Dressed to Kiss

by Madeline Hunter, Caroline Linden, Megan Frampton, Myretta Robens

  Together they returned to the chamber. “Miss Owen will take your measurements. Your Grace, perhaps you would join me in the reception salon.”

  “Of course.” No sooner had he left than Delyth began unfastening Lady Giles’s dress.

  Selina led the duke to a small chamber used as a reception salon for the dressmaking patrons. Behind the storefront shop like the fitting and consultation rooms, it provided privacy for the ladies who would not want to mingle with the less elevated visitors who might arrive to buy muslin.

  The duke sat when she did. The furniture was very feminine and small-boned. He overwhelmed his chair. Selina watched him deal with the discomfort of his perch.

  “It is well you came today,” she said. “It gives me an opportunity to learn your intentions regarding this commission.”

  “I would think my intentions were clear.”

  “I refer to the cost.”

  He flushed a bit. Talking about money with a woman embarrassed him. How charming.

  “Of course. If I do not set an amount, she will know no restraint.”

  “I will endeavor to guide her to sensible choices that will not ruin you. I will try to come in under whatever you set. I do not expect you to believe that, since it does not benefit me, but I promise you that is how it will be.”

  “And if it is not enough?”

  “There may need to be other meetings, if she insists on something that goes over the amount you now dictate.”

  He thought about that. “I dare not leave her to her whims, Mrs. Fontaine. Not because of the cost, nor of my need to rely on your honesty. The truth is, I think you will have an easier time of it if she insists on an extravagance you do not like, and she knows you must get my approval. If it means I must sometimes come here and talk to you about it, I will do it.”

  “Oh, you will not talk about the bills with me. We leave that to Miss Dawkins, who manages the shop. She will convey to me any decisions you make, however.”

  “Miss Dawkins? I see.” He did not appear to like having Felicity involved. “How long will it take to measure her?”

  “A half an hour, at least.”

  He pulled out his pocket watch. “Twenty more minutes. I think I will take a turn outside. Will you join me?”

  “My work—” She gestured broadly at the whole shop. “My other patrons—”

  “You implied we came too early, so you should have no others for hours.” He stood and offered his hand to help her rise. “Walk with me. I want to ask you something.”

  They left the shop and strolled east down the street, away from the dust and construction that had become a daily trial while Regent Street was constructed. They strolled past other shops with other windows. Some did have the kind of patrons who arrived early. One coffee shop had filled with tradesmen prior to their opening their own businesses. The pages from the day’s newspapers covered the windows, and a little crowd had gathered to read them.

  “The day is fair, is it not?” he asked.

  “Most fair. Was that the question you had?”

  “No. I want to know how Selina Duval became Mrs. Fontaine. I am curious to know what you are doing here.”

  She stiffened. Her mouth formed a firm line. “I think you know the answer.”

  “I am not sure I do.”

  She kept her gaze straight ahead. “As I told you when you broke into my home—”

  “Come now, I did not break into—”

  “When you broke into my home, the gossip after Giles left was unbearable. All that attention he had showered on me. All those gifts. If not to win my hand, then for what? The answer did not flatter me. I thought to brave it out, but my mother was humiliated, and my father felt it sorely. Mama ceased leaving the house. Papa came close to calling a man out. So I left. I married the first man who asked, just to get away. When he passed I came to London and applied at that dress shop.” She glared at him. “Is that enough? Because it is more than I think you deserve.”

  He guessed it was mostly true, but not entirely. He still did not believe there had been a Mr. Fontaine for a few months. He could not explain why he felt sure about that. Perhaps it was the little catch in her voice whenever she referred to it. Not a choke of sentiment, it sounded like a hesitation prior to forcing out a lie.

  He paced on, weighing the choice in front of him. She had fond memories of Giles. She believed they had shared a great but thwarted love, done in by the villainous brother. Giles had left her with that dramatic story. Only much of it was simply not true.

  Would she hate him all the more if he told her all of it? Undoubtedly.

  “You do not know our village,” she said. “That manor house up on the hill has been there for centuries, owned by the dukes of Barrowmore, but never used by them. Still, we were proud to be in its shadow. It made us better than other common villages. When your brother chose to live there that summer, how excited everyone was. That he included the local gentlemen and their families in his society was even better. I do not know what inspired him to visit, but for all of us, and especially me, it became a magical summer.”

  Giles’s inspiration had been to find an obscure property where he could lie low and avoid his creditors. Just like now he was at some other such dot in the family holdings, for the same purpose.

  He would berate Giles most severely for how carelessly he had used this poor woman. Ruined her, for all intents and purposes. Not that Giles would care. That summer had ended with clear and open credit for him, hadn’t it?

  She did not need to know the truth. It would serve no purpose. Let her remember a magical summer at least.

  “We should be getting back,” he said.

  They retraced their footsteps to the shop door. He decided he wanted her to know one part of the story was not true.

  “Mrs. Fontaine, I feel obligated to correct one memory of that time that my brother left with you. I did not order him to throw you over.”

  “Are you saying he lied to me?”

  “Giles chose to avoid responsibility. Shall we leave it at that?”

  Her brow knit. “It was long ago. I confess I have forgotten his exact words. Perhaps I misunderstood.”

  “More likely you believed what he said. He can be very persuasive, so the blame is not with you at all.”

  “If I now believe you instead, I must accept that I was a fool. A very stupid one.”

  “Not a fool. A woman in love, being spared more pain than necessary.” He did not want her feeling a fool, or stupid, or anything like that.

  She opened the door, still frowning.

  Abruptly she turned and faced him. “Perhaps all that gossip and all those assumptions were not idle talk, but can be traced back to him.”

  “I would like to believe he did not do that.”

  “It is a good thing you made me promise never to see him. Because if ever I do, I cannot guarantee I would not make him pay for this.”

  He imagined her pointing a pistol at Giles. She would never do that, nor would he want her to, but the expression of abject contrition that Giles wore in the fantasy amused him to a disgraceful degree.

  “I much prefer you angry to sad, Mrs. Fontaine. It suits you better.”

  She gave him a peculiar look, then turned back to the shop. “Tell the coachman that Lady Giles will be finished here in two hours.”

  “Certainly. Oh, and I have one more thing to say before we part. What would you say to carte blanche? If you promise not to ruin me, I will consider it.”

  She froze with her hand on the door’s latch. After a good ten count, she turned to him with wide-eyed surprise. Only then did he realize that he had not prefaced his offer with reference to Edeline and her wardrobe. Mrs.Fontaine thought he had just propositioned her.

  He was about to rush in with an explanation, but the way she regarded him caused him to pause. She did not appear insulted or angry. Rather she looked to be weighing her answer.

  He waited, curious to see which way it would go, while f
antasies of plucking open those buttons snaked into his head.

  Enlightenment dawned in her eyes. She flushed deeply. “You were referring to Edeline’s wardrobe, of course.”

  “If that is what you prefer.”

  She fumbled with the latch and muttered a little curse when the door stuck. “Of course it is.” The door opened, and Mrs. Fontaine rushed inside.

  Selina pressed her back against the door for support and closed her eyes. She was an idiot. A total fool. Of course the duke referred to Edeline’s wardrobe.

  If she could be excused for misunderstanding, which she could not, it was only because respectable patrons did not use that phrase. It was employed by the courtesans of London when their protectors had promised no restraint on what was spent on clothing and other luxuries. Not many women received carte blanche, but the shop had served a few who did.

  Felicity came out of the office, navigated past some women at the counter, and sidled close to Selina. “Do you have an amount?”

  Selina doubted she could manage little Edeline if there truly were carte blanche. Better to have the duke approving expenditures that got too high. “Three hundred. After that we need to consult with His Grace.”

  Three hundred was a handsome sum for a wardrobe, even one with unseasonal sable trim, which Selina was determined Edeline would not get.

  “Well done, Selina. Should we need to consult, as you say, I will let you take care of that. He seems to like you.”

  “What makes you say that?” Selina snapped.

  Felicity backed up, laughing. “An account of three hundred makes me say it.”

  Selina went to the fitting room, to finish her meeting with Lady Giles. Perhaps the duke did like her. She had misunderstood his comment about carte blanche, to her eternal humiliation, but he had not been nearly so condescending today, and he truly seemed to trust her judgment with Edeline.

  It was more than that, however. When she misunderstood, while she misunderstood, he had not corrected her. He had seen it, she knew he had, and he had not offered further explanation.

  It might have begun as a mistake, but a duke had indeed propositioned her today.

  Chapter Five

  A week later Selina sent a letter to Lady Giles, informing her that the coronation dress and the evening dress were ready for a fitting. A response came the same day. The lady had taken ill with a cold. Would Mrs. Fontaine be so good as to bring the dresses to her and do the fitting at Manard House?

  Royalty conducted wardrobe business in their homes. A few very important ladies did as well. Most women, however, even those married to sons of dukes, went to the dressmakers rather than have the dressmakers come to them.

  There were reasons for that. One was social. Visiting dressmakers and other shops gave ladies an excuse to be out and about in town. To see and be seen. Other reasons were very practical, as Selina noted while she prepared to fulfill this request. The dresses had to be wrapped carefully. A large box of embellishments must be taken as well, along with the pins, threads, and other sewing equipment. She hired a hackney cab, loaded all of this into it, and gave the driver the address.

  Manard House proved as grand as one would expect of a duke’s London home. At the corner of Stanhope Street and Park Lane, its restrained, buff façade rose five levels. A walled garden surrounded it, like a little park. If Lady Giles lived here, it meant her husband had not provided her with her own house, but instead chose to live with his older brother. Just as well, if he was going to leave town for long periods of time.

  The hackney driver brought her to a rear gate where a servant took command of her packages and allowed her into the garden. The servant then escorted her into the house through a side door, where a footman took over. Eventually, she found herself and her baggage in a chamber on the third level of the house. There a thin, severe, dark-haired lady’s maid took her in hand and brought her to a dressing room where Edeline waited.

  Her hair down and her body ensconced in an undressing gown frothy with lace, Edeline greeted Selina with a firm blow on her nose. “Ah, there you are, Mrs. Fontaine. I knew you would not let me down. We must make progress on these dresses, but I could not go out with this red nose. I look a fright.”

  Selina unwrapped the coronation dress and laid it over a chair. Edeline jumped up and came to admire it. “It is lovely. So much was done in one week.”

  “Our seamstresses devoted themselves to it for many long hours.”

  Edeline turned to the maid. “Isn’t it lovely, Françoise?”

  Françoise gave a noncommittal nod. She came over, turned back the fabric, and assessed the stitching of a seam. Another nod, and she retreated.

  “If you put it on, I will do the fitting,” Selina said. She then drew the maid aside. “Is there a pillow I might kneel on?”

  “The pillows are all silk,” Françoise said with disdain. “They are not for use on the floor by seamstresses.”

  Selina fitted the dress without a pillow. She stayed on her knees while she used pins to indicate where embellishments would go. Then she rested on her heels while Edeline changed into the evening dress. Another hour of fitting and finally she was done.

  She put away her equipment and wrapped the dresses again. “When you are feeling better, you can come to the shop for the others. They are almost ready.”

  Edeline pouted. “I much prefer doing it here. You can bring the others like you did these, I am sure.”

  “Of course she can,” Françoise said, in a tone that managed to indulge her mistress and scorn Selina at the same time.

  Selina forced a smile. “I will write to you when we are ready.”

  The maid called for a footman to carry the dresses and box of equipment. Selina followed him down the staircase. He did not use the servants’ stairs, but took her by way of the closer main set. At the bottom, a butler’s scowl awaited them.

  “What is this, Timothy?”

  “The lady’s dressmaker, sir.”

  “There are two sets of stairs in this house, Timothy. See that you remember who uses which ones in the future.”

  Red-faced, Timothy quickened his steps. They were almost out of the large reception hall when a figure appeared at a door at one end.

  “Mrs. Fontaine?”

  It was the duke. Timothy froze.

  “Your Grace.” Selina curtsied. She gestured to poor, young Timothy. “I confess my interest in the house made me insist we come down this way. Your footman was too polite to refuse.”

  “I should hope so.” He gave the footman a nod of approval. Then he gestured to the burden the young man carried. “What is that?”

  Selina explained Lady Giles’s need for a fitting despite her cold. “It is not normally done, because it takes me away for too long and I cannot see other patrons. However, I am sure Your Grace will not mind the small additional fee I will have to charge if this continues.”

  He gestured to the footman. “Take all of that to—wherever it is supposed to go.” He turned to Selina. “I will show you the public rooms, since you are curious.”

  “I really should return to the shop.”

  “If Edeline’s spoiled whims are going to force you here, you may as well enjoy yourself a little, too. We will start with the dining room.”

  There was nothing to do but follow him out of the massive reception hall, into the huge dining room at one end.

  “My sister chose the decorations. She has good taste. Not like yours, but respectable enough,” he said.

  She had expected a room filled with golds and reds, ostentatious in its luxury. Instead the chamber appeared almost spare, with pale gray walls and the lightest yellow drapes. The subtle background gave the massive table and huge Persian carpet all the attention, but kept everything in balance so the eyes were not overwhelmed.

  “More than respectable taste, and also unusual.”

  “She is nothing if not unusual. She married a Scottish earl. He talks a lot, and I can barely understand him. I just nod to w
hatever he tells me. It has worked thus far. Look here. This is my favorite part. In the summer we open these doors, and all but dine al fresco.” He threw open two large sets of French windows at the end of the room. The ones on the left gave out to the end of a terrace, but the others opened onto a section of garden that had been planted right up to the threshold.

  Fragrant early spring blooms perfumed the air. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. “It reminds me of home.”

  This view of Selina, her eyes closed and her expression one of sensual pleasure, intoxicated him. He imagined a similar expression when pleasures other than those of garden scents moved her.

  Do not do it, his better half said. She is not for you and has endured enough from the men of your family.

  Do not be a fool, his most masculine side responded. She is a mature woman. She is smart and worldly and capable of making her own decisions.

  “Let us walk out there, unless it makes you sad,” he suggested.

  “Not sad so much. Only nostalgic.”

  If he had his way she would not even be nostalgic. There was too much melancholy in nostalgia. This woman had been wronged. He could not shake the feeling that he was partly responsible.

  He had spent hours the last week, deciding if he were. He had not forced Giles to give up Selina. He had only demanded Giles give up something valuable. It could have been his horse. Hell, it could have been his favorite coat. Nor had he jumped to conclusions regarding that relationship. Giles had described it as a love affair, and even offered some lascivious details. Selina would not have been the first daughter of solid gentry stock to become a lover to a man like Giles.

  Still, he could have been more skeptical. He had not been for the simple reason that Selina did not matter. His thoughts had been on his brother, not his brother’s woman. She had struck him at their introduction as lovely, sensual and desirable, and more refined than Giles’s usual tumbles. He had even reacted enough for Giles to notice. But who she was, what she was—those had been minor details in a contentious three days of confrontation over money.