Shawl? What on earth could be so urgent about a shawl?
He raised a brow but did not ask. Instead, he gave a short bow, all polished courtesy. “As you wish, ladies. A good day to you, then.”
He swung easily into the saddle, his horse shifting beneath him with a toss of its head. With one last nod, he turned and rode offat a steady pace, leaving behind their laughter and conspiratorial smiles.
Yet as the manor came into sight, Jasper realized he carried more than dust and grease back with him. He carried the image of Matilda’s blush, the freckles across her nose, and the strange, disarming warmth of her quietthank you.
And though he told himself it was nothing, thatshewas nothing but vexation wrapped in grey muslin, the thought of her refused to leave him.
The village shops were alive with noise and color by the time the carriage finally rolled into the square. Merchants called out their wares, ribbons fluttered in the breeze, and trays of buttons and beads glittered like treasure under the sun.
Cordelia practically flew from the carriage before it had even halted.
“Look atthat! Oh, Matilda, that shade of sapphire would make you blaze brighter than the heavens!”
“Do not overwhelm her before she has even set foot on the cobbles,” Hazel said, though her lips twitched with amusement. She disembarked with the composed dignity of a queen, then promptly tugged Cordelia back by the sleeve when the latter nearly collided with a basket of bread rolls.
Evelyn looped her arm through Matilda’s as they entered the milliner’s shop. “Come, dearest. Today we spoil you.”
Matilda smiled faintly, but beneath it her heart gave a secret leap. She could not remember the last time she had looked upon silks and trims with such anticipation. The thought of altering her plain gown, of shaping it into something dazzling by her own hand, sent a quiet thrill through her chest.
Cordelia was already at work, scattering boxes of beads across the counter. “We need sparkle, silver, yes, but also color. Imagine a streak of midnight blue down the hem!”
Hazel arched a brow. “If we follow your suggestions, Cordelia, poor Matilda will end the night looking like a firework.”
“Better a firework than a shadow,” Cordelia returned without hesitation.
Evelyn held up a length of soft silver ribbon, her eyes shining. “This. It is subtle, but once embroidered it will gleam in the candlelight. Matilda, what do you think?”
Matilda touched the ribbon gently, feeling the cool silk slide between her fingers. Her lips curved, this time in genuine delight. “It will be perfect,” she said softly.
Hazel caught the look on her face and gave a small, approving nod.
And so it began. They pored over beads, argued over shades of thread, laughed over Cordelia’s insistence that feathers might be added.
“Absolutely not!” Hazel decreed.
Shoppers passing by turned to watch the little quartet of ladies, their laughter filling the narrow shop.
Matilda found herself laughing too, feeling her cheeks warm and her hands already itching to begin the work. She imagined the gown transformed. It would be grey still, but alive with silver and shimmer, a reflection of the woman she might be for one night.
Her friends chattered on, debating between pearls and crystals, but Matilda’s thoughts drifted elsewhere for the briefest moment. She pictured a certain duke, his blue eyes widening, that insufferably smug grin finally faltering.
The thought sent a spark racing through her, and she laughed again, this time at herself. How absurd to care what he thought. And yet, how sweet the idea of surprising him.
The laughter of her friends faded into the hum of the marketplace, and Matilda’s thoughts slipped elsewhere. Against her will, an image returned to her mind: broad shoulders bent beneath the sun, hands steady on the wheel, sleeves rolled high to reveal arms corded with strength. She remembered the moment he had lifted the carriage just enough to adjust the axle,his body taut with effort. The memory sent heat through her, quick and sharp, leaving her breath uneven.
It maddened her.
How could she, who had sworn to feel nothing for any man, allow her mind to dwell on him? Onthatman, of all people? The very one who tormented her with sly remarks and knowing smiles. And yet she had wanted to watch him longer, to see the shift of muscle, the scarred hands turning deft and capable as he worked.
And now, standing in a shop filled with ribbons and beads, she longed for something she could scarcely name. She wanted him to see her in a gown she had made radiant, to look at her the way she had looked at him and to be drivenmadby it.
The realization jolted her, a spark of fire where there should have been only cold resolve.
She pressed her palm against the bolt of silver ribbon Evelyn had handed her, grounding herself. She was still set on the convent. Still determined to choose a life apart from such dangerous whims. Nothing could change that.
And yet…
