Mending the Duke's Heart: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Bridget Barton

  “I suppose it would do for a private dinner party,” she reluctantly agreed.

  She took off a glove and rubbed the silk between her fingers.

  “It’s not the finest material, but it will just be a few families, and since the Season hasn’t truly begun, I see nothing wrong with wearing the gown.”

  Ella was keenly aware that it wasn’t the finest silk, but it was the only silk she could allow herself to buy when they had no real need for the material in their shop. Most of their clients stuck to muslin and cotton. There was also the fact that she had made this particular dress from an old design taken apart and re-sewn in a new fashion. Silk was delicate, and she knew that it had suffered under the extra handling.

  “Good,” Lady Pamala nodded.

  She shined a satisfied grin at her friend’s reluctant approval.

  “May I please take this one then, Miss Ward? I would be happy to settle the account right now and return Friday afternoon to retrieve it,” Lady Pamala asked turning her attention back to Ella.

  “Don’t you want to know the price first?” Ella blurted out.

  She was still getting over the shock of finally attracting high society into the shop. She could barely register that someone would actually buy one of her own designs.

  Her mother made a disapproving sound behind her at the sudden crass outburst.

  “Perhaps we should have the price first? This certainly isn’t Madame Malcome’s,” Lady Clarissa spoke as her eyes wandered the whole shop sceptically.

  Ella was familiar with Madame Malcome’s Millinery Shop. It was only two blocks away from their own and directly on Covent Gardens. It was where most ladies of the ton brought their fabrics to be sewn into dresses.

  “Nonsense,” Lady Pamala said waving off her friend.” I can clearly see this is a fine establishment, with a keen eye for quality work. In fact, I only wish I had found this little gem sooner.”

  They made their way over to the counter, Ella walking around it, reaching down, and pulling out an order slip. She started to write down the lady’s name and information, including the date to complete the work.

  “Mrs Ward, really, I still must give half up front,” Mrs Henson huffed next to the two ladies. “One would think after years of patronage, such a thing would not be required.”

  “I beg your pardon, Mrs Henson, but it is our store policy,” Mrs Ward calmly explained as she did every time Mrs Henson ordered a new garment.

  Ella did her best to ignore the other conversation. She passed the slip on to Lady Pamala for her approval. She barely looked at the price before opening the coin purse that had hung from her wrist and producing the full amount.

  Ella was amazed as she watched Lady Pamala pull out one guinea after the next. When she had four produced, she slid them over to Ella.

  “I don’t want any change,” Lady Pamala announced. “I know it will be hard work to finish the alterations in such a short time, and when you have other orders to fill, I think this price is more fair than the one offered.”

  “It’s a half-pound more!” Ella stuttered. “I can’t take it!”

  “Nonsense,” Lady Pamala repeated.

  It seemed to be a practised habit to dismiss any good deed or opinion that she had as a common occurrence.

  “Lady Pamala, it’s a ready-made item,” her friend reminded her.

  Though the price reflected a milliner’s design, Lady Clarissa was subtly suggesting that it was nothing more than a jobbing seamstress’s pre-cut work.

  “It is an original piece. I promise you that. I designed it myself,” Ella interjected with her delicate chin jutted out.

  “And I expect you made the lace yourself?” Lady Pamala encouraged.

  “Yes, your ladyship.”

  ““Then well worth the price, even if it’s ready-made,” Lady Pamala commented to her friend.

  Ella knew her mother would scold her for vanity later, but she couldn’t help but beam with pride as her hard work was given recognition. However, her moment was short-lived as she was jolted out of it by the jingle of the front doorbell as the entrance to the shop swung open yet again.

  She nearly dropped her mouth open in shock that three clients could possibly be in the shop at once. She recovered quickly, noticing who it was. As he liked to be called, Mr B had been expected to collect some embroidered monogram handkerchiefs that evening.

  Ella automatically reached behind the counter and produced the ready-made package for her mother to give over once she was done with Mrs Henson.

  “Ah, what a splendid surprise. Lady Clarissa,” he said with a bow to the two ladies.

  “Mr Brummel, what a pleasant encounter,” Lady Clarissa said with an entirely different countenance. “I don’t believe you have met my friend; this is Lady Pamala Edmundson. This will be her first Season out in society,” Lady Clarissa explained.

  “I know your brother well. I am not sure there is a more hard-working gentleman than the Duke of Winthrope,” Mr Brummel explained as he bowed to his new acquaintance. “I would hope you will do me the honour of a dance at the Dowager’s ball after you are presented.”

  Ella struggled to take this all in. She would have liked to kick herself for not realizing that Lady Pamala Edmundson was the sister to the Duke of Winthrope. She had seen his name many times over the years in the newspaper.

  What was worse, she had never realized that the pleasant Mr B was none other than Beau Brummel, a close friend to the Regent and authority on all things fashionable for the ton. He had been patronizing their shop for years, though only on sporadic occasions as he often preferred the country over London. Even when away from town, though, he had written to Mrs Ward asking for her monogrammed handkerchiefs as he favoured the embroidery design developed by Ella.

  Mr Brummel scooped up his package, leaving a pound in its place for the four silk handkerchiefs.

  “What has brought you ladies to this little treasure of a shop this evening?” Mr Brummel asked the ladies by way of pleasant conversation.

  “Lady Pamala was rather insistent on purchasing the dress that caught her eye in the window,” Lady Clarissa explained.

  “One of yours, Miss Ward, is it not?’ Mr Brummel asked.

  “Yes, sir.” Ella nodded, struggling to regain her composure.

  “I’ll expect you’ll be hard-pressed to find a better milliner shop than Mrs Ward’s here, what with Ella making the designs,” Mr Brummel commented.

  Ella’s eyes widened almost as big as Lady Clarissa’s at the firm announcement.

  “You’re always too nice with your words, Mr B,” Mrs Ward said after bidding Mrs Henson a good evening.

  “Well, they are certainly not undeserved,” Mr Brummel reiterated. “I enjoy how readily available you have always been for any job big or small I bring to your door, but I know it is only a matter of time before the rest of the gentry discover how fine an establishment this is. I dare say when that time comes, you’ll scarcely have time to make me a riding jacket.”

  Mrs Ward blushed and waved off the high praise. Lady Clarissa still looked astounded that such a man as Mr Brummel could think so highly of this little shop off Covent Grove.

  He checked his pocket watch and stored it properly.

  “Well, I must be off. Until we meet again, Mrs Ward, Miss Ward. And a good evening to you ladies as well.”

  He bowed politely before exiting the store.

  Two high-society ladies’ appearance was enough to give Ella hope that their shop had a future yet. Still, the high praise of Mr Beau Brummel and in the earshot of a duke’s sister was enough to send her near to fainting from excitement.

  “Mama, can you believe it?” Ella exclaimed after all their customers had left the shop. “All this time, him bein’ Beau Brummel. And a duke’s sister! If tomorrow is half as good as today, we are sure to be set for life!”

  Chapter 2

  The Duke of Winthrope let out a heavy sigh as he exited the carriage and walked up the short path to
his London home. Despite the warm and inviting lights already emanating from the house in front of him, the Duke took little comfort from it.

  He had arrived in London just over a week behind his mother and sister. Both had insisted on not wasting a moment of this Season away and desired to arrive in town well before the official start to make their necessary preparations.

  Of course, he understood their urgency. This was to be Pamala’s first Season out in society. His solicitor had already informed him of a large sum charged against the estate in preparation for the upcoming Season.

  He had no need to curtail his sister’s or mother’s spending but still was not looking forward to the added burden it would present to his estate and his time. It was his time that made him the most uncomfortable.

  The Duke was more than energetic when it came to his civic duties in the House of Lords and very active in running and improving his lands. Still, when it came to society, he preferred to avoid those duties. With a sister coming out in society, he wouldn’t be able to circumvent this Season as he managed to do over the past few years.

  He would be required to chaperone her as she was presented the first time at court, escort her to various balls, dinners, and events, including her very own ball hosted by his mother.

  The Duke didn’t wish to deny his sister all the glamour and splendour that could be offered to her as she came out in society, but at the same time wished he didn’t have to participate in it as well. She had waited patiently for the last two years, and it was for this reason, he mustered his resolve to do what he must for her sake.

  The expectation had been that Lady Pamala Edmundson would be presented before the Queen Mother in her sixteenth year, as was common practice. All of her education had been situated to prepare her for that moment. However, everything had changed when the Duke’s father had suddenly passed the winter before Lady Pamala’s sixteenth year.

  It had been devastating to every member of their family, coming so quickly and so unexpectedly. Out of respect, they had stayed home that first Season to mourn in private. Still, as the next came into view, the Dowager Duchess had not yet recovered from the loss of the late Duke.

  Lady Pamala had been understanding and kind, as was her nature, and agreed that another Season spent in the comfort of their Essex home was best suited for the whole family. The Duke rather thought it was overly mature for her age to be willing to sacrifice a moment so highly anticipated for young ladies for the sake of her mother.

  Now, Lady Pamala was eighteen, and if she were not to make her presence in society this year, it would undoubtedly inspire questions from the ton. The Dowager Duchess had put on her brave face, did her best to shake out the sorrow from her heart, and focused all her attention on a successful first Season for her daughter.

  The Duke had considered this a healthy distraction for his mother as the task had given her some purpose again. He almost wished he had insisted on their return to society a year earlier if only for the marked improvement it gave his mother.

  If he could have but sent his sister and mother to London alone to navigate the balls, dinners, plays, operas, and so much more of the Season, he would have sent every shilling he had along with them. However, that was not to be the case.

  The Duke certainly didn’t consider himself a recluse. Still, when it came to frilly dressed ladies in ballrooms tittering behind their fans at unsuspecting gentlemen, he was vehemently opposed. He had seen enough of the ton his first few years as a young pup. He had no desire to interact with any of the lot ever again if he could help it.

  Yet with a heavy sigh, he entered the front door of his London home, knowing that this visit was to be much different. Instead of visiting on occasion throughout the Season to complete his duty to the Lords, he would be staying the whole extent and leaving his social calendar completely in his mother’s hands.

  “Winthrope, we wondered when we might expect you,” his mother exclaimed at his entrance into the ladies’ drawing-room.

  He found both his mother and sister seated in the well-furnished room near the hearth and a glowing fire. As he expected, Lady Pamala was bent over her embroidery with a brow furrowed in concentration. In one of her black satin dinner dresses, his mother had set aside the book she had been reading to welcome her son home.

  “Pamala, have a lantern brought over. You look like you are straining your eyes far too much,” the Duke scolded.

  “I told her the very same thing,” the Dowager agreed as she took her place back on the soft sofa across from her daughter.

  Lady Pamala finished her stitch before looking up at her brother.

  “I can see perfectly fine by the firelight.”

  “You know there was a time when you came running to hug me when I came home,” the Duke scoffed as he took a seat next to his sister and nudged her with his shoulder.

  He was a sombre man most of the time, but nothing brought a smile out of his dark visage like teasing his little sister.

  “I expect at my age that would be very unbecoming. Besides, that was when you would be away for months at a time for school. I saw you only ten days ago. Hardly enough time to warrant a hug,” she teased back.

  The Duke let a humph of disagreement but let the subject drop.

  “What are you doing there? I expected I would return home to find you and mother huddled together in a corner, counting the coins you plan to spend on the morrow.”

  Lady Pamala let her eyes roll exaggeratedly.

  “One would think I am sending you to the poor house the way you go on about it,” Lady Pamala retorted.

  “So what have you been up to?” he asked with a chuckle. “What is this bit of scrap you are working on?”

  He tugged at the item in Lady Pamala’s hands just as she pulled it away from him. Lady Pamala had always had a passion and talent for needlework. As a result, she was rarely found without her sewing basket and a project in hand.

  “I’m embroidering down the hem for my court dress,” Lady Pamala replied.

  She held out the section of the long train of satin that was tight in a hoop. The intricate golden peacock feathers reflected the firelight, giving them an almost glittering effect against the white fabric. “

  “How do you already have a dress to embellish? Ten days ago, you and mother were just beginning to discuss milliner options. Although, that doesn’t look like much of a dress,” he finished lifting up the length of fabric that trailed from her lap along the couch and over the arm so that it just hovered above the ground.

  “Pamala has the ridiculous idea of making it herself,” the Dowager chimed into the conversation. “I’ve told her over and over that she will not have time to make one herself without completely shutting herself away for the next three weeks. There is far too much to still plan to let her do such a thing.”

  “Yes, Pammy, let someone else make the gown, then you can add all your bits and ribbons after. No sense in running yourself into the ground. This is meant to be a Season for you to enjoy yourself,” the Duke agreed with his mother.

  Lady Pamala wrinkled her button nose at the mention of the nickname the Duke had called her as a child. The Duke was half tempted to tug on one of her chocolate ringlets as he used to do when she was young to really get her riled up.

  It mattered little that Lady Pamala was now eighteen, and he was nearly twenty and five. When the two of them were together, they were always the silly little children that once ran all over the country estate to hide from their nurse.