Page 87 of The Duchess’ Modiste

Six months later.

“Oh! Father, can you believe all that has passed in such a few months?” Rosaline asked as she stood by the mirror, turning back and forth excitedly, bobbing on her toes as she looked into her reflection.

“No, I can’t.” His voice missed any of her enthusiasm.

Rosaline didn’t take notice at first. She was too busy looking at her reflection, in scarce belief of the gown she was wearing, or the day that was upon her.

Today, I marry Simon.

She closed her eyes and thought back to the first dance they had shared the night of the Duchess of Suffolk’s ball. From that first moment, there was a spark there, a bond, but she had not realized just how that bond was grow and blossom into something as strong as it was now.

I love him, dearly, more than I thought it possible to love.

Opening her eyes again, Rosaline looked at her wedding gown. Though Rosaline had said she did not need anything expensive, Simon had insisted she had the gown she desired. Chloe had designed it, of course, and Rosaline had even offered help with the sewing.

Cinched high on the waist, just under the bust, the gown fell to the floor in soft cream silks. Inspired by the gown Rosaline had worn the first night she had met Simon, there were red accents throughout. However, this gown had accents in the skirt too. Periodically, red roses bled through the cream silk, more concentrated toward the hemline, bordered with lace. Across the bust, there were dark red beads, leading to the sleeves that were made of pale cream silk, finishing at the elbow.

“Is it not a beautiful gown, Father? Chloe has outdone herself,” Rosaline gushed as she giggled and turned round to face her father.

“Yes, quite beautiful.” Still, he did not share her excitement. He seemed rather morose to Chloe’s eyes, fussing with the bouquet she was to carry. He kept arranging the flowers, in the effort to make them just right.

“Father?” Rosaline said, her voice calmer this time. “Is all well?” She approached him and laid her hands over his on the stems of the bouquet. Between them, the red roses and the honeysuckle were filled with sweet scent. Alfred seemed to have his gaze set upon these blooms rather than her.

“I am sorry, Rosaline, you no doubt do not wish to hear my protests again.”

“Father, we agreed… No protests today.”

“Then let us not call them protests. Let us call them concerns.” He lifted his gaze to meet hers. “This courtship with Lord Gloucester. It has been so fast.”

“Do you believe it to be too fast?” Rosaline was tempted to dance on the spot, in her old nervous habit. She allowed herself just one bob instead, fearing her father’s next words.

“Sometimes,” he seemed to chew his lip with the thought. “I do not doubt the man’s devotion to you, Rosaline. I saw him turning up at our door every day for three months straight, he was so keen on seeing you.”

“Is that not enough then to assure you all is well, Father?”

“That is early love,” Alfred whispered, as if afraid to utter the words. “A love that lasts a lifetime, that can last a marriage, well, that is quite different in my mind.” He fussed with the flowers between them. “Your mother had these in her bouquet,” he gestured to the red roses. “I remember them well.”

Rosaline took one of her father’s hands off the bouquet and clutched it in her own.

“I wish she were here too.” They smiled rather sadly at one another.

Rosaline’s mother had died long ago, of consumption, when Rosaline was still quite young. Never had Rosaline doubted the bond that had been between her parents, even after her mother’s death. Alfred had never thought of marrying again, and simply devoted himself to his business and to raising Rosaline.

“She should be here,” Alfred whispered then moved toward Rosaline. He kissed her on the forehead, a doting touch that brought such a smile to Rosaline’s cheeks that any tension between the two of them seemed to disappear.

“Trust me, Father. I love Simon, and he loves me. Granted, maybe we are marrying quite quickly, but I have seen many a person marry earlier than we, and have been happy for it,” Rosaline said in a rush. “I do not doubt he and I will be happy together.”

“Yes, I am sure you’re right.” Though Alfred’s tone was not quite as buoyant as Rosaline’s own. “I remember the early days of your courtship, partly because they weren’t not long ago.”

“Oh, Father,” Rosaline laughed at him.

“He quite insisted on taking you promenading. He was never afraid of showing you off in front of the ton, was he?” Alfred seemed perplexed by the idea, with his own dark red brows that were beginning to turn white in his old age furrowed together. “He was never ashamed of the disparity in your position.”

By now, Rosaline knew how true this was.

“Simon does not care for where one is born in this world. He says it is the heart and mind that count, not the estates and purses we come with.” She had heard him use these very words countless times.

Rosaline took the bouquet from her father as she thought about all that had passed between her and Simon. Early on, she had grown nervous, and knowing the vast difference in their stations, she had asked Simon to speak plainly of why he was not afraid to court her. He had been quite open on the matter.

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