Duchess by Design

by Maya Rodale

  “Yes, but what do any of us know of running a business?”

  “Plenty, I daresay! We manage households and servants. Such skills must be transferrable.”

  “They are. I would be happy to advise,” offered one woman. “I discovered that I have a knack for accounting when balancing our household books and have since taken over the accounting for my husband’s firm.”

  “The expense though. It must cost a tidy sum to establish a shop,” one nervous woman pointed out.

  “What are our membership dues for? What are we all contributing our pin money for, if not this?”

  “We do use these funds to support women,” Miss Lumley explained to Adeline. “We use our own allowances and occasionally pilfer from household funds, which is why no man can know what we do.”

  “The minute they discover we are appropriating their money to empower women is the minute we are likely to be cut off,” Miss Parks added.

  “I hope we can count on your discretion,” Miss Burnett said pointedly.

  Come alone. Tell no one. It made sense now. She had nothing to fear at all.

  “My hopes and interests are aligned with yours,” Adeline said solemnly. “I promise I will never breathe a word of this club or your efforts to anyone.”

  Whether they helped her or not, succeeded in their efforts or not, Adeline recognized these ladies were saviors for what they were attempting. Oh, how different her mother’s life might have been if she’d had a collective like this to turn to instead of a series of wretched husbands. She’d do anything to spare other women her mother’s struggles. Thus, when Adeline promised secrecy, she meant it with her whole heart and every fiber of her being.

  “Establishing a dress shop does fit the spirit and mission of this club,” Miss Burnett said thoughtfully. “Miss Black makes excellent points about how many women we could serve—from the seamstresses and shop girls she’d hire, to say nothing of changing the prevailing fashions to those that encourage women’s freedom. I motion to approve and support this venture.”

  Adeline’s heart went still.

  So often people had laughed at her when she had shared her dream of owning her own shop. And now? Silence reigned and it was excruciating. Was it approval or disapproval lurking in that quiet?

  Finally, one woman spoke up. She’d been silent thus far and even now seemed very nervous about speaking in front of the others. Her fingers clenched and twisted around a lace-edged handkerchief. “As you know, my husband owns many buildings with space to let,” she said quietly. “The other night at supper he was grumbling tremendously because one of his tenants had fallen through at the last minute, after he’d gone to the expense of preparing it. There are new floors, electric light fixtures . . . I wonder if we might . . . perhaps . . . be able to rent it for Miss Black’s shop?”

  “That is a wonderful suggestion, Mrs. Harris.”

  And that seemed to settle it. A shy, quiet woman mustering the courage to speak up had just made all the difference in Adeline’s life.

  “What do you think, Miss Black?” Miss Burnett asked.

  “I have dared to dream of such a world where this happens, but I never imagined that I might live in it.”

  Change the world, she had told the duke. But instead, perhaps she and these ladies would change the world themselves.

  Chapter Eleven

  Tradesmen at the door demanding payment and attention. Stop. Please fix. Stop.

  —Telegram from Her Grace,

  the Duchess of Kingston

  Two weeks later

  In the afternoon

  The brunette. Definitely the brunette. Her name was Miss Elsie Pennypacker, sole heiress to her father’s shipping fortune and a descendent of an old Knickerbocker family on her mother’s side—the Manhattan equivalent of a prestigious and distinguished lineage, even if it only went back an adorable 100 years (compared to his family’s title, which dated to 1066).

  She would be the future duchess of Kingston.

  Probably.

  Kingston had been feeling immense pressure to marry someone—anyone—quickly. Between the telegrams from his mother and missives from his secretary, the situation with the estates was becoming dire. Crops were failing. Mortgages coming due. And more tradesmen’s bills, too.

  Of all the women he had met at that point, Miss Pennypacker seemed to have the most promise. She had an amiable disposition, a voice that did not grate the nerves, and ambitions for motherhood.

  He had been courting her exclusively for the past fortnight. Besides possessing the requisite fortune, she was also in possession of dark hair and velvety brown eyes and a bow mouth that reminded him of . . . Adeline.

  But an Adeline without the propensity to tease him about marriage proposals or lecture him on the significance of the shirtwaist. He missed being made to feel like just a man, and not only a lofty title. He certainly did not receive any sharply worded rebukes from Miss Pennypacker challenging him to change the world or at least question his position in it. Instead, she told him about her passion for floral arrangements, her strategy for seating at dinner parties.

  She did not make him think or feel like his heart was bursting at the seams, like Adeline did.

  But Miss Pennypacker’s way with a guest list was legendary.

  Which was everything he wanted in a duchess.

  Probably.

  “So you are going to propose to Miss Pennypacker,” Freddie said as they walked through the city streets on an errand.

  “Yes,” he said with a certainty that he did not feel.

  “Excellent. Marian will be pleased; they are friends. They can sip tea and complain about us cavorting at all hours.”

  “Unless we do not cavort at all hours,” Kingston replied. They’d had their fun during their university days but as he’d grown older, he’d also grown more sedate in his pleasures. A sense of duty and responsibility tended to slow down a man’s cavorting. “Might I even suggest that we don’t give them anything to complain about? You know I have some notion of gentlemanly behavior.”

  Freddie just laughed.

  “Spoken like a man who has never been married. Allow me to paint a picture of your future: you return to cold, dreary England with your bride. You will be consumed with all the necessary work on the estate while she will become bored, lonely, and needy. This will make you bored with her. Affairs will ensue. Feelings will be hurt. Before you know it, you’ll be trudging along the Ladies’ Mile in search of some apology trinket.”

  They were, at present, trudging along the Ladies’ Mile in search of an apology present for Marian. Apparently she had taken issue with the hours her husband had been keeping, though Kingston suspected it might have been the company he kept during those hours that upset her.

  “I can’t imagine all this to become true. For one thing, I intend to be faithful.”

  “Oh well, all intend that. And it’s one thing if you marry for love. But if you marry for money?” Freddie shrugged. “She’s interested in your title. You’re interested in her money. It’s hardly the stuff of great passions and grand romances.”

  “That is unexpectedly astute, coming from you.”

  Kingston also hoped it was wrong.

  “I have learned the hard way. Just as I have learned to take my pleasures where I may.”

  Any further thoughts and conversation on the matter came to an abrupt halt, as he did, when Kingston saw a freshly painted sign hanging over a certain storefront on Nineteenth Street.

  The House of Adeline

  Could it be her? How many Adelines were in New York, anyway?

  Kingston resumed his steps, involuntarily drawn toward her name and the possibility that he might see her again. He got close enough to see a large display window, revealing a vibrantly colored pink gown on display. There were sparkly bits on it and ruffly bits, and being a man who took no interest in the attire of women (save for knowledge of removing it), he lacked the vocabulary to describe it. But Kingston was instinctive
ly aware that this dress was different from the gowns ladies tended to wear.

  It had to be her. How many women named Adeline who created such fantastic gowns were there in New York, anyway? Actually, probably a few, because that was New York for you.

  As such, that meant it would behoove him to confirm whether or not this was in fact, the one and only Adeline who haunted his thoughts and desires. If she was proprietress of her own establishment, it would assuage his guilt for the circumstances in which he last saw her. This would even be a great improvement in her situation. He could stop losing sleep over her, for wondering what had become of her, how he might find her, and how he might make things up to her.

  How many women named Adeline who had captured his heart were there in New York, anyway? Just one.

  “Might I ask why we are entering a ladies’ dress shop?” Freddie inquired as Kingston opened the door and resolutely stepped inside.

  It was a very fine shop, one that clearly catered to a wealthy clientele, or hoped to. The dark hardwood floors were covered in a plush crimson carpet, the walls were a bright white plaster, all the better to set off the stunning array of gowns on display. Massive gilt-and-crystal chandeliers provided a warm, flattering glow to the space.

  But the shop was empty. Other than a girl, but not the girl he sought.

  “Good afternoon. May I help you, gentlemen?” The woman behind the impressive mahogany counter had dark hair and eyes, similar to Adeline, but with a no-nonsense air about her that suggested she was excellent at managing anything and everything.

  “This is the House of Adeline?” Kingston asked.

  “That’s what the sign says.”

  “As in, Miss Adeline Black, formerly of Madame Chalfont’s dressmaking shop?”

  The shop girl’s eyes flashed, then narrowed, the manner that suggested that she suspected who he was. Because he had been discussed. At length. Not entirely favorably.

  “Yes, the one and only.”

  Kingston began to assemble the pieces together: this woman was likely a friend of Adeline’s, who was aware that he was the reason Adeline had been relieved of her position. She likely had thoughts and feelings upon the subject of his person that were not entirely charitable. And now she was the gatekeeper between him. And her.

  “How do you know her?” she asked, just to confirm, it seemed.

  “Yes, Duke, how do you know her?” Freddie quipped.

  The shop girl smiled and it was not reassuring. Kingston groaned inwardly because dukes did not groan outwardly.

  “We had a chance encounter once upon a time.”

  “How romantic,” she deadpanned.

  “It was very romantic.”

  “Stop. I might swoon.”

  “I’ll catch you. I’m known for my impressive displays of heroics.”

  She scowled. “Save your attempts to be charming for Miss Black. I suppose you would like to see her?”

  “Well, he’s not here for a gown,” Freddie answered, with a dashing grin as he leaned against the counter, quite oblivious to the woman’s decided lack of interest in his flirtations.

  “I’ll see if she’s free.”

  The shop girl disappeared behind a thick velvet curtain that was insufficient to conceal the sound of a furiously whispered conversation between two women.

  She was here. The woman who had slipped into all his waking thoughts and nightly dreams was here. His heartbeat quickened. Kingston did not try to slow it down.

  How could he, when he might soon have the opportunity to gaze at those dark, sparkling eyes, to breathe her in, to discover how she’d gone from down-on-her-luck to mistress of her own shop in less than a month’s time?

  Besides, he owed her a groveling apology.

  But the girl returned with terrible news. “Miss Black is busy.”

  As a rule, people were never too busy to see a man of his position. As such, he was not accustomed to being refused or accepting failure. For a moment, he was stunned.

  And then he was determined.

  Kingston glanced around at the finely appointed but utterly empty shop. “Busy? Is that so?”

  “She says you must make an appointment,” she said authoritatively. She began to dramatically flip through the pages of the appointment book—Kingston noticed they were all devoid of ink. “Shall we say for the first day, in the month of Never, in the year of our lord 1899?”

  Well, then.

  It was really time to turn on the charm.

  Kingston smiled at her. He disbanded with his I-Am-A-Duke posture and leaned casually against the counter.

  “What is your name, may I ask?”

  “Rachel. But it’s Miss Abrams to you.”

  “Hello, Miss Abrams. I would like to make an appointment.”

  He heard a muffled guffaw from the other side of the shop, where Freddie was giving a close and thorough inspection to the bodice of a gown on display while eavesdropping on the entire matter.

  “Certainly. And when would you like your appointment? Perhaps December?” she offered with a smile.

  It was June.

  Yes, she was definitely in the category of enraged on her friend’s behalf and determined to enact some sort of revenge for slights real and perceived. Oddly enough, this made him like her. One should feel thusly on behalf of their friends. The smile he gave her was genuine.

  “I was hoping for June. June seventh, perhaps.”

  “That’s today.”

  “I know. How about three o’clock?”

  “How about right now, you mean?”

  Kingston leaned forward and dropped his voice. “I am desperate to see her.”

  Miss Abrams leaned forward and spoke quietly, “So you can get her fired from this shop, too?”

  “Ah, that.”

  “Yes. That.”

  “Would it make a difference if I told you that my express purpose was to grovel at her feet and to beg for her forgiveness?”

  “I’d rather you bought a dress.”

  “I can buy a dress.”

  Miss Abrams smiled devilishly. “We only do custom work. You’ll require a fitting.”

  Kingston paused and considered all the things that men had done for love and he didn’t think twice when he said, “Then I should like to make an appointment for a dress fitting. Immediately.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Rational dress reformers want to know: why can’t a woman’s attire offer the same comfort and ease of movement as a man’s?

  —The New York World

  A chance encounter with a duke was—alas!—the most interesting thing to happen to Adeline that afternoon. She’d been hoping that a queen of New York City society would enter her shop—or any woman interested in buying a dress, really—but it seemed she would have to be content with a duke.

  The duke with the marriage proposals and public displays of heroics. With those strong arms and, oh, and that devastatingly attractive accent.

  It was almost enough to make her forget the grudge she’d harbored against him for nearly ruining her career. Almost. But tell that to her heart, with its rapid-fire beating. Her hands—always so steady—were trembling.

  How had he found her?

  What had brought him into her shop?

  After an initial flurry of orders from the members of the Ladies of Liberty club, all of which were being made by Adeline’s small group of seamstresses, customers had been scarce. It was to be expected—newspaper advertisements were not yet within her budget and no one had seen her gowns modeled by real women in the real world, so no one quite knew to schedule a fitting for her inventive gowns. Yet.

  Yet. Oh, how she clung to that word.

  She told herself that as soon as the first batch of gowns were made, delivered, and worn out on the town, she would certainly entertain more customers. She had to. Those ladies had taken a chance on her when no one else would; she could not fail them.

  In the meantime . . .

  The duke. Was here. He had found h
er.

  According to Rachel, he wanted to speak with her. He had even agreed to this whole nonsense about a fitting, a charade she expected the Lofty and Proper duke to refuse. Now that he hadn’t, she either had to go through with it or let him call her bluff. Which was of course unsupportable.

  Resolved, Adeline pushed through the heavy velvet curtains into the small, intimate and enclosed space where dress fittings were conducted. Privacy would protect her from anyone seeing them together. But privacy could be dangerous, too.

  Because there he was: the duke of Kingston, her downfall.

  The damned man was as handsome as ever. Yet Adeline was more determined than ever to resist the temptation that he posed to her. Whether walking in the park with him (and nearly losing her heart) or walking to Madame Chalfont’s with him (and losing her job), this duke was dangerous.

  She had plans for her life that did not include a duke, marquis, earl, or viscount. Her plans did not include losing her head or heart or anything over a man.

  He smiled when he saw her. A slight upturn of his lips, a genuine warmth in his deep blue eyes. Her heart did a stupid fluttering thing when he murmured her name.

  “Adeline . . .”

  Oh no. Absolutely not.

  There could be none of that seductive smiling, which led to flirtation, then kissing, which everyone knew led to all manner of dire fates. It would not do. Not now, when women had taken a chance on her and helped and were counting on her to repay their investment and revolutionize ladies’ attire.

  Adeline’s heart was really pounding now. Her temperature was spiking, too. It took every ounce of her self-control to keep her demeanor cool.

  “I understand that you’re here for a dress fitting?”

  She gave him a small smile and snapped a length of measuring tape in her hands like a whip. She desperately wanted to appear absolutely in control of her feelings. Even though she was feeling quite dizzy, like there wasn’t enough air in this fitting room.