Stop. Stop, before you lose every scrap of power you have.
She pulled away. Robert’s eyes flashed with frustration for a long, burning second as he bit his lip, for all the world as if he wanted to say something. As if he wanted to pull her into his arms and continue—but that was her own invention. It had to be.
‘You see?’ Charlotte tossed her head, the room spinning as she did so. No, damn it—she had to keep upright, and speak normally. Speak as if every part of her wasn’t trembling. ‘It’s really nothing at all, feigning a preference. Anyone could do it. Good day, Mr. Duke.’
When Robert finally bowed his head, it was as if the moment shattered. The light dimmed, even as the giddy feeling of heat in every part of her increased. ‘Good day.’
Anne Fletcher’s dressmaking establishment was the very picture of clean, spartan dedication to the art of the gown. Ignored by the very richest in the ton due to the lack of services that accompanied the dress-fitting experience—really, who could possibly have a gown made without a small army of underlings ready to ooh and ah over how magnificent one looked, and perhaps offer tea?—Anne Fletcher and her talents were patronised by Charlotte to the highest degree. The dress was the most important thing, after all—and with a Fletcher dress, half the ballroom would look at you in the most exquisite agonies of envy.
She only told the people she truly trusted the name of the dressmaker. Anne Fletcher got excellent clients, Charlotte got gratitude, and the gowns got to be seen in a tremendous number of pleasant environments as they flattered their wearer. It also meant that when Charlotte came to Anne’s establishment, the lady herself took personal responsibility for the next sartorial creation.
‘If you think about it, it’s the most perfect idea.’ Charlotte spoke sunnily to Dorothea as she regarded herself critically in the mirror. The bare wooden floor-boards of the dressmaker’s shop creaked gently as Anne moved around her, a handful of pins in her mouth as she tucked and folded. ‘I can’t believe I didn’t think of it sooner.’
A small line had appeared between Dorothea’s brows at the beginning of their conversation, and had deepened as Charlotte had attempted to explain her reasons for hatching such a scheme. ‘I don’t think it’s a—a natural line of thought, dear.’
‘I don’t know what you mean. It’s perfect—I have all of the fun of shocking the ton, and my father can’t claim he didn’t ask for such a fate. I’m given money and even more attention than usual, while my chosen suitor gets to enjoy a lifestyle quite different from his own.’ Charlotte shrugged, making sure the neckline of the gown she was currently wearing didn’t rise or fall too much with her movements. Of course it wouldn’t—Fletcher gowns never did what you didn’t want them to do. ‘I could choose anyone. Why, next month I could be courted by a priest, or a—a miller, or a prince…’
‘But you chose Robert for your first sham suitor.’ Dorothea’s tone could be very flat when she wanted it to be. ‘And Robert went along with it.’
‘And why wouldn’t he? For all of his myriad flaws, the man’s no fool.’ A sudden wave of doubt filled Charlotte. ‘But—but don’t tell Thomas, dear. Please. Your husband is wonderful in many respects, but he probably wouldn’t look kindly on—’
‘On this? You’re almost definitely correct. But Robert is hardly a youth—he makes his own choices.’ Dorothea sighed. ‘If he wants to take part in this—this arrangement, no-one is going to prevent him.’
Charlotte frowned. ‘It’s almost as if you wished to put an adjective in that sentence, Dorothea. Did you wish to say madcap, or perhaps foolish, in front of the word scheme?’
‘I said nothing at all. You jumped to those words immediately.’
‘Yes.’ There was no needling her friend when she was in one of her solid moods. Dorothea had always known what she thought, as steady as a rock—oh, a quality to be envied! ‘I suppose I did.’
This is why she hadn’t wanted to talk to Dorothea about this. Not at first. The trouble with having a best friend, a friend who truly was as close as a sister, is that said friend would treat your plans with all the honesty that a sister would provide.
Madcap. Foolish. She really had thought of those words immediately. She was no stranger to a harebrained scheme, indeed had taken part in many of them, but there was a chaos to this plan that frightened Charlotte as much as it excited her.
Just like that kiss with Robert Duke. Frightening and exciting in equal measure. Exciting because of course it was exciting, kissing a man… but frightening as well.
Why had she been frightened? Because—because that false kiss with Robert had felt more real than any kisses she had previously experienced. A strong, delicious wave of pleasure that had threatened to transport her entirely.
‘Are you well, dear?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Anne asked you if you wanted a bonnet-ribbon in the same colour as the gown.’
‘Oh, goodness. Forgive me.’ Charlotte looked down at Anne, full of regret. ‘I would love one. Excuse me—I’m a little out of sorts. My sleep was less than perfect.’
‘If you’d like a little air, ma’am, the courtyard is free.’ Anne pushed a pin through the final part of the hem with a small nod of triumph. ‘It might be a good opportunity to see how the gown moves.’
‘Yes. Perhaps a little air would do me good.’ At least it would stop her thinking about the kiss—that deep, surprising kiss that had left her breathless. ‘I’ll be back in a moment. Perhaps two.’
Shortly after Charlotte had left the room, Dorothea looked very carefully at Anne. She drew closer to the modiste, her expression hard to define as she began to speak. ‘Miss Fletcher?’
‘Yes, ma’am?’
‘I’m sure as a woman of exceptional talent and—and flawless reputation, you didn’t listen too hard to the conversation that just occurred. Just as I never listened to Lady Beatrice’s conversations while working as her companion.’ Dorothea paused. ‘But just in case you were listening… I’d love to hear your opinion of my dear friend’s plan.’
A complex interplay of emotions passed over Anne Fletcher’s pale, sensible face. Dorothea waited patiently, listening for her friend’s footsteps. Eventually, with a brightening of the eyes that enlivened her expression, Anne put down her pins. ‘Well. From what I may have accidentally overheard—’
‘Yes?’
‘I think it’s madness.’
‘Exactly! Complete madness!’ Dorothea leaned closer, her voice taking on a hushed potency. ‘What on earth can she be thinking?’
‘Bringing scandal down on one’s own head has never opened a father’s purse. At least, not in my considerable experience of working in this shop and—and not listening to conversations.’ Anne gently moved aside a fold of the gown on her lap, her voice taking on the same tone as Dorothea’s. ‘She must be told.’
‘If you tell Charlotte to act in a certain way, she’s sure to want to do the exact opposite. It’s a most distressing trait.’
‘But she must be told of the unwiseness of this, at least. It could damage her reputation most severely.’
‘And of all the people to choose as a part of this crazed scheme—Robert!’ Dorothea shook her head, lost in thought. Anne gently nodded. ‘It doesn’t make sense. They’re always sniping at one another in public. They… they really do seem to loathe one another…’
The two women looked at one another again, a new understanding on their faces.
‘But—but that’s ridiculous.’ Dorothea looked down at her own skirts, a disbelieving smile on her face. ‘Thinking about it, I mean. Not that I’ve expressed it.’
‘I don’t think you have to.’
‘But no-one can be so utterly ignorant of the contents of their own soul! She can’t possibly think she hates the man when she—’
‘I couldn’t possibly say.’ Anne put a pin back in her mouth as she began work on the gown again, smiling. ‘But from all the conversations I haven’t overheard here… well, there�
�s always a lady who can’t seem to stop talking about how rude a certain gentleman is. And before long, I’m invariably sewing her wedding gown.’
They hurriedly moved away from one another as Charlotte’s footsteps sounded in the corridor. By the time she came bursting back into the room, a healthy flush to her cheeks, the two women looked as if they’d paid one another no mind for her entire absence.
‘I have had the most spectacular idea. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before this very moment.’ Charlotte’s eyes gleamed. ‘Archery.’
‘Archery?’ Dorothea and Anne spoke at the same time, their expressions identical. Anne quickly recovered herself, ushering Charlotte back in front of the mirror as she brandished another pin while Dorothea continued speaking. ‘As in a competition?’
‘Why not? I was going to organise one at the manor in any case. If I have one next week, I’ll be able to flaunt my unwise courtship and show everyone just how good I’ve become with a bow and arrow.’ Charlotte smiled as the skirts of her gown gently swayed. ‘It’ll be the most marvellous scene.’
‘You are terribly good at both archery and scenes.’ Dorothea smiled gently. ‘I believe gentlemen grow quite angry with how good you are at that particular sport.’
‘Why? Do you think Robert would be angry?’
‘… No. Not Robert. He’s happy to see talent no matter who exhibits it.’ The line appeared between Dorothea’s brows again. ‘I must say, that was a very credible show of concern for what your suitor thinks.’
‘Well—I need to practice, don’t I? I may as well start now.’ Charlotte kept her face as still as possible, panic leaping to her throat. Lord, her first instinct really had been concern! ‘And I’m already looking forward to it.’
‘As am I.’
‘Especially because Miss Fletcher here is going to make me a gown for the event that leaps clear over the line of respectability and lands straight into pure scandal.’ Charlotte stopped as Anne’s hands stilled on her hem. ‘You can do that, yes?’
‘I’m certainly capable of doing so, yes.’ Anne’s quiet, professional tone was a little quieter than usual.
‘You see? Everything is going to be perfect. Absolutely perfect.’ Charlotte paused for a moment, frowning. ‘Of course, it’ll be even more perfect if I have a new shawl. Can I run across the street in the gown, Anne? I’ll be able to see how it moves when I run.’
‘Of course.’ Anne nodded. ‘It’ll be an excellent incentive for the women in the shawl-maker’s shop to visit.’
‘Wonderful.’ Charlotte smiled. ‘I’ll be back in the briefest of moments.’
Once Charlotte had left the room, Dorothea and Anne looked at one another again. Now that there was no need to tiptoe around the issue, their conversation was short and to the point.
‘You would obviously never disobey the direct wishes of a client.’
‘Of course not.’
‘Not even under pain of death.’
‘Absolutely.’
‘But—but if another client appealed most delicately to your good sense, and asked you to make—’
‘A gown that makes Miss Pembroke look marriageable rather than scandalous?’ Anne sighed with clear relief. ‘Yes. Yes, I think I would be more than capable of that.’
An archery competition. Of all the things Charlotte Pembroke was full of—impudence, theatre and mischief, to put it lightly—Robert hadn’t been expecting her to be full of surprises as well. No surprises beyond that first waltz, at any rate. The letter had arrived at the townhouse two days before, lavishly perfumed and stamped with the Pembroke seal, delivered by a grinning boy who had no doubt gone on to tell the whole street who Miss Pembroke was writing to.
The sheer level of gossip was becoming evident. People now paused on the street to watch the brothers as they passed, and Thomas had already received an invitation to a gentleman’s house—a gentleman who hadn’t looked twice at him before. The Pembroke name was indeed opening doors for the Duke brothers, far more quickly than Robert had expected. And now… archery. One of the few sports he was truly, powerfully good at.
Yes. This would be a better day. Not least because he had insisted on taking the carriage with John rather than Thomas, Edward or Henry, promising to meet the other brothers at Pembroke Manor in time for the competition, and could now stroll along a sunny path with a clear mind and heart. Telling John and John alone the true nature of he and Charlotte’s arrangement had been a good idea, just as he had envisioned.
‘Well.’ John was evidently still considering the matter. ‘You were certainly convincing yesterday.’
‘I’m glad. I’ve never been a very good actor.’
‘Yes.’ John paused, the silence oddly meaningful. ‘You’ve never been very good at lying. Not until yesterday.’
‘You absolutely can’t tell Thomas. I can’t imagine what he’d bring down on my head.’ Robert looked anxiously at John. ‘Please don’t tell anyone—not a soul.’
‘I’m not going to tell anyone. Who am I going to tell—my pencils?’ John smiled gently, his eyes full of a compassion that Robert found both irritating and comforting. ‘I’m glad you’ve told someone, at least.’
‘You’re not at least. You’re the only one who isn’t going to laugh at me or shout at me.’ Robert sighed. ‘I feel like doing both to myself. It’s ridiculous.’
‘It’s certainly unconventional.’ John mused as they turned the corner, walking down a path flanked by handsome ash trees as they made their way towards Pembroke manor. ‘Eccentric. Rather artistic, really.’
‘There’s nothing artistic about pretending to court Charlotte Pembroke so she can keep buying shoes and theatre tickets.’
‘But that’s not why you’re doing it. If it was only that, you never would have accepted.’ John’s gentle tone carried an undercurrent of slightly mischievous humour. ‘You’re doing it so she keeps being treated well. Treated as her brother is, which is only right. You’re performing a great service.’
‘I’ve never been all that charitable.’
‘You’re being positively chivalric in this case.’
‘There’s no need to compliment me too much.’
‘I’m not. I’m rather taken by the idea, in fact.’ John paused, a slight smile curving his lips. ‘There’s… well. There’s a sentiment to it. A romance.’
‘There’s no need to go that far.’
‘I’m not.’
‘You just did.’
‘Oh, well. You can’t blame me. I’m a hopeless sentimental, after all.’ John’s pause was even more meaningful than the last one. ‘You don’t need to think about it at all.’
‘I’m not.’
‘I know.’ John raised an eyebrow, a note of reproach in his voice. ‘You don’t need to keep fighting me.’
True. He didn’t need to keep fighting him. Robert sank into an uncomfortable silence, examining the leaves of the hedgerows as they grew closer to the house.
Why was he so very resistant to any air of sentiment creeping into the arrangement? It was meant to be a courtship, after all—he would need to at least practice the sentiments if he had any hope of feigning them accurately. John’s observation had been nothing more than a flight of fancy, which meant there was no need to think about it.
No need to think about that kiss, either. The kiss that had left him quivering, hard and ready for something that was never going to happen. A kiss that had shaken him to his very core.
Damn it. He was thinking about it now. The feel of that kiss, the silken, heated splendour of it, was melding with all the sentiments that he would need to feign feeling. Sentiments that already lay somewhere in his breast, previously unused.
Yes. Unused. Definitely not already being used.
‘Are you ready?’
‘Yes.’ He wasn’t ready, but that had never made much difference. Pembroke Manor gleamed in the sun, the smooth lawns at the front of the house full of ladies and gentlemen attired in all of the colourful, ext
ravagant examples of dress that the frivolity of an archery competition allowed. Targets were being fixed in place some fifty feet away from where Robert stood, with bundles of bows and arrows being carried from the house by suitably-attired footmen.
He saw Charlotte before he saw anyone else. It was often the way—he located her whenever he entered a room, for some reason. It was as if she was a little more visible than everyone else, even when all he wanted to do was give her a scathing look and walk away. She was talking to Dorothea, her face alive with pleasure, and Robert fought a rush of pure awareness, of recognition, that flooded him from head to foot most unexpectedly.
Had she ever worn that gown before? No, no she hadn’t. Robert realised, with no small sense of discomfort, that he could remember every gown Charlotte had ever worn. Almost as if he had been looking at her without thinking about it, saving small, graceful aspects of her appearance to make his mind a more pleasant place to be.
She looked beautiful. More beautiful than she had ever looked before. Perhaps it was the gown—it was certainly glorious, a soft sea blue that emphasised the gentleness of her complexion—but as Robert stared, he knew it was more than that.
It was because he knew how she felt, now. How her mouth felt on his—how she sounded when she kissed, with that high, breathless sigh in her throat.
‘Goodness! How nice she looks today.’ John’s tone held nothing but the most innocent appreciation of a good gown, but Robert was briefly filled with jealousy all the same. He blinked away the unwelcome feeling, trying to remember who he was. Certainly someone whose head wasn’t completely turned by a blue dress. ‘Are you ready to pretend you’ve never seen anything lovelier?’
‘Yes.’ Robert spoke shortly, moving towards the group with a hastening step. Not that I have to pretend.
It was the first time she’d even been unhappy with an Anne Fletcher gown. It was beautiful, of course, a splendid example of the modiste’s art—but Charlotte had asked for scandal, vivid scandal from bodice to hem, and this charming blue gown certainly didn’t have that. It was refined, elegant and lovely, exactly what she had been trying to avoid, and it had taken all of Dorothea’s skilled ability to placate to stop her going back to Anne’s workshop and demanding that a different gown be made.
Blushing in Blue: The Brothers Duke: Book Two Page 3