"I will say nothing when the dressmaker's bill comes in, because I mean it when I say that my fortune is your fortune," Michael tried to convince Katherine with his eyes, but he saw that she was reluctant to believe him.
Lud; what was he to do? He thought for a minute, before finally deciding on a course of action.
"Come," he said, beckoning for her to leave her needle-work down.
Katherine, though wearing a dubious expression, stood to her feet and followed him, as he made his way from the parlour to the entrance hall.
"Call for a carriage," Michael instructed the footman, "And fetch my wife her pelisse and bonnet."
The footman duly obliged, and within a few minutes, Michael had bundled Katherine inside the carriage and instructed the driver to take them to New Bond Street.
"Where are we going?" Katherine queried, as the carriage trundled through the city traffic.
"We are going to fetch you a new wardrobe," Michael replied easily, waving away her protests with a gloved hand. "You seem reluctant to spend our money, so I shall spend it for you."
Katherine protested for the entire journey, but Michael matched her every point on financial prudence and modesty with points of his own.
"You are a duchess," he said, as the carriage finally reached its destination, "And not just any duchess, you are my duchess. I want you to have everything your heart desires."
That he wanted her heart to desire him was neither here, nor there at that particular moment. Michael was not giving with the expectation of receiving in return; no, he simply wished Katherine to understand that what was his, was also hers.
Madame Lanchester was one of London's most famous modistes; her renown was so great that even Michael had heard of her. Fashion plates of her designs often featured in Ackermann's Repository, and indeed, when Michael and Katherine entered the lavender scented shop, he saw that the plates were displayed upon the walls for the customers to admire.
"Can I help you?"
An extravagantly dressed woman, in a kimono style dress of burnt silk, with a ridiculous feathered turban to match, greeted the duke and duchess in a rather haughty manner.
"I wish for my wife to be fitted for a dozen or so dresses," Michael replied easily, unaffected by the modiste's snooty manner, "As well as half a dozen ball gowns, several walking dresses, and a riding habit or two."
"Michael, I don't ride," Katherine whispered beside him.
"It seems I'll also need a horse."
"I don't deal in bloodstock," Madame Lanchester interrupted with a sniff, "Nor do I usually see people without an appointment. I may, however, be able to make an exception, Lord...?"
"I am Elsmore," Michael replied, well aware that the modiste was merely feigning indifference to his request, for she would make a fortune from him in just a few hours, "And this is my new duchess."
He could see that Madame Lanchester was attempting to remain cool and collected, but he could also see her beady eyes light up, as she realised just how much she stood to make from her unexpected customers.
"Well," Madame Lanchester finally said, with a sigh that caused the feathers of her turban to flutter, "Seeing as it is you, your Grace, I think I can fit you in."
Madame Lanchester beckoned an amused Michael and a rather nervous looking Katherine to follow her into the back room of the shop, where a lavishly decorated dressing room lay. The modiste clicked her fingers and two young seamstresses came running.
"Does your Grace have any preference for colours, materials, designs?" Madame asked, as she guided Katherine toward the centre of the room, where a velvet clad stood.
"I think warm colours," Katherine offered hesitantly, "For anything cool washes me out."
"Excellent choice, your Grace," Madame cooed, seeming to take a shine to the timid duchess who was set to make her a much richer woman.
"This is also nice," Michael waved absently at an illustration on the far wall, which seemed to show something pink, fluffy and suitably feminine.
"That is an illustration of a flamingo, your Grace," Madame Lanchester was unimpressed with Michael's attempts to help, "Perhaps you might wish to peruse some of the street's offerings for gentlemen, whilst I attend to your wife?"
Well. Michael had not been so thoroughly dismissed since he had assumed his title. It was actually rather refreshing, he thought, as he strolled from the shop out onto New Bond Street.
Michael ambled aimlessly along the footpath, perusing the windows of the shops as he passed. Most of the shops offered luxury items, for they served the residents of nearby Mayfair, and as Michael came upon the window of Asprey's Jewellers, he paused.
He had not bought Katherine any jewels, barring the plain, gold band that she wore upon her finger. Would it overwhelm her if he purchased her something that might convey the strength of his affection toward her?
Thinking that he would just take a look, Michael entered the jewellers. An hour later, he left, his pockets much lightened by his purchases.
Madame Lanchester was just finishing up, when Michael returned to the modiste's.
"I have much work to do," she said, to Michael's enquiry about their progress, "Though luckily, I had one or two gowns already made, which her Grace may wear until the custom pieces are finished."
"Good, good," Michael smiled.
Katherine, despite her earlier protests, seemed to have quite enjoyed her afternoon.
"I can't thank you enough," she said, as they settled themselves back into the carriage, "I promise that everything shall last me for years and you won't have to—"
"Katherine," Michael cut her off mid-steam, "There's no need to thank me. For heaven's sake, you are my wife. You have free reign to take credit in any shop you wish, I know that you will not bankrupt the duchy. Spend as you please, for it pleases me."
Katherine's lips looked as though they were about to form the words "thank you" again, but before she could utter them, Michael thrust the parcel in his hands toward her.
"Now, this is a gift," he said gruffly, as he nervously wondered if she would like what he had chosen for her. He watched anxiously as her gloved fingers undid the paper wrapped parcels, to reveal a velvet box.
"The box is not the gift," Michael prompted, when it seemed as though she were about to admire it.
"Of course," Katherine laughed, a flush staining her cheeks. Her eyes were lowered as she opened the box, but her gasp of admiration let Michael know that she approved of what she had found inside.
"It's too much," she protested, finally tearing her eyes away from the emerald necklace and matching earrings, which perfectly complemented her eyes.
"They're merely a token of my affection," Michael said, struggling as he tried to form the words he wanted to say. "I know that you had no desire to marry, Kitty, but we can try and make the best of this, if you would like."
Lord Byron, he was not.
Still, his words seemed to have a startling effect on Katherine, whose eyes glistened tellingly. Perhaps witnessing his awkwardness was more endearing than flowery prose.
"I would like that, very much," she said simply, reaching out to squeeze his hand.
Her touch, even though they both wore gloves, sent a shiver of desire through Michael. The atmosphere in the carriage changed in an instant, from one of tenderness, to something else completely.
Dare he kiss her?
Katherine's lips were slightly parted as she watched him, her green eyes reflecting back the desire which coursed through him. He gripped her hand and was about to pull her toward him, when the carriage came to an abrupt halt.
"Oh," Katherine glanced out the window, patting her hair nervously, "We've arrived."
"Wonderful," Michael noted, his voice strained.
The footman opened the door of the carriage and Michael disembarked first, before helping his wife down onto the footpath. He held her hand for a fraction longer than was necessary, simply because he wished to feel her close, before escorting her inside.
"Have the packages brought to Her Grace's rooms," Michael instructed the footman.
Katherine watched as the young lad brought an armful of parcels up the stairs, her brow creased into a frown.
"So many gowns," she said, nervously twirling the wedding ring upon her finger, "It does seem extravagant, especially when I never go anywhere."
"And why is that?"
"Why, where would I go?" Katherine laughed nervously, "I am never invited anywhere, I can't remember the last time I saw a play or an opera. I am afraid that you have married a most unfashionable homebody."
"There's nothing amiss with being a homebody," Michael answered, for in truth, he too preferred quiet evenings with a book to attending yet another crush, "Though I won't hear you say you're unfashionable; you are the new Duchess of Elsmore. You will dictate fashions, if you wish, not follow them. Now, as to having nowhere to go in your new gown, I insist on escorting you to the theatre tonight. I'm told that when I inherited the title, I also inherited a box at the Theatre Royal."
"What will be showing?" Katherine asked curiously.
"It does not matter," Michael impulsively reached out to take her hand and lifted it to his lips, "For all eyes shall be on you."
He bestowed a gentle kiss upon her gloved hand, relishing the faint blush of pleasure which stained her cheeks. The more he tried to be romantic, he thought cheerfully, the easier it became.
He just needed to be patient and allow time for Katherine to fall back in love with him.
Chapter Nine
Katherine absently hummed a love ballad, the words of which she could not recall, as Bessie attended to her toilette later that evening.
"You're in fine fettle, my lady. I mean, your Grace," Bessie observed, as she wrapped a strand of Katherine's hair around a poker-hot curling iron.
The lady's maid was struggling to adjust to Katherine's new moniker, but she'd had no trouble adjusting to the perks which came with the title. Katherine had instructed the girl that morning to send one of the footmen to fetch some bits and pieces for her new dressing room, and when she had returned, she had found her coiffeuse filled to bursting with everything a lady might need—and plenty of things she didn't.
Still, Katherine had not been able to scold the girl, for Bessie had brimmed with excitement as she had slathered every kind of paste and cream upon Katherine's skin. In fact, she had smeared so much Olympian Dew onto Katherine's face, that if the cream's youth-restoring claims were true, Katherine would have turned into an infant on the spot.
"I am excited at the prospect of a trip to the theatre," Katherine conceded, not wanting to reveal too much. She was a little ashamed of the giddy thrill of excitement that Michael's actions that afternoon had elicited in her, for as a woman of nearly thirty, she knew better than to be so foolishly romantic.
His request that they make "the best" of their situation could hardly be compared to one of Lord Byron's sonnets, but what it had lacked in finesse, it had made up for in sincerity. Perhaps he did not love her anymore, but if he wanted to make their marriage more than one of convenience, it must mean that he had forgiven her. She just had to be careful not to let her romantic hopes get in the way of his peace-offering. They could have a happy life together, even if she had not been his first choice of bride.
Katherine's breath caught a little as she remembered the moment when she had been certain that Michael was going to kiss her. His eyes had darkened with desire, just as they had in Lord Atwood's library, but there had been something else there as well.
Tenderness.
Had she imagined it? She did not think she had, for she had seen him look at her like that dozens of times before, when they had both been young and full of hope and innocence.
She had not thought that he would ever look at her that way again, but now...
Don't get your hopes up, Katherine chided herself sternly, as her heart ached within her chest. It would be too much to wish for anything more than she already had. She had a home, a title, a husband who treated her with courtesy and respect; to want for anything more would be greedy.
Katherine waited patiently for Bessie to finish dressing her hair and praised the young woman for her efforts.
"You're a vision, your Grace," Bessie stated sincerely.
Katherine surveyed her image in the mirror and found that while she was not quite the vision Bessie had suggested, she did look rather well. Her hair had been curled at the front and tied high, in the Eastern style, leaving her neck long and exposed, a perfect showcase for Michael's earlier gift.
Katherine fingered the cool stones of the emerald necklace, marvelling at how they glinted under the soft candle-light of her dressing room.
Throughout her marriage to Charles, she had not once received a gift from him. In fact, Charles had seemed to find amusement in completely ignoring her birthday or Christmas, whilst taking care to hint to her of the gifts that he bestowed upon his mistresses. He exacted great pleasure in making her feel less than worthy of his attentions.
Even if Michael had presented her with costume jewellery made of paste, Katherine would have been touched, for she had become so accustomed to feeling as though she was not worth anything at all. She vowed, as Bessie settled an ermine lined shawl around her shoulders, to try and find something sentimental for him.
Her husband—Katherine still wanted to giggle like a green-girl when she called him that—was waiting for her in the entrance hall. As she descended the stairs, Katherine could feel his eyes upon her, and she whispered a prayer of gratitude for Bessie's slavish devotion to fashion.
"You look beautiful," Michael offered, as Katherine reached his side.
His eyes scanned her from top to toe, appreciatively, leaving Katherine feeling warm all over.
Goodness, she chided herself again, calm down. She had the rest of the evening to get through, it would not do to fall at the first hurdle by swooning in the entrance hall.
"Shall we?"
Michael offered Katherine his arm and she slipped her own through it, following him outside to their waiting carriage.
Katherine could not, for the life of her, recall the last time that she had been out and about in London town at night. She was fascinated by the sounds and sights of Covent Garden, which was thronged with people, merrily making their way to the theatre. The carriage crawled at a snail's pace, as it pushed its way through the crowds, but Katherine did not mind the delay, for there was so much to see and hear.
Outside the Theatre Royal, on Drury Lane, carriages were lined up to deposit their well dressed occupants at the door. Katherine took Michael's offered hand, as she disembarked, nervously aware that heads were turning in their direction.
"They're just curious," Michael whispered soothingly, as he led the way inside to the foyer.
The curious crowds outside were nothing compared to the ones inside, who descended upon the newlyweds to offer greetings and congratulations.
"Your gown is simply beautiful, your Grace," Lady Smithson—who had ignored Katherine at Caroline's ball—gushed sycophantically.
"Divine," another lady whom Katherine did not know, agreed, "You must join us for one of our saloons, your Grace. I am having a milliner from Paris speak with us next week."
Katherine mumbled a noncommittal response and allowed Michael to guide her away from the crowds, toward the staircase.
"Lady Smithson would not even look at me last week," she observed in a whisper, as they began their climb to the box, "And now she is vying to be my closest companion."
"You will find many 'old friends' crawl out of the woodwork now that you have a new title," Michael replied wryly, his eyes telling her that he too had experienced such things.
There was not much time for him to elaborate any further, for they had reached their box, and by the time they had settled themselves into their seats, the gas-lights were dimmed for the start of the performance.
As the curtains rose on the first act of Othello, Katherine's gaze
wandered around the theatre. Their box was in a prime location for viewing, but it was also a prime location in which to be viewed. Looking glasses glinted as they were pointed in her direction from other boxes and in the stalls below, Katherine witnessed people craning their necks to get a good look at the new Duchess of Elsmore.
"You will soon become accustomed to it."
Michael reached out, took Katherine's hand—which had been nervously fiddling with the stones around her neck—and held it firmly in his own. His grip was reassuring, as was his innate way of knowing what was bothering her.
Katherine relaxed back into her chair, determined to enjoy the play, though her husband's warm grip was something of a distraction.
As the play unfolded, Katherine remembered just why it was that she had never enjoyed Shakespeare's tale of the Moorish Prince. There was something about Othello, which reminded her of Charles; his jealousy and obsession, the easy way in which he was swayed by Iago into believing that Ophelia was being unfaithful.
Charles had always been quick to accuse Katherine of infidelity, flying into rages at her supposed flirting with other men. In the end, it had been easier for her to simply not go anywhere, rather than endure the false accusations that would be levered at her upon her return.
It was, of course, entirely hypocritical of Charles to be so incensed by the idea of her straying, when he himself took no care to remain faithful to her. Indeed, he had enjoyed dropping the names of his mistresses casually into conversations, and each time that he did, it was like a slap across the face.
"Lud," Michael's voice broke through Katherine's ruminating, "I can't say I feel any sympathy toward the man. If he thought Ophelia unfaithful, he should have asked her, rather than murdering her."
Katherine glanced down at the stage and found that the play had come to its grisly end. Her husband wore a look of bemusement upon his handsome face, and Katherine felt a stab of love pierce her.
Michael was a good man, strong and dependable, with none of the petty insecurities that had plagued her late husband.
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