To his dismay, Hugo realized that she had not the slightest idea about what was either tasteful or appropriate. As he listened to her rapturous praise of a gown of violet sarsenet embroidered with paste sapphires and a tulle hat of the most ludicrous proportions, he realized he was going to have to revise his plans for the remainder of the afternoon.

He had intended leaving her in the charge of the dressmaker while finding some much-needed liquid refreshment in a nearby tavern. Now it became apparent that he couldn't trust her judgment, and knowing how determined she could be, he was fairly certain the modiste would be unable to guide her choice. The bottle of burgundy would have to wait.

He fortified himself again from the hip flask and turned into the doorway of a discreet establishment displaying a dainty gown of sprigged muslin in the window. "In here."

"That looks very ordinary." Chloe wrinkled her nose. "I much preferred the other shop-the one with the flame redingote."

"Yes, I'm sure you did. However, we are going in here." A hand on the small of her back urged her through the door.

The modiste bustled out of a back room at the sound of the bell. Sharp black eyes examined Chloe and saw through the hideous, ill-fitting serge to the beauty beneath. She bowed to the gentleman, shrewdly assessing his worth. It was hard to tell. He was respectably dressed, the cloth of good quality, but there were no obvious signs of wealth-no jeweled pins or fobs, or even rings. But he was clearly a man whose tastes ran to the very young when it came to setting up a mistress. Although this very young lady was a diamond of the first water.

Smiling, Madame Letty asked how she could be of service. Her smile became calculating as the gentleman explained that to start with, his ward required a riding habit and at least two afternoon dresses.

"Suitable for a debutante?" she inquired, nodding with satisfaction. This promised to be a lucrative transaction. Guardians did not normally accompany their wards shopping, but the nature of the relationship made no difference to profits.

"Exactly so." Hugo had a fair idea of the construction the modiste had put on her customers, but so long as she knew her job, she could think what she pleased.

Madame Letty called sharply, and a girl of about thirteen came into the shop. She curtsied, twisting her work-reddened hands, keeping her eyes down. At her employer's instruction she fetched gowns from the back room, laying them out for the customers' inspection.

Chloe was unimpressed. The afternoon gowns were all of sprigged muslin or cambric, demurely cut, trimmed with laee. Something caught her eye on a rack in the corner of the room. Abandoning the display, she wandered over to the rack and pulled out a gown of peacock-blue taffeta, lavishly adorned with silver thread.

"This is lovely." She held it up in front of her. "Isn't it the most beautiful gown?" Her hands caressed the material. "I love the way it shines in the light."

Hugo winced and Madame Letty cleared her throat. The little maidservant covered her mouth with her hand to hide a grin.

"I think Miss would be more comfortable in muslin," Madame said.

"Oh, no, I don't want any of those boring dresses," Chloe declared with a dismissive gesture at the previous offerings. "I like this. I want something that stands out." "Well, you'd certainly stand out in that," Hugo said. "May I try it on?"

The modiste looked in appeal at the gentleman, who nodded innnitesimally. With obvious reluctance she gestured to a fitting room. "If Miss would like to come this way, Mary will help you."

Hugo sat down on a couch and waited for the apparition to appear. He had the faint hope that once Chloe saw for herself how ridiculous she would look in a dress made to appeal to the pretentions of a high-class whore, the issue would resolve itself.

The hope was not realized. Chloe emerged from a dressing room, beaming, rustling across the floor toward him. "Isn't it lovely? I feel so grand." She twirled before the cheval glass. "It's a little big, but I'm sure it could be altered." She adjusted the neckline of the decolletage with a tiny frown. "It does reveal rather a lot though, doesn't it?"

"Far too much," Hugo declared. "I could always wear a fichu," she said cheerfully. "I'm going to have this gown. Oh, and you know what will look beautiful with it, that tulle hat we saw in the milliner's down the road."

Hugo closed his eyes and prayed for strength. "That hat would make you look like a squashed pumpkin. It's far too big for your face."

Chloe looked dismayed. "I'm sure it wouldn't. How can you know until I try it on?"

Hugo had somehow assumed that women were born with a dress sense as they were born with ten fingers and ten toes. But apparently it was an acquired talent… one that had not been acquired by this practically motherless child who'd grown up behind the high walls of a seminary, smothered in brown serge.

The situation required drastic measures. He stood up.

"Would you excuse us for a minute?" he said to Madame Letty. "I'd like a word in private with my ward."

The modiste hustled the maidservant out of the room and Hugo took a deep breath. Chloe was regarding him with an air of earnest inquiry.

He came over to her, took her by the shoulders, and turned her to face her image in the mirror. "Now, listen to me, lass. This gown is made for a woman who lives on Quay Street."

"What kind of women live on Quay Street?" She frowned at him in the glass.

"Whores," he said succinctly. Her eyes widened. "Look at yourself." Reaching around, he plucked at the loose neckline. His arm brushed her breast and he drew a sharp breath but doggedly continued. "To wear a dress like this, you need to be rather more lavishly endowed than you are. You also need to paint your face, wear a great deal of trumpery jewelry, and be at least ten years older than you are."

Her face fell. "Don't you like it?"

"That's an understatement. It's an utterly tasteless garment and makes you look ridiculous." Brutal, but he adjudged it necessary.

She bit her lip, tilting her head as she examined herself in the mirror. "It would look better with the right shoes and hat."

Hugo closed his eyes on another fervent prayer. He rested his hands lightly on her shoulders. "If I can't convince you, Chloe, then I'm going to exercise a guardian's right of command."

"You mean I may not have it?" Her chin went up and her eyes darkened with anger.

"That's exactly what I mean." He began swiftly to unhook her. "Try on one of the others and I'm sure you'll see how much prettier you look."

"I don't like the others," she said flatly. "I want to look different, not ordinary."

"My dear girl, there is not the slightest possibility that you could ever look ordinary," he said with conviction.

She continued to look at him in the mirror, assessing the strength of his determination as she had in the stable the previous night. But this time she had no master card up her sleeve.

"I am resolved, lass," he said softly. "Looking daggers at me isn't going to change anything."

He turned to the gowns over the chair, sorting swiftly through them. "This one goes with your eyes," he cajoled, holding up a sprigged muslin gown with a cornflower-blue sash and blue ribbons.

"It's so demure," Chloe muttered.

"It's so suitable," he retorted, and called the modiste. "Miss Gresham will try this gown."

With as good a grace as she could muster, Chloe submitted to being divested of the peacock-blue taffeta and buttoned into the muslin. Madame Letty tied the sash around the slender waist and stood back with a smile.

"Beautiful," she said. "Mary, fetch that chip straw hat, the one with the matching ribbons. It will look exquisite."

Chloe was unconvinced and rather glumly stepped out of the dressing room to show her guardian.