by Madeline Hunter, Caroline Linden, Megan Frampton, Myretta Robens
“We were in love. I am sure that is something you can never understand.”
“Giles in love is a melody he has played long and well down through the years. He is the romantic lead in every play he has ever seen. I do believe you thought him in love with you. You just did not comprehend what a shallow kind of love Giles knows.”
“He told me that you interfered. He explained that when he—” She could not finish, so close was she to tears. She hated being reminded of that humiliation. Oh, the words Giles spoke had been loving and sweet to the very end, but the result had been devastating. And the gossip—All because of her foolish belief in one man’s promises.
“Mrs. Fontaine, you had to know that Giles would never marry a woman of your birth and fortune. If ever he married, it would be a girl like Edeline, whose family connections and wealth were suitable to his station as my heir presumptive.”
“No doubt you explained all of that when you told him to break with me.”
He gave her a serious, contemplative look. Then he availed himself of the one upholstered chairs in the sitting room. She hoped he did not expect her to offer refreshments.
“Regarding my brother’s wife and her wardrobe, I did not like learning the dressmaker is a woman with whom my brother had a liaison. It was an unpleasant surprise.”
There it was again. Liaison. He assumed—well, what everyone assumed. She did not care what he thought. “Having you walk into the shop today was also an unpleasant surprise. It appears both our days were ruined.”
“Hence my insistence on this conversation. Why ruin more days?”
“How very sensible. I wonder what role you have in all those plays where your brother is the romantic lead. Stern father? Villain?”
He almost smiled, as if he found that last role appealing.
“You had to have known who Lady Giles was, since she bears his full name. You cannot claim ignorance that she was Giles’s young wife.”
“It is a very large commission. Had I a choice, I might have spared my pride and refused it. We in trade live by a different set of rules than your sort do, and pride is not what governs our decisions, however.”
“Perhaps you anticipated seeing him as the work progressed. I think you expected him to walk into that shop someday, not me, and perhaps play the romantic swain again. I am here to tell you that I will not have it. Giles has proven himself eternally indiscreet, but I will not have him taking up with a dressmaker so soon after his wedding.”
“You are wrong in every way. I was aware he had left town. I only agreed to see her and do the wardrobe because I trusted I would not come into any contact with him, nor he with me.”
Skepticism etched his face while he regarded her a long time.
She looked right back. She hoped she appeared proud, composed, and strong even though inside she was nervous, and silently crying for mercy. She did not want to run away from her current life the way she had abandoned her old one.
“Those fashion plates—Were they yours?”
She examined the unexpected question from every angle, but could see no danger in answering. “They are. However, I assure you that while the dresses are distinctive, they are not outré. They fit with the current fashions nicely, only not predictably.”
His gaze meandered down her body, slowly. She grew self-conscious. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly and his mouth firmed. He appeared hard, but not angry, and, if she were honest with herself, not unappealing.
She had seen him thus once before, on the day Giles introduced her to him. Barrowmore had arrived in Kent unexpectedly, and found them together in the garden. Giles had been kissing her, and her bonnet was off and her hair disheveled. Barrowmore had missed none of that, she was sure.
He subjected her to the same intense gaze that day. Then, after the briefest of acknowledgments, he had turned to Giles and proclaimed they would meet privately in one hour in the house’s library. Giles then escorted her home, and with every step the suspicion grew in her heart that the duke had found her lacking, and the summer idyll was over.
Now, she suffered the same scathing examination. Only she was no longer a girl desperate for his acceptance. Today that gaze contained layers not perceived the first time.
If she did not know better, she would say the duke was entertaining improper thoughts about her right now. In a day of insults, that should be the worst one. Except, if she set aside who he was and what he had done to her life, she had to admit that such inclinations transformed him. Rare would be the woman who did not react as she did. She fought the stirring his close attention evoked.
“Do you wear your own designs?”
She gazed down on the deep blue wool covering her body from neck to feet. Cut and fitted like a pelisse, with a row of closely-spaced buttons down to her hips, it kept her warm in the shop and on her walks home in the cool evenings. Most significantly, the good quality fabric felt magnificent to her hand and on her body.
“I do. Obviously I design differently for myself than for a lady like Lady Giles. Much more simply. However, it is important for dressmakers to look like they know about lines and proportions and fit even when it comes to their own work clothes.”
“Like a horse.” He smiled as soon as he said it, a small chagrined turning up of his lips. “That is how horses are judged. Lines, proportions…”
She barely heard. That smile made him a different man. Warm. Charming. It gave those handsome angles and ridges something to do besides chisel the air. She had never seen a smile transform a face like that. If she did not hate him, she might be bedazzled. As it was, for the first time she could believe he and Giles were brothers.
“Much like a horse. Except my dresses have no teeth and do not bite.”
“In a manner of speaking, that is not true.” He glanced askance at her bodice. Then he gathered his ducal presence around him, much as a man might wrap his cloak more securely. “I will not have Edeline hurt by talk about Giles and his paramours. That will come soon enough, hopefully when she is older and more worldly. You are not to say one word to her about that time.”
“Are you saying we will continue with the wardrobe?” She wanted to gush with gratitude that he only demanded this, and had not informed her that Edeline would henceforth not be visiting the shop.
“Against my better judgment, I will allow it. The notion of spending another minute on gowns and frippery disheartens me enough that—Do the wardrobe, but never even allude to your liaison with my brother.”
“I would never tell her about that, although there was not a liaison as such. I fully understand your condition, however, and will honor it.”
He looked skeptical still. “Should my brother return to London, you are not to see him. I will endeavor to keep him from accompanying his wife to that shop. I can’t imagine he ever would. I want your word, however, that you will avoid such a meeting even if it means you run out the back door.”
“I will tell everyone there to be alert and give me warning, unlike what they did today with you.”
He stood. “See that you do. Should you disappoint me, should I learn that you scheme to renew your relationship with my brother, I will make sure no decent woman ever enters that shop again. Do we have a right understanding?”
She had almost begun to barely like him. Now he threatened her future, and that of everyone in the shop.
“No, we do not. If you have reason to take some revenge, take it on me alone. At least inform me of your intentions, so I can leave Madame Follette’s, and perhaps spare the others there.”
He thought about that, then nodded. “Fair enough. I will take my leave now. As for the wardrobe, send the bills to me directly. If you send them to Giles, it will be years before you see a shilling.”
Chapter Three
“In my letter to Liverpool, I blamed myself, but also the princess’s advisors.” Rand sat in White’s, drinking whisky with Havenstock. He had sought out the sanctuary of this gentlemen’s club after his disconcerting
meeting with Mrs. Fontaine. He and Havenstock not only had much in common, but what they shared was shared with very few others. Of the same age, they were both dukes. The many ways that set them apart from other men had created a bond long ago.
Havenstock could always be found at the club at this hour. The alternative was to be at home, with his sisters. He had been graced with four of them, all of whom seemed determined to remain unmarried. Havenstock often waxed eloquent about the peaceful life he would have once he ushered them into marital bliss, and kept on the lookout for likely men on whom to foist them.
Rand had only been spared because they were the oldest of friends. And because five years ago, when Havenstock broached the notion of a match with his oldest sister Clarice, he had firmly declined.
“Having survived the infamous 'trial’ last year, the princess probably believes her popularity will win this contest with her husband in the end,” Havenstock said. “Since none of them, not the princess and not the advisors, have ever seen the new king’s temper on the subject, they have no idea how far-fetched their assumption is.”
“That is the truth of it,” Rand said. “It gives me an idea. I will write to Liverpool again and suggest that those advisors be given an audience with the king. Perhaps when he glares and bellows at them, they will understand the situation in its fullest.”
Havenstock eyed the glass in Rand’s hand. “Is that the result of your consternation with the matter? You rarely drink whisky at this hour.”
“That was only one annoying meeting. My day was full of them.”
“Do tell.”
“Easy for you to make light of my plight.”
“I meant it. Do tell. I love hearing about others’ miserable days.”
Rand stretched out his legs and took a good swig of whisky. “Two bailiffs found the family solicitor and issued dire warnings about my brother’s debts. I was called forthwith, and had to threaten warnings of my own. Fortunately, they saw the sense of my reasoning.”
“Meaning you paid them off.”
“Damn it, yes. Only in part, but—” But what? It was an old story. Giles ran up debts, and Rand paid them. It had only gotten this bad once before. He had tried to draw a line then, only to have his brother outflank him in a most clever way.
Giles was good at being a charming scoundrel, he had to give him that.
“That alone justifies imbibing,” Havenstock said. “What else put that frown on your face today?”
They now broached a topic Rand did not choose to discuss. He still did not even know what he thought of it. However, that visit with Mrs. Fontaine had left him badly out of sorts.
He forced himself to think of her by that assumed name lest he accidentally address her by her given name at the wrong moment.
“I saw to that business with Edeline’s wardrobe. I have a hell of a life, don’t I? Talking to royalty in the morning, and fussing with a girl’s clothing in the afternoon.” He sipped. “There is something unmanly about that latter duty. I wish I had sisters like you do who could manage all of that.”
“You do have a sister.”
“Lot of good she does me, up there in Scotland. How the hell does a Scot wound himself with a sword? I thought they were born brandishing them like experts. Thank Clarice for me regarding her recommendation of that dressmaker. It appears that will work out, and I am finally done with this.”
Havenstock’s eyes gleamed with humor. “Did you go there yourself, to make sure all was in order?”
“Briefly.”
“Then you must have met this Mrs. Fontaine whom my sister likes so much.”
“Briefly.”
“What did you think of her?”
Rand shrugged, perhaps too emphatically. “She is a dressmaker and she seems capable. She is much what is expected.”
“I assure you, she is not what is expected. If she were fifty, tending toward stoutness, and dripped French throughout her speech, that is to be expected. Not that woman.” He leaned over. “Do not pretend you did not notice she is lovely, still young, has a fine form, and carries herself with the airs of a gentlewoman.”
She had those airs because she was born to them. As for lovely, hell yes, she was lovely. And well formed. Good lines and proportions. If she were a filly, she would fetch a king’s ransom.
Which was exactly what he had paid for her.
She did not know about that. He had realized it as soon as he entered that apartment. Giles had never told her about that part.
Of course he hadn’t.
Rand had not gone to her home to collect on that ridiculous trade, which was not the same as not thinking about it once there. That bargain had been nothing more than an excuse to make Giles give up something valuable in return for once more being bailed out of debt. The goal had been a moral lesson.
The details had been Giles’s idea, too, not Rand’s. I have nothing you would want that you cannot buy yourself. Except Selina. I saw how you looked at her. Pay them all off, and she is yours.
No, he had not gone to collect, but he assumed she knew. That he had not collected lent him a principled position and the upper hand. However, since she remained ignorant of Giles’s trade, that left him with nothing except—well, damned little.
“I saw her once. I brought the carriage to get Clarice and Mrs. Fontaine walked her out,” Havenstock said. “She wore this dark scarlet dress, as simple as could be. Not an inch of skin showed, it buttoned clear up to her chin, yet I defy any man to see her and not start picturing what is under that fabric. Surely you know what I mean, even if you only saw her briefly.”
“I have no idea at all what you mean.” Only he did.
Mrs. Fontaine—Selina Duval—had been favored by nature. Her dress followed excellent lines and proportions, especially on the top. The dress had been dark blue today, not scarlet, in a hue much like her eyes, and its simplicity alone seemed to beg for speculation on just why it fit quite the way it did. Which naturally led to the picturing Havenstock now referred to. High, full breasts atop a soft, lithe body…
“You should get married yourself, rather than try to marry off your sisters, if you dream about a dressmaker, Havenstock.”
“I thought she would make a fine mistress. She is beautiful, refined, and luscious. I considered it seriously.”
Sorry, boy, she is taken. Bought and paid for.
Where the hell had that thought come from?
“But you did not make the offer?”
“Clarice suspected, and gave me hell. Her threats grew vicious. I was shocked.”
Rand wasn’t. Clarice had excellent taste, and an artistic eye that made her a celebrated lady of fashion. It was why Rand had taken her recommendation of this time-worn, past-its-better-days shop so seriously.
She was, however, sure to make some man’s life miserable. Strong-willed did not begin to describe her.
“Just as well,” he said. “Such a mistress is bound to be very expensive. After all, she knows all about luxuries, and how to get the most out of a man.”
“True. Still—” Havenstock sighed.
“If it helps at all, I have reason to think the woman does not seek any protector, and would be insulted by such an overture.”
“You do? What makes you think so?”
Rand stood. “Just a feeling. I am going to the card room. Care to join me?”
Chapter Four
Selina entered the shop at nine o’clock. No patrons would come this early, but there were always things to do. Today she wanted to review the plates for Edeline’s wardrobe and make some notes on recommended fabrics, should the lady arrive for her measurements and want to make a few more choices.
Felicity pulled her aside as soon as the door closed. With a hiss and a gesture, she urged Selina into the shop’s little office.
“She is here. Lady Giles,” Felicity reported. “They arrived fifteen minutes ago.”
“They?”
“Barrowmore is with her. Try to find out how much he
is up for. We don’t want Lady Giles choosing the most expensive of everything, only to have the duke balking at the bills.”
How odd that the duke had come with Edeline. Perhaps he had rethought everything and had decided to withdraw the patronage. Selina could think of no other reason for his presence.
She walked to the back chamber, took a deep breath, and entered. The duke sat there paging through fashion plates. Not the ones Edeline had chosen. He perused others Selina had drawn and colored over the last year. He had helped himself to a big stack from a shelf.
Edeline sat across from him at the table, looking bored and tired. She kept wiping her eyes, as if sleep threatened to seal them shut.
“My apologies,” Selina said after she curtsied. “I did not expect you this early, Your Grace. Lady Giles.”
“He made me come.” A big, noisy yawn accompanied the accusation. “He has important things to do, he says. He can’t be arranging his whole day around my wardrobe, he says. He doesn’t care when it is fashionable to shop, he says. I said he did not have to come at all, and I could have slept in.”
The duke did not even look up from his perusal of those plates. “You have an artist’s hand, Mrs. Fontaine. Did you have lessons?”
“There are no such lessons to take, although like most young women I was taught the basics of drawing and watercolor painting. I copied French plates and learned on my own. I am honored, however, if you think them well done.”
“Very well done.” He looked up. “What must Lady Giles decide today?”
“Perhaps, before she leaves, the carriage ensemble and—”
“Ooo, I want sable trim on it.” Lady Giles, suddenly awake, clapped her hands.
“The ensemble is intended for summer, my lady. Fur is not advised in summer.”
“It is only trim.”
“Why don’t we discuss it after you are measured? Excuse me for a minute only.”
Selina slipped out and found Delyth, one of the seamstresses. “You come do the measurements, and I will take the opportunity to talk to His Grace about the account.”
