Lady Gwendolyn stepped out of the milliner's, pulling on her gloves. It had been a very successful visit. Most of her newest orders had come in, and she now found herself in posession of several new fichus, a very pretty new sash and two lovely new hats. She had also heard the psotively delightful rumor that Rose Bertin, modist to Marie Antoinette and owner of the famous Le Grand Mogul, would soon move shop from Paris to London. She had also, with a little manipulation of the general conversation with the also shopping wives and mistresses of several MPs, discovered how the vote tomorrow afternoon should go. Her footman, loaded down with parcels, staggered out the door.
"Oh, please just put them in the carriage Jonatha- oof!" Lady Gwendolyn nearly stumbled and looked down in annoyance. "I say you- are you crying?" The girl was well-dressed and far too clean to be anything less than middle class. Lady Gwendolyn, already inclined towards sympathy, was at once all sweetness and sympathy. Careful not to dirty her dress, Lady Gwendolyn crouched down. "Are you alright, dear?"