Page 107 of Crash Landing
She did not look happy, but agreed to the plan. “I will need new clothes. But believe me when I say that I won’t need my family.”
“Would you mind if I went to them on my own?”
She shrugged. “If you think one visit to my parents will clear up something I haven’t been able to figure out in my entire lifetime, then you are welcome to try. We lose nothing by it, and they do need to be told I am married to you. I might come with you.”
“I hope you will, but I am not going to force you.”
“I think I must go with you. But if the visit becomes too much for me and I want to leave, then you must promise not to stop me.”
“I promise,” he said, placing a hand over his heart.
“If I do walk out, I’ll wait for you in our carriage. All right?”
“Yes.” Trajan did not know if this was helpful in any way to Florence, but he hoped it might be. He doubted her parents would suddenly open up to him and reveal the dark secrets surrounding their treatment of her. But it was important for him to get a sense of them and the friction within the family.
Frampton may have been a physical threat, soon to be squashed by Althorpe, but Florence’s family was just as bad. They had landed some heavy emotional blows on her and left deep bruises on her soul.
Florence went to her duchess quarters to prepare herself for the day while he remained in his bedchamber and did the same.
They met downstairs. He smothered a grin when he saw her, for she wore one of her sturdy muslin gowns and her walking boots. She looked ready to climb trees.
Well, she had little choice in what to wear, since she had only brought along three gowns for the journey. This was why they required an urgent visit to Fiona’s modiste, one Madam de Bressard,who seemed to be popular with the fashionable set.
They left immediately after breakfast for the modiste’s shop. Fiona, to Trajan’s relief, joined them, arriving only a few minutes after they had. “Here I am. Shall we get started?”
Florence groaned.
“You can do this,” Trajan teased. After all, she had just brought down one of England’s most vicious lords. Selecting fabrics for new gowns could not be all that difficult.
He was glad Fiona was with them. Florence liked her and trusted her fashion knowledge.
He also happened to know what looked good on a woman and what would suit Florence specifically, but she was not likely to accept his opinion, since he was a man and would choose what pleasedhimand not necessarily conform to current fashion standards.
They spent hours selecting an extensive wardrobe, for Florence could no longer wear her spinster gowns or her sturdy, bird-watching muslins with their secret pockets and utter lack of style.
Well, in his opinion—again, which did not count—Florence would look pretty wearing a potato sack. As far as he was concerned, she could wear whatever she liked when in residence at Gull Hall. But Fiona was right to insist on elegant gowns for London, since Florence was going to be watched and talked about everywhere they went.
Thetoncould be cruel. He did not want her ridiculed.
They made good progress, and arranged for a handful of gowns to be rushed so that Florence had something decent to wear these next few days they would remain in Town.
“I’ll arrange for the others to be forwarded to Weymouth once they are ready,” the modiste said in a crisp French accent. “I’ll match each gown to your precise measurements from these first gowns fitted for you, so no alterations should be necessary. Do not give them over to some local seamstress to butcher.”
Florence smiled and promised she wouldn’t.
Fiona next led them to the shoemaker and haberdasher for all the shoes and accessories Florence needed.
“This is too much,” she protested. “I have a wardrobe full of clothes and shoes at my family’s house.”
“Florence, you dress to attract chickens and squirrels,” Fiona said, which was what Trajan was thinking but would never dare say it because Florence looked lovely, and her fashion sense, or lack thereof, suited just fine in the countryside, which was where he preferred to reside.
He next took the ladies out for lunch at a local hotel known for its elegance and fine dining. Durham joined them. “How did it go? Did Fiona exhaust you?”
Florence laughed. “Yes! I think we bought every bolt of fabric, glove, parasol, and shoe in London.”
“Well, you are the wife of a Silver Duke now, as I am sure Fiona explained,” Durham said. “This means people will look at you wherever you go. You’ve bought yourself a little time because word has not spread yet about your marriage. Everyone still thinks Trajan is a dashing, silver-at-the-temples bachelor on the prowl.”
“Not after today,” Fiona remarked. “I’m sure my modiste is already spreading the word to her clientele. It is a coup for her, being among the first to learn of Weymouth’s marriage, and to be given the task of an entire new wardrobe for his duchess.”
