Page 29 of His Haunted Duchess
“I sent an express to Mrs. Gray as soon as I heard about the engagement,” Esther explained. “She has been busy in preparations for your wedding ensemble and may already have some items prepared.”
The faintest blush crept to Caroline’s cheeks. It gave her a warm, welcoming look. Frederic looked away.
“My mother, you see, is a woman of extensive preparation. Though they have been prepared for our—” His tongue stumbled over the wordwedding, “—you’re not obligated, of course, to accept any of these items.”
Caroline smiled at him gratefully, a small, shy smile that peeked out like a ray of sun from under her blue velvet bonnet. His gaze lingered on her face for a moment. It was so pleasing, somehow—and so familiar. He rubbed a hand across his jaw. Her face struck him so that he was sure he had seen it somewhere before. He frowned. Where could they have possibly crossed paths? Surely, he would have remembered her more clearly?
He shrugged it off. It didn’t particularly matter. Even if he had seen her, they couldn’t have had any serious connection before this point. In any case, she was at least pleasant which was more than he had expected from a marriageable partner from among the ton.
His mother was bent on her mission to the modiste and had outpaced them by several steps. She turned back and hurried them forward.
“It’s two streets up and one to the left,” Esther said. “It’ll be a short enough walk.”
“I believe, madam, that you could find the way to Mrs. Gray’s in your sleep,” Frederic observed.
Esther brushed his comment away with a sweep of her hand, keeping her sharp eye on the shop windows as they passed. Lady Caroline followed her.
“Do you come often to Mrs. Gray’s, then?”
“Yes, I suppose,” Frederic said as he stepped around a costermonger’s cart. Fresh fruits, it seemed. He’d have to mention them to Carlyle. “My mother is particularly fond of Mrs. Gray and the quality of her work. Hopefully she’ll meet with your approval.”
“Surely, she will. I’m—I’m not terribly familiar with modistes and their craft. My aunt switches frequently and generally just sent my sizes when I needed new clothing.”
She rubbed her glove absently—the one that covered a scar. Frederic tried to appreciate the wisdom in her aunt’s preferences, but Lady Caroline didn’t need to be hidden any more than a lily tousled by a storm.
“You’ve had an advantage, then, in discovering different levels of craftsmanship. Honestly, I don’t know that we’ve had a different dressmaker since my brother was quite young.”
“Your brother?” She looked at him in surprise. “I didn’t—I mean—” She flushed then a touch of anxiety crept into her eyes. “I wasn’t aware you had a brother. Does he live at home?”
“He does. He’s quite young—only sixteen—and hasn’t been presented yet, but,” he said, noting her confusion, “don’t worry—he won’t pester you—at least, not when I’m around.”
“Oh no! It’s not that! It’s—” She fidgeted with her reticule for a moment. “I’m sure he’ll be wonderful.”
Frederic glanced at her. A bit of nerves was common, expected even, in situations like this.
“It will soothe your feelings to meet him. He’s an excellent boy—quick, considerate, and helpful to me at least.”
She sighed but tried to smile. Frederic nodded to the shop window.
“We’re coming up on ‘the district,’ now as the young ladies call it. More and more of these windows will be filled with all sorts of things interesting to future duchesses.”
The distraction worked. Lady Caroline smiled, and her eyes traveled over the shops and their wares. Blue bonnets with red ribbons and green bonnets with brown ones—and a particularly well-trimmed waistcoat in a steady shade of navy blue. Frederic’s eyes flicked over a mannequin dressed in a bonnet and walking dress then drifted to Caroline.
Pink, perhaps, or a light blue? He didn’t know which color would suit her best or which he even preferred. Even with her scar, her face looked like a painting and felt like a stirring sermon. Heimagined himself an artist. His medium: fabric. How would the new gown frame the delicacy of her profile? How could it capture the disarming sweetness?—
He bumped into a gentleman passing them, who opened his mouth to complain, glared at the two of them, and then rolled his eyes.
Frederic, for the first time in many years, blushed. Who did that man think he was? It was clear he thought them, a gentleman and a lady dressed and comporting themselves as appropriately as anyone else, a pair of thoughtless youths.
The Duke of Blackmore wasn’t any more addlepated—or twitterpated—than anyone else. He was marrying out of duty—an obligation to right what had been wronged. Surely it was not a crime to walk the street in broad daylight next to any woman of his choosing, much less?—
“Have you come often to London?” Lady Caroline asked. Her bright eyes flicked over a pair of costermongers then back to a grocer calling out the front of his shop. “There’s so very much to see.”
“No,” Frederic answered shortly, still simmering over the gentleman’s exasperated glance. Lady Caroline lowered her eyes.
“That is,” he amended, softening his tone. “I have been to London before, but only once or twice a year and almost always on business.”
A large group of ladies passed them. Several of them smiled at him. He frowned and looked away.
