The Scoundrel Duke of her Heart by Violet Hamers
Chapter Thirteen
“The dowager duchess has taken it upon herself to take me trousseau shopping,” Jenny told Daphne on their ride in the park. “I received her note this morning, telling me she cannot trust anyone’s judgment but hers regarding the duchess’ wardrobe.”
“I already feel sorry for you, Jenny.” Daphne gave her a pitying look. “Your nerves might rise. I cannot imagine having a mother-in-law like that.”
“Grandmother-in-law,” Jenny corrected.
Daphne shrugged. “She acts well like a mother-in-law. You can’t blame me for forgetting.”
“Mrs. Atwood will be disappointed. She has been looking forward to assembling my trousseau.”
Daphne chuckled. “On the bright side, you won’t be wearing ivory or jade green.”
“True, I don’t like those colors but is it worth being dragged in and out of the shops of Mayfair by her?”
“Perhaps it is not but you will only have to endure it for a short while.” She slowed her horse when they approached the part of the park with more people and Jenny did the same. “Do you know what could help you?”
“What?”
“You can allow me to help,” she said.
“You want to help with my trousseau?” Jenny asked to stir the conversation where she wanted. The glint in Daphne's eyes told her she was trying to make her talk about Nicholas and why she had spent an unusual amount of time in the ladies’ retiring room.
Daphne’s studious gaze was on Jenny’s face for several seconds. “Don’t play coy with me, Jenny. You cannot expect me to believe you avoided the ballroom for the better part of the night because of a headache. What happened last night?”
“The music was so loud it gave me a headache, Daph. Spending time away from the ballroom is a better option than leaving early.” Jenny had wanted to leave because of how discomfited she had been but Daphne was enjoying the evening and cutting it short would not have been fair.
“I saw you dancing with Nicholas. I know you, Jenny, and you did not look happy. And then you disappeared. Both of you disappeared. Did you have a quarrel?”
“I wish it had stopped at that,” Jenny murmured without realizing that she’d spoken aloud. The color instantly rose to her cheeks and the memory of the sensual moment they had shared flooded her thoughts.
“Goodness, Jenny!” Daphne’s eyes grew wide as saucers. She must have noticed the color on Jenny’s face. “What did happen?”
Jenny glanced behind them at their lady’s maids and grooms before giving her friend a slightly disapproving look. “Pardon me, Jenny.” Daphne looked sheepish. “I tend to easily get carried away.”
“Nothing happened, Daph.” Jenny pushed away the lock of hair that fell over her eye. “Nothing happened,” she repeated.
Daphne steered her horse closer to Jenny’s and lowered her voice. “You are engaged to be married. I don’t think whatever you did is entirely wrong. He will marry you in the end.”
If Jenny’s emotions had not been tempestuous, she would have laughed at what Daphne was saying. There was great passion between them and the kiss they had shared was not wrong. As a matter of fact, nothing had ever felt more right. But Nicholas was determined to squash that passion and it made her wonder if there was something wrong with her. It eroded her confidence in herself.
“Your silence confirms that I am right.” Daphne wore a satisfied look. She was a very odd girl but Jenny loved her all the same. “I told you he is a man and will not be able to resist you.” A wide grin split across her face then. “I love being right!”
In her excitement, she kicked her mare, causing it to rear and nearly throw her off before galloping wildly away. “Jenny!” Daphne screamed. “Jenny, help me!”
The grooms dashed after the horse and Jenny spurred hers into motion, praying the frightened mare didn’t throw Daphne off. Her fear was eased—somewhat—when a gentleman rode toward Daphne, holding out his hand to take the reins from her hands. He was able to slow the horse down by the time Jenny was able to catch up to them. Daphne was red-faced and clung to whatever part of the mare she could cling to. And the gentleman was none other than Ernest.
“Thank goodness you are all right,” Jenny said, dismounting as soon as her horse stopped.
The mare began to grow agitated again and Ernest tugged at the reins. “Easy now, girl. Easy.” Once it was calm enough, he dismounted and went to help Daphne down.
“I can barely feel my legs,” she said with a nervous laugh as she blinked her tears away. “I was certain Minerva was going to throw me off and trample me.”
Jenny hugged her. “Before you perish of curiosity, I shall perish of fear. Don’t ever do that to me again.”
“Oh, I am not riding again. At least, not for a long while.” She was trembling.
Ernest handed the reins to the groom before jogging away to fetch the bonnet that had been thrown to the ground some yards away. “Here you go.” He gave it to her. “You might want to have it cleaned before putting it back on,” he teased and she smiled.
“Thank you, Mr. Brighton.”
“You are most welcome. Now that a disaster has been averted, I believe I am in need of sustenance. Would you like to join me?”
“I fear I will not be able to eat a bite after the fright but I would not mind returning to my house and having our cook make you something hearty to thank you.”
Jenny’s brows rose at her friend’s tone. In her state, she was inviting Ernest. Perhaps she had been trying to match her with the wrong man. She and Ernest did make a striking pair.
“That would be most gratifying, Miss Bexley. Allow me…” he trailed off, staring into the distance. “Ah, there is the Duke of Seaton.”
Jenny followed his gaze to see Nicholas. He was riding alongside one of the women they had encountered the other day and her demeanor immediately darkened. “Who is that he is riding with?” Daphne asked.
“Lady Heatherford,” Ernest replied.
Jenny tried to conceal her jealousy and said, “We should get you home, Daphne.”
“I agree,” Ernest said. “You may ride my horse. It is very tame.”
“I did say I am not going to ride for a while but I think my courage is coming back.”
Ernest helped Daphne onto his horse while Jenny glanced back at Nicholas. The widow now had her hand on his arm. Jenny’s ire rose, not from jealousy but from the unfairness of the situation.
If their places were switched and she was the one riding with Phineas or another man, he would not have wasted any time in revealing both his presence and his choler. The man had no consideration for her.
* * *
Two days later
“Do come on, girl!” the dowager urged Jenny, dragging her into the fifth shop that day.
Jenny had been correct in her prediction of how the day would go with the dowager. She threw Mrs. Atwood a pleading look that saidrescue me. But her companion only smiled apologetically.
Jenny had insisted on bringing Mrs. Atwood along when the dowager had come to the house that morning. “Mrs. Atwood’s presence will give me great comfort, Your Grace. My nerves have been difficult to manage lately,” she had said.
The dowager had been reluctant in allowing Mrs. Atwood to come but Jenny had convinced her with the case of her nerves.
“Hopefully, this shop will have something good for us,” the dowager said, looking about the place superciliously and scrunching up her nose.
They had not engaged the services of the four modistes they had erstwhile visited because the dowager had deemed them unfit to make a duchess’s garments, exiting each shop with a huff and a thud of her cane against the floorboards. Her attitude was in part to blame for Jenny’s weariness.
The door closed behind them and the wind chimes above rang softly. This shop did not look very different from the ones they had visited and Jenny braced herself for the worst.
“Marguerite!” a masculine voice called, causing Jenny's head to swivel around. “We have special customers, bring some lemonade.” A lithe, bespectacled man skirted a table with sketches scattered about and walked forward to meet them. He bowed to the dowager first.
“Monsieur Raphael, at your service, Your Grace.” He smiled and his youthful face appeared as though it had seen too much talc and his light shone in the sunlight that filtered into the shop, competing with it for brightness.
Jenny remembered hearing about him. He was new in London and catered only to women but he was quickly gaining popularity.
The dowager’s sharp eyes traveled over him and she inclined her head. “At least some of you know who I am.”
Jenny caught Mrs. Atwood rolling her eyes and smiled. Then the dowager pulled Jenny forward. “This is the future Duchess of Seaton. She will be getting married in a fortnight. Are you capable of styling her?”
Raphael bowed to Jenny before responding simply with, “Indeed, Your Grace.”
The dowager sniffed. “Get to work, then.”
“You have vivid green eyes, my lady. May I suggest a color to complement them?”
“Green will do,” the dowager put in.
Jenny did not wish to argue with the woman in public, nor do anything that might be perceived as disrespectful. Thus, she gracefully nodded at Raphael.
“You are petite so I will keep the style of your dresses simple so they don’t overwhelm your body. You are wearing the dress, after all, and not the other way around.” Raphael grinned at the dowager, displaying an impressive dentition. Jenny could not help the mirthful snort that escaped her at his brazenness.
At last, this mantuamaker is a match for the dowager, she thought.
The intimidating mask the woman always wore fleetingly faltered. She was unaccustomed to people like Raphael, it would seem. But she quickly recovered, appearing as though she was readying herself for combat.
“Lavender is a pretty color that compliments green,” he continued. “You can have a dress in lavender.”
The dowager began to shake her head. “Did you not hear me when I said her dress will be green?”
Jenny decided to deal with the dowager now. “Your Grace, perhaps we should go to your modiste if you are so displeased with Monsieur Raphael’s choices.”
Her mouth twisted. “That woman has not made me a decent garment in ages. She has positively gone out of style. The last dress she made for me hung on my shoulders and the needlework was atrocious. The thing was practically falling apart.”
“My mother was a mantua maker, bless her soul,” Raphael began. “She told me that a thread only stitches a dress. What holds it together is the body. You Grace, you are more than capable of holding a dress together.” He eyes the dowager appraisingly.
Jenny covered her mouth with her hand to keep from laughing. When they had walked into the shop that afternoon, the dowager had no inkling of what awaited her in the form of Raphael.
“Are you always this insolent?” she asked. Mrs. Atwood coughed and when Jenny looked at her, she found her red-faced with her hand covering her mouth.
“Only to those that pique my fancy, Your Grace,” Raphael replied, the corner of his mouth turning up.
The dowager was now nearly at a loss for words. She sat straighter in her seat and rearranged her shawl about her shoulders, sniffing and looking out the window at the busy street.
The day no longer wore on Jenny and Mrs. Atwood, for they had found ample diversion in Raphael’s quaint shop. When the dowager recovered, she employed her critical tongue once more but every remark of hers was returned with a witty rejoinder from Raphael.
Jenny thought this tale would be the first she would tell Nicholas when she saw him but then remembered how they had been with each other and changed her mind. The last time she had seen him was at the park with Lady Heatherford, and the last time they’d spoken was that night at the ball.
When it came time to choose nightclothes, the mantua maker suggested her night rails be made of silk instead of the usual cotton, and out of the corner of her eye, she caught the dowager smiling. The woman believed there would be an heir in this marriage and Jenny allowed her fantasies.
“Do you have a color preference or do you wish for me to suggest?” Raphael asked, waving for his assistant to bring some fabric samples.
Jenny turned to Mrs. Atwood for her opinion, already knowing the color she would select. “Which shade of green would you suggest, Mrs. Atwood?”
The woman smiled gratefully. “Try emerald green.” Jenny cocked her head. She had expected her to say jade green. After all, it was the color she had been suggesting from the start.
“Red is another color you should consider,” Raphael suggested.
“Red might clash with her hair but I think my grandson will love it.”
She doubted Nicholas would ever see her in any garments designed to seduce. Mentally shaking herself, she returned her attention to the matter at hand. More colors were selected: Midnight blue, violet, and rose.
“Well, Monsieur Raphael,” the dowager said, bracing her cane on the carpeted floor and rising, “you are hereby contracted to sew for the future Duchess of Seaton.”
Raphael bowed. “The future duchess shall have only the best.” He moved to a nearby rack and retrieved a few swatches of lace and presented them to Jenny. “These laces will be an excellent addition to your wedding dress and you may consider it my gift to you, my lady.”
Jenny smiled at his generosity. He was an excellent businessman. The dowager tried to make her opinion known then. “We will choose the Belgian lace.”
Jenny liked the lavender Austrian lace and she was about to express it when Raphael said, “Your Grace, I am quite transfixed by your hair. The shade is quite lovely.”
The dowager touched her immaculate coiffure. “It has more silver than gold in it now.”
“And it is lovely. I am expecting a shipment of red dye from the East Indies. They use it for their body and hair. If you would be interested in something new, I would love to share.”
“Oh?” The woman seemed to be interested in earnest.
While she was distracted by the prospect of coloring her hair red, Jenny picked the Austrian lace with a smug smile on her face. Before they left the shop, the dowager selected a few things for herself and Jenny had never seen her in better spirits. She could understand why. She had been made to feel young again and what aging woman would not be pleased with that?
All three women were in good spirits when they left the shop. But the sight of a familiar face, a face Jenny had not seen in years, sent her spirits plummeting. The dowager’s call distracted her and when she looked back, the face was gone.
But the damage had already been done and Jenny was feeling eerily disquieted. For a moment, she thought that she might be seeing things but her faculties were intact and her instincts sharp.
What she had seen must truly have been there.
