Page 43 of A Bride for the Devilish Duke
“I fail to see how the geographical location should necessitate new dresses. London is a place like any other,” she insisted.
“Not likeanyother. It is the capital. The home of the Regent and his Court,” Rosie furrowed her brows.
“You are marrying aDuke, Emma,” Josie exclaimed, “which you kept very quiet by the way,” she looked askance at Emma.
When she had finally confessed to them about the marriage to Damien, they had been overjoyed and simultaneously aggrieved that the courtship had been kept from them. Charles had still not appeared to be told the news himself. That was another worry that gnawed at the back of Emma's mind.
“It will doubtless be a Court wedding. The Regent himself might be a guest. Imagine that!” Her youngest sister enthused.
“Nevertheless. I see no need for extravagance. I shall not be measured for a dress—besides, my measurements have hardly changed,” Emma said firmly.
There came a knock at the door. Emma rose.
“Come in!” she called.
The door opened to revealMadame Rousseau, the modiste. She entered the room, hands clasped before her. Her dress was a creation of silks and satins, her own handiwork and worthy of a royal ball. Emma was relieved to see that her entourage had not accompanied her.
“Mademoiselle, I have taken the measurements for your sisters and am able to produce the required dresses, but I cannot for you and yours is the most important of all,” Madame Rousseau said in a strong French accent.
Rosie and Josie looked at Emma expectantly. Emma herself was acutely aware of the scar that marred her left side from ribs to hip. None knew of it or how it had come to be—except Elsie of course. It was an effort to keep her hand from grazing it through her dress.
“That is well, Madame Rousseau. As far as I am concerned, your services were of far greater value for my sisters than for myself.”
Madame Rousseau spread her hands, appearing perplexed.
“But you are the bride. Your dress must be magnificent. It must outshine all those around you. To create such a gown will be difficult enough in the time that I have available to me. Without detailed measurements, however...”
“I have enough gowns that shall be perfectly serviceable,” Emma assured.
“Serviceable!” Rosie exclaimed at the same time that Madame Rousseau gasped in horror.
“Mon Dieu! To marry in a used dress would be unheard of in my country. I do not think that England is so very different.”
“I have decided. There is far too much for me to do to spend an hour balancing on a stool and being measured,” Emma maintained, “now, if you shall excuse me.”
She strode from the room, ignoring the protestations of her sisters and Madame Rousseau.
Charles has not been seen by any of us in a week. Finding out what is going on with him is far more important than being measured for a silly gown,she convinced herself weakly.
Charles had departed for London just after the Redmane ball, over two weeks before. No letter or word from him had been received since. Her final, albeit brief meeting with him gave Emma cause for concern.
She strolled towards the library, a grand room twice the size of the library at Montrose Manor, but stopped suddenly.
“Papa will be there and he will question why I am not being measured for my gowns. Not a conversation I wish to have presently,” she murmured to herself.
Spinning on her heel, she hurried to her allocated rooms where she found Elsie, reading a book by the window. Elsie started as Emma breezed into the room. She jumped to her feet. Emma laughed.
“As you were, Elsie. I cannot see a single thing in here for you to do anyway.”
Elsie’s features visibly softened at her mistress’ presence, and she nodded. “His Grace keeps a very clean house. And the staff are exceptionally well trained. Once I had your wardrobe unpacked, there was little else to do.”
The house belonged to Damien, located on Curzon Street in the west of London and within sight of Hyde Park. It was a sprawling townhouse located on a terrace and deceptively large within.
“I still cannot believe how vast this place is once you get inside. I always thought these terraces were narrow and cramped,” Elsie remarked.
“Indeed, very spacious. But not as spacious as the city. I am going outside for a walk. Would you care to accompany me?”
“Of course. But Mrs. Garrett, the housekeeper, has offered to take me and the other scullery staff from Montrose Manor to the shops where she purchases her groceries and essentials, so that we may take on that duty in time. We are due to leave in less than half an hour,” Elsie noted.
