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

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Mending the Duke's Heart: A Historical Regency Romance Book Page 8

by Bridget Barton


  In this design, it was the same pink gown with the ivory overlay stripped away. A white ribbon with a green embroidered thread pattern was wrapped around the high waist. A small section of lace decorated the edge of the pink capped sleeves and square neckline.

  “You see, I’ll have the lace folded in at first, but then when the ivory is removed, I’ll have them pulled out so it won’t look nearly so stagnant in colour.”

  “That’s genius,” Ella remarked.

  She had never seen a dress that could transform into two.

  “But,” Ella hesitated, “aren’t you supposed to have two separate gowns? I mean, I love this, of course, but isn’t that the way things are done for these things? One for court and one for after?”

  “Usually, yes,” Lady Pamala remarked slowly. “But I suppose I just put so much of myself into this design that I couldn’t bear to wear it for but a moment. I figure this way, it could live on a little bit longer,” Lady Pamala replied. “Does that sound silly?”

  “No, I don’t think so,” Ella responded quickly. “But I’m not the one to impress, am I? I mean, what do I know about what’s right or wrong with somethin’ like this.”

  “I don’t care what all those stuffed up peacocks think,” Lady Pamala waved off an imaginary crowd of society. “I just hoped it to be something worthy of a professional dressmaker.”

  “Oh, it is certainly lovely,” Ella assured her new friend.

  Lady Pamala visibly relaxed at the declaration. Ella couldn’t believe that her opinion—the opinion of a humble shop girl—could matter so much to the sister of a Duke.

  Before another word could be said on the matter, however, they were interrupted by the sudden burst of a ball of fur that came pummelling into the room. The thing couldn’t have been more than a puppy as it tripped over its own paws to get to its mistress.

  “Oh dear, I’m sorry,” Lady Pamala said, scooping the thing up. “Lord Melvin gave me this little fellow for my birthday last month. It was Melvin’s way of giving me some company for all the hours I spend alone in here,” she explained with a roll of her eyes. “I had the maid put him away after breakfast, but he must have escaped. We haven’t been apart since I got him,” she said as she did her best to contain the exuberant puppy in her arms from licking her face.

  Ella reached out and did her best to pat the puppy’s head. The instant he realized he was getting attention he gave all his efforts over to escaping his mistress and covering the new person in just as many kisses. However, he began to lick and nip at her fingers while his little front paws scratched at the air.

  “You’re such a wild little thing,” Lady Pamala cooed at him. “Miss Ward will wish you gone so we can work. I’ll have to send you away.”

  “I don’t mind him at all,” Ella countered.

  “Are you sure? He seems wild now, but I promise it’s just a little burst of energy. He’ll run himself out in a moment and then just curl up in my lap and sleep while we work.”

  The little pup yipped as if in agreement with his mistress’s words.

  Again Ella was shocked to see how much Lady Pamala was willing to consider her opinions and feelings. What lady would have looked at Ella and thought to put her needs and comforts before their own? Certainly, if Ella’s treatment downstairs earlier this morning had been any gauge of the respect given to someone in her class, she never in a million years would have considered that Lady Pamala would be so kind, treating her as if she were an equal.

  “He’ll be entertaining to have around,” Ella assured Lady Pamala.

  “Fabulous,” Lady Pamala announced. “Now, shall we get to work?”

  Chapter 8

  The Duke of Winthrope entered his London home two weeks after having fled it. As he walked through the front door, he knew it would be to a less than warm welcome. Instead of returning at his mother’s request, he had been unable to face the prospects of seen Lady Parshall again.

  Every day he looked in the mirror and scolded himself for being such a coward, but still knowing he wouldn’t change his actions even if he had the chance to. He wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to again face the woman who had once meant so much to him and had utterly fooled him into believing he meant so much to her.

  As the days passed, he found that even the country’s joys couldn’t reverse his sour moods. So it was with that knowledge that he returned to his family in London a week before the intended coming out event.

  Despite not coming to his mother’s aid, she still chose to respond to his letters over the last two weeks. They seemed to become increasingly more disconcerting to him. The last letter he received was the worst of all.

  He knew that there was always a little bit of enmity between his sister and mother, but it seemed the stress of the upcoming event and disagreement on the preparation had made everything come very near the boiling point.

  It was not long after his first letter from his mother that he received a second that she was very concerned with how he was handling the situation. Firstly, she was very offended that he had hired Lady Pamala a companion when she already had the Duchess to do her the honour of accompanying her in society.

  Though it was explained by Lord Melvin that the companion was solely for the purpose of aiding Lady Pamala in her dressmaking, the Duchess found this also to be a less than a sufficient reason to have the miss in the house.

  The Duke realized quickly from that note written in his mother’s hand that she had hoped that Lady Pamala might give up the whole venture seeing that there would never be the possibility of completing it independently.

  Instead, in the Dowager Duchess’ mind, the Duke had found means to encourage Lady Pamala along with her plans. It was a very lengthy note that informed the Duke that to have one’s gown made by one’s own hand was just simply not done, and though Lady Pamala might not understand the social ramifications such a thing might have, he certainly should and by extension should have never allowed the added help.

  Then there was the matter of the miss, herself. Of course, the Duke only knew what Lord Melvin had said the day he had hurriedly left for the country and had trusted his friend and manager to execute sound judgment on the matter. His mother’s concerns, however, made him slightly worried that things might have been overlooked.

  The Dowager Duchess explained that although she had never met the miss, the information she had received from the housekeeper was distressing at the very least. According to Mrs Jenkins, the Duke was allowing a child too young to even be competent in sewing, with the hygiene of a bridge troll, a sharp tongue, and an eye that was sure to wander to the sliver to have free rein of the house.

  After this first note of distress, the subsequent letters were from an altogether different address. It seemed that after the discussion with the housekeeper, the Duchess brought these concerns up with Lady Pamala, insisting that the girl be dismissed right away.

  Lady Pamala flatly refused her mother, saying that all these judgmental accusations were baseless. It had seemed that Lady Pamala had spent the whole of the afternoon in her new companion’s company and found her to be a most amiable partner and a competent seamstress.

  Lady Pamala had then made the fateful assertion to her mother that she was sure to have the garment done in time with this miss’s help. Then it seemed from that moment on, Lady Pamala stayed in her sewing room, even taking her meals there, and only appeared outside of it for the two dinner engagements.

  The Dowager Duchess had claimed she had done all she could to bear the brunt of the preparations and ignore the urchin in her home for the next few days. It was after the second dinner that she seemed to have taken all she could stand.

  Lady Pamala had announced to an inquiring lady at the small private meal her intentions of self-producing her garments. Several of the matrons had scoffed at the Dowager, and she had even heard one mention—when she thought the Dowager was out of earshot—that the family must be in a wrong way if a homespun dress was required.

>   Between the stress of planning a ball with no help from Lady Pamala and the shame of the gossip, the Dowager Duchess had decided to remove herself from the Duke’s home to stay nearby with her sister-in-law, Lady Crayton.

  It was regrettable what was transpiring between his sister and mother, but he wasn’t exactly sure how to rectify the situation. There was no doubt that his choice to ignore her plea for support hadn’t helped his mother’s mood at all.

  After all, they were both his responsibility to care for, and it would seem that in his desire to give his sister what she wanted, he had only fuelled discontent between them and drove his mother from his home.

  He understood his mother’s hesitance at allowing Lady Pamala to make her own garments for such an important event. Then to have those concerns voiced by members of society must have been so terrible for her to bear.

  What Lady Pamala either didn’t realize or didn’t care was that a lady of her breeding and family line was not only expected to be trained in the ways of proper manners but to only engage herself in ladylike activities.

  Perhaps a lesser member of the ton could make garments without much scoffing because it would be out of necessity. For a Duke’s sister to choose to spend her time in what would otherwise be a commoner’s vocation was enough to raise a few eyebrows.

  Perhaps if the Duke wasn’t such a vital member of the Tories. His entire political career was based on the notion that things were meant to stay as they had always been. A sister lowering herself to the status of a commoner, even in hobby, might raise some questions about his opinions on the people’s deserved rights in government.

  Honestly, when it came to this regard, he agreed with the Whigs but would never say so out loud. If word got back to his Tory allies that his sister was actively crossing social lines and then parading such a thing before the Queen, it would put him in a very delicate if not serious situation.

  These were all issues that had not even entered his mind when he had been so willing to give his sister whatever she wished for. He knew now for certain that she had a way of blinding him against reason and good judgment entirely.

  So it was with this regret as he entered the house, he went directly up the stairs, only stopping to hand over his hat, gloves, and cane to the butler at the door. He knew already where he would find his sister at this late afternoon hour.

  Instead of entertaining guests in the drawing-room or making calls on others as she was meant to, she would be found in her sewing room.

  The last two weeks had not just deepened his scowl but hardened his resolve to do what was best for Lady Pamala and not what she wanted. Though there would be no time to give up the dress and order a replacement now. He would see that she understood her place in society and no longer charmed him out of having a firmer hand with her.

  Taking the steps two at a time, he made his way directly to the back of the hallway that faced the back garden below. Both of them had spent many days in this long narrow room in years passed. Though he knew there was no point in keeping it as a nursery now, with no small child to contain, he wondered if allowing his sister to make up her own room of sewing projects, materials, and tools would have to be the first thing he was more firm on.

  He heard the laughter and talking before he even got near the door. There was the distinct yip of a dog barking as well. He was instantly reminded of his years in boarding school when boys were free to run wild outside. Indeed, it was not the noise that should be coming from inside a fine house, let alone from a lady.

  He creased his brow all the more, ready to give his sister a stern hard look. Pushing back the door, however, both dark brows shot high in the air at the scene that was exposed before him.

  Lady Pamala was standing on top of a stool, wrapped in one of her embroidered fabrics, her hair an unkempt mess, and the little rat of a dog running circles around her.

  “Perhaps I might entertain you with a song, your majesty,” Lady Pamala said with a deep bow from her perch on the stool.

  She nearly wobbled off the cushioned top as she did so, only causing a fit of giggles. The miss directly across from her and with her back to the Duke stuck her nose high into the air.

  “I suppose it would please the court,” she said in a condescending drawl.

  Lady Pamala stood up straight, wobbling again on the poof, making the Duke wonder if she was not intoxicated. She held her hands clasped in front of her chest. Taking a deep breath in, she became very serious and began.

  “When young and thoughtless,

  Laura said,

  No one shall win my heart;

  But little dreamt the simple maid,

  Of love’s delusive art.

  At ball or play,

  She flirt away,

  And ever giddy be;

  But always said,

  I ne’er will wed,

  No one shall govern me.”

  Lady Pamala struggled to keep a straight face as she drew out the chorus of the song, her companion laughing most animatedly as well,

  “No, no, no, no, no, no,

  No one shall govern me.”

  “What on earth is going on in here!” The Duke demanded in a booming tone.

  Immediately Lady Pamala started at his booming sound and stumbled from her perch. Her companion actually yipped in alarm, much like the little dog, clutching her chest. She quickly took a step to the side, making way for the Duke to enter and help Lady Pamala, who was falling from her stool.

  “My dear brother. You’ve returned finally,” Lady Pamala said, a little breathless as she flung the long length of the cream train over her shoulder.

  She had a broad smile on her face that quickly faded when she noticed her brother’s sombre mood.

  The Duke let his eyes wander the room. There were scraps of fabric strewn all over the floor and furniture. Where there wasn’t fabric, there was left out trays of teas or sandwiches long overdue for collection.

  The little ball of fur stopped its yapping at his declaration and now stood at his feet pawing at his boots with a bunch of slobbery tied rags in its mouth.

  “What is this thing? What madness has come over you?” he said, prodding the small beast with his boot.

  He heard the companion gasp at his refusal to be kind to the animal. However, the creature, seeing no fun in his current focus of attention, turned and ran to his mistress. She scooped him up in her arms and began to tug on the rags.

  “I told you, Lord Melvin gave Scrappers to me as a gift,” Lady Pamala explained.

  “You told me he gave you a dog that is not a dog. It’s a repugnant knot of hair. Look at it; he is drooling all over you.”

  “Oh, he is just a bit drippy from getting a drink of water,” Lady Pamala responded.

  “And is that not supposed to be your gown? Is he not ruining it? You look a right state, Pamala,” he finished firmly.

  Lady Pamala passed the over-sized long-haired rat to her companion, who took charge with ease. Without skipping a beat, the beast dropped his rag toy and began to attempt to lick the miss’s face.

  “Oi, calm down, little thing,” she scolded in a crass manner.

  “We were just having a bit of fun. This was the last fitting, and we got a little carried away. I’ll finish the dress with almost a week to spare. Isn’t that wonderful?” Lady Pamala explained.

  “I think carried away doesn’t quite do this room justice.”

  Lady Pamala looked around the room as if seeing the mess for the first time.

 

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