. No man could.”

“Olivia!” the marchioness said from her place. “That is entirely unladylike.”

“Why? That is the goal, is it not? To tempt one’s husband?”

“One does not tempt one’s husband!” the marchioness insisted.

Olivia’s smile turned mischievous. “You must have tempted yours once or twice, Mother.”

“Oh!” Lady Needham collapsed back against the settee.

Madame Hebert turned away from the conversation, waving two girls over to work on Pippa’s hem.

Olivia winked at Pippa. “Five times, at least.”

Pippa could not resist. “Four. Victoria and Valerie are twins.”

“Enough! I cannot abide it!” The marchioness was up and through the curtains to the front of the shop, leaving her daughters to their laughter.

“That you might some day be wife to the prime minister worries me not a small amount,” Pippa said.

Olivia smiled. “Tottenham enjoys it. He says the European leaders will all appreciate my increased character.”

Pippa laughed, happy for the distraction from the unsettling view of the bride in the looking glass. “Increased character? That is a kind way of putting it.”

Olivia nodded, waving the dressmaker over. “Madame,” she said, quietly, “now that our mother is gone, perhaps we could discuss the particulars of tempting one’s husband?”

Pippa’s brows rose. “Olivia!”

Olivia waved away the scolding and pressed on. “The trousseaus my mother ordered . . . they’re filled with cotton and linen night rails, aren’t they?”

Madame Hebert’s lips twisted in a wry smile. “I would have to pull the orders, but knowing the preferences of the marchioness, there is little designed to tempt in the collections.”

Olivia smiled her sweetest, brightest smile. The one that could win any man or woman in creation. The one that made her the favorite Marbury girl Britain-wide. “But there could be?”

“Oui. The bedchamber is my specialty.”

Olivia nodded once. “Excellent. We both require your very best in that area.” She waved a hand at Pippa. “Pippa most of all.”

That set her back. “What does that mean?”

“Only that Castleton seems the type to require guideposts along the way.” Olivia looked to the seamstress, and added, “I don’t suppose guideposts are an option?”

The Frenchwoman laughed. “I make certain they find their way.”

Guideposts. Pippa recalled her hand on Castleton’s the prior evening. The way he’d smiled down at her, and she’d felt not a twinge of temptation. Not a hint of the knowledge that she sought.

Perhaps Pippa required guideposts.

How was one to know?

“I’m not worried,” Olivia said, her eyes flashing with a knowledge beyond her years, rubied hand tracing the edge of her gown. “Tottenham has no difficulty finding his way.” Pippa felt her jaw go lax. The words called to mind thoughts of much more than kissing. Olivia looked at her and laughed. “You needn’t look so shocked.”

“You’ve—?” She lowered her voice to a bare whisper. “More than the kissing? With the tongues?”

Olivia smiled and nodded. “Last night. There was still kissing, though. And a lovely amount of tongue. In intriguing locations.” Pippa thought perhaps her eyes would roll from her head. “You did not have a similar experience, I gather?”

No!

“How? Where?”

“Well, there’s the answer to my question,” Olivia said dryly, inspecting one long lace sleeve. “I should think the ordinary way. As for when and where, you’d be surprised by how resourceful an intelligent, eager gentleman can be.”