Blessedly, for the moment, they were the only customers.
“Why, Your Grace. And Lord Northam. What a pleasure!”
Lilian turned to see Mr. Philip Rundell. “Mr. Rundell. How nice to see you again.”
“How may I assist you, madam?”
Mentally crossing her fingers, Lilian smiled. “I must confess, I am here as a shamefully impatient wife. My dear Exton stopped by to order some pieces for me, but I simply cannot wait to see what he has commissioned. Would you grant me a boon and show me the drawings?” she finished, batting her lashes. Xavier coughed and pressed his fist to his mouth, his eyes gleaming, and she discreetly pinched him.
Mr. Rundell beamed indulgently. “I did not realize he had. What an honor for us. But if I do, you must promise to be all that is surprised when they arrive.”
Xavier smoothed his cravat. “Oh, I’m sure my sister will be very surprised.”
“Then allow me to check the books. A moment, if you please.”
Nodding graciously, Lilian watched the older man search for nonexistent records and drawings for a full five minutes, until his brow had furrowed and cheeks reddened. “Is there a problem?”
“Not at all, madam,” he replied, too-heartily. “By chance, do you know when His Grace stopped in? Then I’ll know who might have assisted him.”
“Why, just yesterday morning,” said Lilian. “As I said, I am shamefully impatient.”
Mr. Rundell clicked his fingers. “Vickers!”
A young man arrived at pace from behind the back curtain. A young man with brown hair in a queue, and perfectly manicured hands. “Sir?”
“I’m looking for some drawings, and I can’t seem to find them. Pieces the Duke of Exton commissioned for his lovely new bride yesterday.”
The young man looked confused, and Lilian fixed her coldest smile upon him. “Let me assist your recollection of His Grace. Tall and broad, pitch black hair. And while some might find it fearsome, I find his facial scar so very dashing.”
The clerk went parchment pale. “Er…”
“Quite,” said Xavier, folding his arms and stepping closer so he loomed over the clerk. “Exton is a decorated war hero, you know. A favorite of Wellington’s. And though he suffered such terrible injuries in France, my brother-in-law was determined to walk again. Even if it meant he limped.”
Parchment pale turned green. “Oh no…”
“Oh, yes,” said Lilian icily. “The duke you refused to serve.”
Mr. Rundell’s indrawn breath echoed around the shop. “Madam?”
“Do forgive me, Mr. Rundell, for there are no drawings. Because this clerk belittled and embarrassed my husband for his disabilities, accused him of drunkenness, and then manhandled him to the street.”
Xavier shook his head in disgust. “Imagine if that story made it to the drawing rooms. To Lady Kingsford. Her granddaughter’s new husband, an exceedingly wealthy duke, a war hero unrecognized and utterly disrespected.”
“I-I,” stammered Vickers, his temples glistening with perspiration. “He didn’t have a card.”
“Do not say another word,” said Mr. Rundell, his face puce. “You have disgraced the good name of Rundell, Bridges, and Rundell. Remove yourself from my sight. I feel I must dismiss—”
“Now, now,” said Lilian crisply. “This is a moment to learn and reflect. Perhaps,” she added, glancing at the clerk’s soft hands, “a period spent on mundane and unpleasant tasks would be appropriate?”
“An excellent suggestion. Vickers, you may expect a great deal of sweeping, scrubbing, and silver polishing in your future. Now go.”
The clerk actually whimpered, then fled.
“Your Grace, please accept my sincerest apologies,” said Mr. Rundell, looking absolutely woebegone. “We failed badly in our duty of care.”
Lilian clasped her hands and met the jeweler’s gaze. “I daresay some training wouldn’t go amiss. A scar, limp, or speech impediment makes no less a person. And our returning soldiers deserve every courtesy. Heaven knows they have earned it.”
“Hear, hear,” said Xavier, his smile more a baring of teeth.
Mr. Rundell bowed low. “I can only hope His Grace will forgive such an appalling incident. Should he choose to return, he will enjoy a markedly different experience.”
She inclined her head. “I appreciate the sentiment. We shall see. Good day, sir, come along Northam.”
With a smooth twist of her skirts, Lilian left the shop on Xavier’s arm, her chin high. Her bravado lasted until she resettled herself on the carriage seat, then she slumped back against the soft leather. “Oh my.”
He applauded. “I thought that clerk might faint. Or piss his trousers.”
“Xavier,” she scolded, but her lips twitched. “I did have my hartshorn at the ready.”
“I think you just might master this duchess malarkey.”
A genuine smile broke out. “I hope so. I truly do. But please do not mention this to anyone. Ever.”
He desperately needed some fresh air.
Closing the estate ledger he’d been perusing with a thump, Gabriel shoved it to one side of his library desk. It was no bloody good. Without Fairlie to translate, and Lilian to ask questions, the columns and calculations all seemed to blend into each other. He’d wanted to be able to make some intelligent contribution to this afternoon’s meeting, but apparently that would be another too-lofty dream. Instead, he hauled himself to his feet, and made his way toward the back of the townhouse. The outdoor walled garden and fountain would offer some peaceful respite, even in cool and overcast weather.
“Excuse me, Exton?”
Surprised, Gabriel turned at his aunt’s soft, hesitant voice and smiled at her. “Back already from the museum? I thought you and Clarissa…had statues to inspect.”
“We did go, but it was very crowded. Too crowded to get close. So we returned. I wondered if, ah, you could spare me a few moments of your time? We have refreshments in my private parlor.”
“Of course,” he replied, baffled at her nervousness. “Lead on.”
Following the petite, brunette dowager duchess along the hallway, they then turned into a small but well-furnished parlor on the east side of the townhouse. Clarissa, his aunt’s longtime redheaded companion, already sat on a chaise with an embroidery frame beside her, and a full tea tray on the low table in the middle of the room.
“Tea, Your Grace?” she asked timidly.
Gabriel frowned. What on earth was the matter with the pair of them? “Please,” he replied politely, taking a seat in a high-backed chair beside the fireplace, while his aunt perched next to Clarissa on the chaise. They were both immaculately gowned and coiffed, but right now they looked more like two badly-behaved ensigns awaiting trial and punishment than a dowager duchess and a wellborn spinster.
Clarissa poured, but her hands were unsteady, and the sound of crockery bumping and teaspoons clattering was overloud in the heavy silence.
He took a sip of tea only to give them a moment to compose themselves, then he set the cup down and lounged back in the chair, as unthreatening as he could make himself considering he was twice as large. “How may I assist?”
Imogen took a deep breath and clasped her hands, much like Lilian did when anxious about something. “I have a, er, delicate subject I wish to broach with you, Exton.”
“Indeed?” Gabriel replied, trying not to tense. No good conversations started this way, and he certainly wasn’t in the mood for a maternal-type lecture on his quirks or habits, or marital advice.
“I…that is, we were wondering, er, if you might consider, ah, if you might permit…Clarissa and I to retire to the country.”
Stunned at the thoroughly unexpected direction the conversation had turned, he absently rubbed his jaw. While they weren’t blood-related, he had no other family than Imogen left, and the request stung. Surely she didn’t feel out of place here? He hadn’t witnessed any friction between her and Lilian as there could sometimes be betwee
n ladies when a title changed hands, in fact they’d appeared from the start to regard each other warmly. “You are unhappy?”
His aunt started to answer, halted and exchanged a long glance with Clarissa, then finally met his gaze once again. “Please understand, what I am about to say has nothing to do with you. Or dear Lilian. I know despite your, ah, inexperience, the dukedom is in good hands, and that she will be a most admirable duchess.”
Gabriel inclined his head, his stomach sinking further. “But…?” he prompted softly.
“I cannot remain in this house. It is far too painful. My boys…” she trailed off and paused to dab her eyes with a lace handkerchief handed to her by Clarissa, “…my boys loved it here. I did not. And now the memories, the shadows of the past are suffocating me. Sometimes I swear I hear them laughing. Clinking their brandy bottles. Smell the scent of their perfume and cheroots. And it is tearing me apart. Every day.”
He froze. “I understand what you are saying. Memories can be…unpleasant.”
Imogen slumped, the weariness of someone who has continued through suffering and can no longer, a dullness in her kind eyes. “I know you do, dear boy. And that is why I dare to ask this boon. Clarissa and I both yearn for the seaside. Fresh air and ocean spray. To ride horses and walk dogs and collect shells. London no longer holds any delights, the social whirl is exhausting, and the city is just so busy. Sometimes I swear I cannot think or catch my breath anymore.”
“Indeed,” he said slowly. “Where do you think to go? Bath, perhaps? Brighton?”
“One of my dower properties is a small manor in Cornwall—”
“You are planning to become a smuggler?”
Imogen’s jaw dropped. Then a tiny smile curved her lips. “Only if I overspend my widow’s portion.”
“Unlikely,” Gabriel replied, as he turned to Clarissa. “You are willing to…accompany my aunt to Cornwall, madam?”
She didn’t meet his gaze, instead looking at Imogen. “It would be my pleasure.”
Christ.
It was just as well he hadn’t taken a bite of the pastry he’d picked up, because he might have forgotten to chew. That look. How had he been so blind that he hadn’t seen the depth of devotion between the two women before? They were far more than mistress and companion. Far more than friends. That look had been tenderness, sensual heat and years of knowledge all at once, given in the confidence that the feelings were returned in full. In the army he’d seen a few instances of lustful gazes or too-long embraces, and two officers taking a woman to bed together. But considering the law, and the possible penalty of hanging, it was safer for all involved to pretend those men felt nothing more for each other than a close friendship or the bonds of brotherhood that the army forged in steel. Why it seemed more startling to witness between two ladies of the ton, he couldn’t say. If there were men who bedded each other, it stood to reason than women would also.
But such affection. Such care…
Pure envy shot through him. Imagine having that. Someone who knew all your faults and flaws, and yet still looked at you as though you made the sun rise and set.
“Exton?”
Jolted from his thoughts, Gabriel finished his pastry to gain a moment. Then he inclined his head. “I have no objection, Aunt.”
Imogen sat forward on the chaise, her eyes bright with hope. “Really?”
“I want you to be happy,” he replied, before adding, “together. I will require you to have staff. Footmen for protection, of course. You are the dowager Duchess of Exton. But your private affairs…are your own business.”
“You know,” said Clarissa, and tears began to stream down her cheeks. “Oh, Your Grace. You won’t banish me?”
“We won’t be separated?” added his aunt as she grasped Clarissa’s hand and squeezed it tightly.
“No. Of course not,” he said gruffly. “You’ve had enough dark days. Now for something good. I just ask that you be discreet.”
“I wish something good for you, also. With Lilian. Friendship and affection growing into love.”
A vise wrapped itself around his chest. He needed to get out of this parlor before he blurted the reason why his marriage would always have a shadow hanging over it. “Thank you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have…a meeting.”
And he left the room as fast as he was able.
Chapter 9
“Your Grace! It’s right nice to see you.”
Lilian smiled and inclined her head at Daisy, the junior modiste in a popular Leicester Square shop. Xavier had been happily deposited at his club after their successful outing to the jeweler —there was only so much shopping with his older sister a young buck could tolerate—and Dawn had met her here, ready to assist in finding the perfect gown for the Castlereagh ball. Not only was Daisy a wonder with a needle and possessing a keen eye for color and fabric, but she had been the modiste who had secretly sewn the close-fitting yellow rebellion gown. Such a favor must be rewarded.
“Ah, so you’ve heard my news.”
“Beg pardon, ma’am, but everyone in London has. They are wondering when you are going to step out for the first time with His Grace. The new duke is so mysterious!”
Strolling further into the shop with Dawn trailing behind and two footmen waiting at the door to carry packages, Lilian’s gaze travelled over the bolts of fabric on display. Silk, satin, bombazine, cotton, twill, muslin, in a wide variety of hues. Below them were glass-fronted cabinets with trims like feathers, cards of lace, and ribbons. “Then I shall tell you a secret, Daisy. Exton and I will be attending the Castlereagh’s private ball as our first public outing. And I should like to wear a gown sewn by you, if you are available.”
Daisy gasped. “Ma’am! I mean…er, something as important as that, I’ll fetch a senior modiste—”
“I don’t want a senior modiste. I want you. Actually, I must warn you, I require far more than one ball gown. Exton insists that I have an entire new wardrobe. Evening gowns, tea gowns, morning gowns, underclothing, nightgowns, a riding habit…everything. He was quite taken with the jonquil-striped gown, and wishes all my attire to fit just so.”
The young woman swallowed hard and hopped from one foot to the other. “Of course. May I ask, er, when everything is needed?”
Lilian nearly laughed at the mix of excitement and panic on the modiste’s face. To create an entire wardrobe for a young duchess would put her skill and creativity on prominent display, elevate her standing no end, and bring in countless new customers. Probably pay off her indenture and even allow her to open her own shop. But if Lilian wanted every item as soon as possible…
“Don’t worry. The ball gown would be required at once, but the rest when you are able.”
“Right you are, ma’am,” said Daisy, her relief palpable. “Shall we get started, then? We’ve got in some lovely new fashion plates, and the latest La Belle Assemblée and Ackermann’s Repository. Anything you like, I can make. Then I’ll take your measurements to ensure a perfect fit. Would you like tea?”
“That would be most welcome,” Lilian said, as she and Dawn followed the modiste into a curtained off private area especially for the highest ranking customers.
Soon they were settled on a chaise and surrounded by fashion plates, with steaming cups of tea sitting on a low table in front of them. Dawn had been her maid long enough to know her taste, so also perused plates to help the decision-making go faster. They had to be back at Exton House for the ledger meeting with Mr. Fairlie at three o’clock, and absolutely could not be late this time.
It was difficult to choose when there were so many options, though. And she wanted a style that Exton would admire, but she also liked. Daisy wasn’t the only person excited at the thought of a whole new wardrobe. To know, in future, she could open her armoire and see colors and fabrics and trims that she had chosen rather than Grandmother, was heady indeed. No, more than heady. Liberating, like a caterpillar escaping a cocoon to become a butterfly.
But first she h
ad to have a ball gown. The armor of a faultless ensemble to help her navigate her first public outing as Duchess of Exton, for the ton tabbies were probably already sharpening their claws in anticipation. Quick, private weddings were always gossiped about, yet this had the added spice of a mysterious, reclusive, ex-army duke who also happened to be her late fiancé’s cousin.
Lilian shivered. Perhaps actual armor would be better. And a sword.
“What are you thinking, ma’am?”
She glanced up at Dawn and smiled ruefully. “I’m thinking this gown has to be impossibly perfect.”
Her maid sniffed. “Don’t know why you hold yourself to such standards. You’ll never please everyone, no matter how hard you try.”
“I’m not trying to please everyone,” she said too-sharply, stung.
Dawn took a sip of her tea. “Mmmm. Nice and hot. My bones will be glad when the weather is warmer, and that’s a fact.”
Lilian rolled her eyes at the unsubtle change of subject, and returned to her pile of fashion plates. After an hour of assessing and discarding, she wanted to wail in frustration. Not one plate had everything she needed, and mostly the necklines were to blame. Some were so low her nipples would barely be covered. Others had a wide band of Brussels lace that she knew from experience would itch. More than a few boasted the kind of high, excessively modest necklines that Grandmother would heartily approve of and Exton would hate. And the last lot were gowns with flounces so pronounced at the bodice, sleeves and hem, that she would resemble a walking, talking set of drapes.
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