She shot him a waspish look. "I'll wait outside, then. I detest dress shops."

He had no doubt about that. "But I'll need your help, Henry. You're just about her size."

"If I'm not exactly her size, nothing will fit properly." She took a step backward.

He took her arm, opened the door, and propelled her through it. "It's a risk I'm willing to take," he said cheerily. "Ah, hello," he said, calling out to the modiste across the room. "We need to buy a dress or two for my sister here." He motioned to Henry.

"But I'm not—"

"Hush, minx. It will be easier all around this way."

Henry had to agree he was probably correct. "Oh, all right," she grumbled. "I suppose this is what one does for a friend."

"Yes," Dunford agreed, looking down at her with an odd expression. "I suppose this is."

The dressmaker, quickly assessing the obvious quality and expert tailoring of Dunford's clothing, hurried to their sides. "How may I help you?" she inquired.

"I would like to purchase a few dresses for my sister."

"Of course." She looked over at Henry, who had never in her life been more ashamed of her appearance. The mauve day dress she was wearing was truly appalling, and she didn't know why she even owned it. Carlyle had picked it up for her, she recalled. She remembered the occasion. He was going to Truro on a bit of business, and Henry, realizing she was outgrowing her clothing, had asked him to purchase a dress for her. Carlyle had probably just grabbed the first thing he saw.

But it looked wretched on her, and from the modiste's expression, Henry could see the woman agreed. She had known the dress wasn't right the minute she'd seen it, but returning it would have necessitated her coming to town. She so hated traveling to Truro—especially for this sort of embarrassing thing—that she had forced herself to believe a dress was a dress and all it really needed to do was cover a body up.

"Why don't you go over there and look at some bolts of fabric?" Dunford said, giving her arm a little squeeze.

"But—"

"Shush." He could see in her eyes that she'd been about to point out that she didn't know what his sister would like. "Just humor me and take a look."

"As you wish." She ambled over and inspected the silks and muslins. Oh, how soft they were. Hastily she put them down. It was silly to moon over pretty fabrics when all she needed were shirts and breeches.

Dunford watched her lovingly finger the bolts of cloth and knew he had done the right thing. Taking the dressmaker aside, he whispered, "I fear my sister's wardrobe has been sadly neglected. She has been staying with my aunt who, it is apparent, possesses little fashion sense."

The dressmaker nodded.

"Have you anything that is ready to wear today? I'd like nothing better than to be rid of that thing she has on now. You can use her measurements to fashion a few more."

"I have one or two I could quickly alter to her size. In fact there is one right there." She pointed to a pale yellow day dress draped over a dressmaker's model. Dunford was just about to say that it would do when he saw Henry's face.

She was staring at the dress like a starving woman.

"That dress will be perfect," he whispered emphatically. Then, in a louder voice: "Henrietta, my dear, why don't you try on the yellow dress? We'll have Mrs...." He paused, waiting for the dressmaker to fill in the gap.

"Trimble," she supplied.

"...Mrs. Trimble make the necessary alterations."

"Are you certain?" Henry asked.

"Very."

She needed no further urging. Mrs. Trimble quickly took the dress off the model and motioned for Henry to follow her into a back room. While they were gone, Dunford idly examined the fabrics on display. The pale yellow might look good on Henry, he decided.

He picked up a bolt of sapphire-blue lawn. That might be nice, too. He wasn't certain. He'd never done this sort of thing before and had no idea how to go about it. He'd always assumed women somehow knew what to wear. Lord knew his good friends Belle and Emma were always perfectly turned out.

But now he realized they always looked so fashionable because they had been taught how by Belle's mother, who had always been the epitome of elegance. Poor Henry had had no one to guide her in such matters. No one to teach her simply how to be a girl. And certainly no one to teach her what to do as a woman.

He sat down as he waited for her to return. It seemed to be taking an interminably long time. Finally, giving in to impatience, he called out, "Henry?"

"Just one moment!" Mrs. Trimble replied. "I just need to take in the waist a bit more. Your sister is very slender."

Dunford shrugged. He wouldn't know. Most of the time she wore baggy men's clothing, and her dresses were so ill-fitting it was hard to tell what was under them. He frowned, vaguely remembering the feel of her that time he'd kissed her. He couldn't remember much—he'd been half asleep at the time—but he did recall she'd seemed quite well-formed, rather fresh and feminine.

Just then Mrs. Trimble stepped back into the room. "Here she is, sir."

"Dunford?" Henry poked her head around the corner.

"Don't be shy, minx."

"Promise not to laugh?"

"Why on earth would I laugh? Now get out here."

Henry stepped forward, her eyes hopeful, fearful, and quizzical, all at the same time.

Dunford caught his breath. She was transformed. The yellow color of the dress suited her perfectly, bringing out the gold highlights in her hair. And the cut of the dress, while certainly not revealing in any way, somehow managed to hint at the promise of innocent womanhood.