Page 89 of In Need of a Duke
A little while later,Charlotte was still smiling like a girl fresh in love. All hope and veneration.
She held her head high as she navigated the short distance from the carriage to the smaller modiste shop of Mrs. Blanchet, around the corner from Bond Street. With each step, it was hard to ignore the confidence that suddenly filled her stride. After forcing that same quiet strength for years, it was freeing to admit she was no longer alone.
Foolish maybe, but as she entered the shop, she ignored the sudden sour taste in her mouth.
The air smelled of cedar and the faintest hint of lavender as a few others mulled around, examining the colorful bolts of fabrics organized along the wall in deep mahogany cases.
“Good morning, Your Grace,” Mrs. Blanchet said with a gentle smile. She adjusted the lace cap over her gray hair. The older woman walked out from behind the counter and tucked a small pair of scissors in a small bag worn at her waist. She adjusted her gold-rimmed spectacles. “I was hoping to see you. His Grace commissioned a lovely piece that I read and was well received recently.”
“It was beautiful. That is why I am here today. I understand you might have a few gowns near ready that my husband also commissioned.”
The light filtered through the wavy glass windows as the sun hid between the growing clouds outside. Charlotte’s shadow was thrown across the floor, a hesitant giant as the snip-snip of scissors cutting through fabric came from behind drawn burgundy velvet curtains.
“Please, come in,” she urged Charlotte, waving her away from the doorway. “You have arrived at the perfect time as I was about to select some trimming for the third gown. Can I get you anything? Lemonade or tea perhaps? We can go out back…” the woman paused, her eye catching a beautiful bolt of silk the color of a brilliant blue summer sky. “This would be gorgeous with your complexion.”
A titter from the corner of the shop sliced through air. Charlotte slowly turned to acknowledge the three women exchanging knowing looks.
Very well.
Charlotte smiled before returning her attention to Mrs. Blanchet.
“The Duchess of Dandridge,” one whispered loud enough to hear, “ever the phoenix, rising from her scandalous marriage.”
Perhaps it was petty, but Charlotte wouldn’t be driven out of another modiste shop, wouldn’t be chased out of another ballroom, wouldn’t stand to be gossiped about while she stood mere feet away. She was a dratted duchess, and she was exhausted from weathering the gossip with a strong, reserved grace.
Their words were meant to cut, but Charlotte felt something different stir within her—an ember of courage.
“My apologies, Mrs. Blanchet. I will return another day when we can meet privately.”
Then she turned toward the women, clasping her hands. “Ladies, may your day be as pleasant as you are.” At their horrified looks, she quietly bid Mrs. Blanchet goodbye, before addressing them again. “I may not venture to London often, but I know you, Lady Somerset, and how you have struggled to find a husband for your daughter. And you too, Mrs. Pembroke, were likely devastated when Mrs. Vessey asked you to skip attending her salon next week because your husband has landed in a spot of trouble with his investments. And you of all people should know Lady Harrington not to comment on the romantic life of others when your own affair has been less than discreet.”
Charlotte wasn’t interested in their feigned shock. “I hope you can remember that it costs nothing to be kind.”
The statement hung between them, its underlying edge sharper for her polite delivery. Charlotte nodded to the modiste who barely hid her smile as she practically glided toward the exit.
As she stepped outside, she exhaled, finding comfort in havingused her voice for once in her life. She wouldn’t allow herself to be treated poorly, not any longer.
She had barely a moment to appreciate the warm spring morning before she noticed the impending threat of rain overhead. Charlotte quickened her pace toward her carriage parked a little down street before Mrs. Vessey and a group of acquaintances poured out from the millinery shop.
“Good morning, Your Grace,” Mrs. Vessey said. “What a surprise to see you. I heard you were in Town.”
“What a pleasure to see you all.”
Charlotte was about to excuse herself so she could return home to Ian when Monty stepped out of the shop next, all easy elegance.
Her heart squeezed a little as he tipped his hat toward her and smiled.
“It appears as if we’re in for a downpour,” Mrs. Vessey announced, glancing up at the threatening sky. “Would you care to join us at Gunter’s for ices before the heavens open up? It is so good to see you. We heard all about your terrible accident.”
A slip of unease pulled at Charlotte as everyone watched her, eagerly anticipating her answer.
“Thank you, that would be lovely.” She motioned for the others to lead.
The group was boisterous as they ambled along as if it wasn’t about to rain. Monty sidled closer to Charlotte along the way, standing nearly shoulder to shoulder with her before he whispered, “How are you, truly, Lottie?”
Monty Fitzwilliam, kind and charming with a devilish streak. He was an excellent whist player, adored riding almost as much as Charlotte, and had been a dear friend over the past few years. If she were being honest, she missed him.
“I am well.”
