Page 45 of Duke of Fyre

"Ah, about that..." Lydia hesitated, then forged ahead. "I was rather hoping to visit a modiste this afternoon. My current ball gowns are..."

"Perfectly adequate, I'm sure," Elias finished, and a small frown appeared between his brows.

"Unless… I am not sure about women's clothing and the like. Do you not have other dresses?"

Lydia fought a frustrated smile. The man truly had a hard time understanding women, she thought.

"Perhaps. But as you said, I am the Duchess of Fyre now. Shouldn't I dress accordingly?"

The frown between Elias's eyes deepened slightly, but then he nodded slowly. "Indeed. Very well, I shall have the carriage brought around."

"You could come with me," Lydia suggested, evidently surprising him. She too was almost shocked by the words leaving her lips. She hurried to explain further, fearful of giving him an idea that might offend him .

"Since you have such strong opinions about proper dignity, perhaps you'd like to ensure my selection meets your exacting standards?"

Despite her explanation, Elias stared at her as if she'd suggested they join a traveling circus. "Shopping for gowns? With you?"

"Unless you're afraid?" The words slipped out before she could stop them, and Lydia immediately wished she could call them back. Challenging the Duke of Fyre was hardly the way to win his cooperation. Heat immediately rose to her cheeks and somehow she managed to suppress the desire

To her amazement, however, something like amusement crossed his face. "Afraid? Of watching you try on gowns? Hardly."

"Then you'll come?" She tried - though she thought she quite miserably failed - to keep the excitement out of her voice.

Elias sighed, but Lydia could have sworn she saw a hint of a smile curling around his lips. "I suppose someone must ensure you don't choose anything too... whimsical."

"Oh, you think you can stop me?"

This time, he actually laughed - a sound that was quite foreign to her ears, and seemingly to those of the few servants in the vicinity.

"David," he spoke now, his voice low. "Arrange a carriage. I am taking my wife to have a dress made, it would seem."

Less than an hour later, they stood before Madame Delacour's elegant shopfront. This particular French modiste was renowned throughout London for her exquisite creations, though Lydia had never been able to afford her services before. She peered into the shop excitedly, then followed her husband as he walked through the door as though the place belonged to him.

A small bell chimed through the shop when he stepped inside and the shop girl who hurried forward stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of Elias, her face draining of color.

"Y-Your Grace," she stammered, dropping into a wobbly curtsy. "We... we weren't expecting..."

"The Duke and Duchess of Fyre to grace our humble establishment!" Madame Delacour herself appeared, her accent thickening as she took in Elias's imposing figure. Lydia, of course, wondered if this was due to nerves or simply an attempt at impressing her husband. "What an honor! Only if we had known..."

"We require a ball gown," Elias cut through her fluttering . "For tonight's Hartley ball."

"Tonight?" Madame's eyes widened in horror. "But Your Grace, to create something worthy of the Duchess of Fyre in mere hours..."

"Surely you have something suitable already made?" Lydia intervened smoothly, noting how the modiste's hands trembled slightly. "I'm told your ready-made gowns are works of art in themselves."

Madame Delacour's expression brightened slightly. "Well... there is one piece... But no, perhaps it's too daring for..."

"Show us," Elias commanded, making both women jump and a small smile appeared around Lydia's lips. She could not deny that it was quite enjoyable to watch when the intimidation was not directed at her.

The modiste scurried into the back room, returning moments later with a creation that made Lydia's breath catch. The gown was silk the color of midnight, scattered with tiny crystal beads that caught the light like stars. The neckline was daring without being scandalous, the waist nipped in to emphasize a woman's curves before flowing out into a full skirt perfect for dancing.

"It's beautiful," Lydia breathed, reaching out to touch the fabric.

"But perhaps too bold?" Madame suggested anxiously, glancing at Elias. "We have some lovely lavender silk that might be more appropriate for a duke's wife..."

"My wife will try this one," Elias said firmly. "She seems to like it."

Within seconds, Lydia found herself whisked behind a screen, where Madame's trembling fingers made quick work of her traveling dress. As the midnight silk settled around her, Lydia felt transformed. The gown fit as if it had been made for her, the color making her skin glow and her green eyes seem more vivid. She suppressed a gasp as she looked at herself. The role of duchess had seemed like an ill-fitting robe until this moment.

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