Olivia thrust her hands deep into her fur muff. The December wind whipped down Broadway and bit at her skin while it whistled its mournful tune. Awnings with their colorful stripes flapped and snapped, sending more whorls of snow into the air. Olivia took in the scene with amusement — of women bundled against the cold darting between the shops. If she closed her eyes, she could have been in London.

From her side, Daphne gave another towering stack of packages to one of the footmen who attended to her carriage. Olivia wished she had the liberty to spend as much as Daphne did, but her family's brush with near financial ruin was enough to make her as frugal as Archibald.

A black and white striped awning ahead caught her eye. Daphne seemed to sense her distraction. "You haven't been to De Rosier's yet, have you not?"

Olivia's stomach knotted at the mention of De Rosier. Harry. She wasn't sure she could bear to watch Daphne flirt with him in front of her, but something about last night's ball rattled around in her head and refused to be ignored. While she hadn't been able to fill a single spot on her dance card with him, he had somehow managed to find his way into her set any chance he could. They weren't partners, but it couldn't be said they didn't dance together. During a figure of a Quadrille, partners were exchanged during the steps and she found herself with her hand in his and the object of a mischievous little smirk that made her wonder just how much he had wanted to dance with her.

She'd told herself it wasn't intentional. She could have believed it was a matter of coincidence until he had escorted her to her carriage while Archibald attended to her mother.

"I'm sorry I wasn't in the position to accept your offer to dance. I very much wanted to," she'd said.

Harry De Rosier had ducked his head as if he leaned in to tell her a secret. "I'm the sorry one. But don't let it be said that I let a full dance card prevent me from engaging you in a dance."

"A figure is not a dance."

"Then I believe etiquette allows me to ask that you save your next dance for me."

Daphne broke Olivia from her reverie with a tug on her arm.

"Come. Let's get off the street before we catch our death," she said as she headed for the door to the House of De Rosier.

Inside, the shop was unlike anything Olivia could have expected. Decorated in the French style, the first floor was more of a lounge, a room with registers where women made their purchases from shop girls dressed in black, and men sipped on complimentary coffees while they waited for their wives. It was decadent and luxurious, and full of just as much personality as Harry.

Daphne seemed to know her way. She led them to an ornate brass lift which would take them to the second floor where only women were allowed. The doors to the lift opened to reveal a room far grander than the average staymaker's shop. Sparkling chandeliers illuminated dozens of gilded tables laden with artfully displayed corsets, lace-trimmed chemises, and silk drawers. Forms along the walls presented the array of dressing gowns and the full kit of underpinnings and bustles available at the House of De Rosier.

Olivia ran her hand across the neatly folded, crisp white chemises, unsure of where to look first.

"It's overwhelming, isn't it?" Daphne said from beside her.

Olivia nodded. "It's all so beautiful — I'd almost believe you if you told me that lift transported us to a shop in Paris."

A playful smirk danced in the corner of Daphne's lips. "You can't come to New York without losing all command of your self-control to the temptations offered at De Rosier's."

"I think I'll limit myself to one new chemise."

"Nonsense. You haven't lived until you've worn one of Mr. De Rosier's corsets. They make for a fantastic figure; you'll never want to wear the work of another corsetier again."

Olivia didn't want to think of what this all would cost, but Archie had encouraged the idea of a shopping trip with a Vanderberg. He had to have known that the social intercourse of shopping among young women involved spending money. Many ladies often felt the need to display their wealth with the volume of their purchases, but she certainly didn't have much to flaunt to begin with.

Before she could agree, Daphne called over one of the shop girls to take her measurements so one of De Rosier's in-house seamstresses could tailor the corset to her. The entire process took an hour from start to finish before Olivia was sent downstairs with a receipt for a corset and chemise so delicate and fine, it would have made the Duchess of Devonshire jealous.

A girl her own age with bright red hair and freckles across her nose collected her payment and arranged for delivery at the register.

"Miss Olivia Colston?" she squeaked when Olivia gave the girl her name and address.

"Yes?"

"We got a return from you this morning," she said.

Olivia's cheeks heated as she remembered Harry's gift to her. She'd told her lady's maid that she wasn't going to keep the nightgown. After the ball, she'd changed her mind, but she'd forgotten to let her girl know. "I think that was a mistake," Olivia said hurriedly.

Daphne was still upstairs, but she could come down at any minute. Olivia didn't know what Daphne would think of a gift like that. She probably would jump to the conclusions Olivia had.

"It's fine," the shop girl said. "There wasn't any record of your purchase and we can't take returns on bespoke garments unless it's a special circumstance."

Bespoke?

"I'm sorry," Olivia said. "There's been some confusion—"

"I can process the return, I just need to confer with Mr. De Rosier about what he charged for the gown and get his signature on the return."

"No!" Olivia exclaimed, but the girl had already disappeared behind a heavy velvet curtain.

Her pulse raced as the seconds dragged by. Was Mr. De Rosier in the shop? She hadn't meant to return the gift after he'd better explained his intentions, but perhaps it was for the best. She'd already made far too many concessions to her pesky infatuation with him. It was a bespoke gown, crafted just for her by Harry's own head. She shouldn't keep such a gift. Wouldn't! He said he'd understood why last night, but it still felt unkind bordering on cruel.

Before she could think of an excuse for returning the gift, she heard the quick, heavy steps as someone approached. Olivia held her breath as Harry De Rosier ducked under the curtain. The freckled shop girl followed behind.

"Miss Colston," he said, his brows pushed together in concern to form a deep line between them. "It seems there is a problem with your nightgown."

He pulled the box from under the counter and opened it to reveal his gift to her. His eyes were heavy and there was a sad slump in his shoulders; he looked tired.

"No... it's so beautiful," Olivia stuttered. "I—I just keep feeling... I think it just isn't a good fit. "

"Oh," Harry said. He nodded. "Yes, we discussed this last night."

"I'm sorry," she said. And she was. She didn't want to let go of the beautiful white dress with its deep aubergine bow, and she didn't want to do anything to push Harry away. But this was her chance. His kindness towards her, his playful attentions to her had to stop if she was ever going to get over him.

He nodded again, his eyes full of more hurt that Olivia had expected. He wanted to be her friend, but he couldn't know what it did to her to have him near. It had to end.

It was then that Daphne exited the lift and made her way to the register. She lit up at the sight of Harry. "Mr. De Rosier! I had no idea you were in today. It's a pleasure to see you looking so well."

Harry straightened slightly. A smile flickered on his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes. He gave her a bland greeting, but Daphne didn't seem to notice what Olivia had.

"What's this?" Daphne picked up the nightgown from its tissue paper wrappings.

"It's nothing." Harry all but snatched the gown from her hands.

She laughed it off. "Clearly."

Harry looked at Olivia nervously. "I must take my leave. I have many more costumes to see to for the show." He bowed before turning to leave.

"But wait," Daphne said.

He paused.

"Will you be attending Mrs. Alexander's costume ball tomorrow night?"

"If I can get away from my workshop." He gave them a short bow. "Good day, ladies."

They said their goodbyes, but Mr. De Rosier barely lingered long enough for it. He disappeared with the nightgown under his arm. The shop girl looked just as perplexed as Daphne.

"I've never seen Mr. De Rosier turn down an invitation to a ball," Daphne said.

"Really?" Olivia asked.

"He especially loves the chance to dress in costume. Something strange has surely gotten into him."

Olivia only nodded. She didn't quite understand fully what she'd done to Mr. De Rosier, but if it kept him away, it was for the best.