Page 8 of The Duke's Inconvenient Bride
The maid cocked her head, her dark bun bobbing as she studied Emma and then the dress. “It will look very fetching with your eyes, my lady.”
“Do you think it may garner me a suitor?” After her conversation with Violet last night, Emma had come around to the idea that in order to attract a potential husband, she should at least put in more effort than she had been.
“Yes, indeed.” Daisy glanced around, then spoke quietly. “If I may be so bold, it is a wonder you don’t already have suitors lining up around the block. The gentlemen of London must be dim-witted.”
Warmth filled Emma’s chest, and she barely resisted the urge to hug Daisy. “Thank you.” She blinked rapidly as emotion threatened to spill from her eyes. “That is most kind of you.”
Daisy’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Just calling it how I see it, my lady. Come along, let’s get you into this dress.”
Emma donned her petticoats and thanked her lucky stars that she would not have to be stuffed into a corset this morning. Daisy took the dress from the hanger and positioned it so that Emma could step inside, then she lifted it into place. The fabric whispered over Emma’s skin, and she allowed herself to check her reflection as Daisy began fastening the row of buttons on the back.
She smoothed her hands over the skirt, admiring the color, which was similar to the bedchamber’s wallpaper. The same blue as a bird’s egg, but while the wallpaper was threaded with gold, the dress was trimmed in white.
“How would you like your hair?” Daisy asked, finishing the buttons and then ushering her into the chair in front of the mirror.
“Perhaps something similar to the way Violet usually wears hers,” Emma suggested. Her own taste was simpler, but hadn’t she learned that men preferred the extravagant?
Daisy scrunched her nose. “You know you don’t have to look like Lady Violet to find a suitor. You’re beautiful, my lady.”
“And you are biased,” Emma retorted. Many ladies would not allow their maids to address them so impertinently, but she and Daisy were of a similar age, and she liked to think they had a friendship of a sort. At least, as much as one could be friends with their staff.
Daisy brushed Emma’s hair, and she closed her eyes, enjoying the gentle ministrations. “No curls,” Daisy said. “We don’t have time. But perhaps we could pin it like this.”
She gathered the hair to show Emma what she meant.
“That looks nice.” Emma’s stomach grumbled, and her cheeks heated with embarrassment. She hadn’t had the chance to eat yet, and she was hungry.
As per Lady Carlisle’s decree, looking pretty for their callers was top priority the morning after a ball. Emma could eat once Daisy had finished with her hair. If she had time.
She bit her lip when Daisy accidentally pulled too hard.
“Sorry, my lady.”
“It’s all right, Daisy.”
Emma clasped her fingers together, nerves rioting in her gut. Even if their callers came to see Violet, perhaps one of them would be blown away by the sight of her in this dress. If even one man came for her, she would be happy, but she was scared to hope.
Footsteps padded down the hallway, and Violet whisked into the room, bringing the scent of lavender with her. When her gaze landed on Emma, she stopped abruptly and clapped, a smile spreading across her face.
“You took my advice to heart,” she said. “You look lovely, sister, and I’m sure I won’t be the only one to notice it.”
Emma smiled. “Thank you. Your dress suits you well.”
Violet took the compliment as her due and swept over to look out the window. “Who do you suppose will be the first caller?”
Emma pursed her lips. “I’m not sure.”
“Imagine if it’s the duke.” Violet moved away from the window. “What a coup.”
Daisy put the last hairpin into place, and Emma watched in the reflection as she examined her hair.
“Very nice,” Violet said, and for once, Daisy smiled in her presence. “Let’s go to the drawing room. Mother will want to speak to us before the suitors arrive.”
Emma stood and linked her arm with Violet’s. Their shoulders bumped together as they made their way along the hall, down the grand staircase, and around a corner into the drawing room that Lady Carlisle used to receive guests.
Their mother looked up from her needlepoint to greet them. “Good morning, girls.” Her skirt pooled around her, a shade somewhere between pink and orange. She patted the cushion that was nearest to the empty fireplace, indicating for them to join her.
Violet did so immediately, but Emma’s attention was caught by the scent of freshly baked scones. She started toward the small refreshments table in the opposite direction, only to stop when Lady Carlisle tutted.
