“Shopping,” replied the duke crisply. “It has occurred to me that we will soon be attending Lord and Lady Carforth’s winter ball and that you should have a new dress.”
“Oh!”
Rose was surprised and then pleased. No one had ever offered to take her shopping like this. At Westvale Park, her clothing was ordered quarterly along with her mother’s wardrobe, and with more input from Eugenia Williams than Rose herself. The familiar elderly dressmaker called at the house with sample fabrics and plates of latest fashions for young ladies. Their choices were made and then delivered.
“I know an excellent modiste in Bedford Square,” Dorian continued. “I am sure that Madame Delacroix can create something that will suit you perfectly.”
Now Rose began to feel a few qualms. The Carforth ball was in only ten days time and there was a great deal of expense involved in commissioning dresses at short notice. While rich, the Williams family did not like to waste money unnecessarily and Edwin would never have sanctioned such an impulsive and unnecessary purchase.
In addition, Rose did not know Madame Delacroix and the thought of undressing before a stranger brought outher bashfulness in full measure. Finally, there was the uncomfortable question of how the duke knew this dressmaker. Was it where he took all his women to purchase them such gifts?
“You are kind, Dorian, but you do know that I already have many ball dresses, don’t you? There are some in my trousseau that I have never even worn.”
The Duke of Ravenhill laughed and walked around the table to offer Rose his arm.
“Those gowns were all designed for Lady Rose Williams, an innocent young lady raised with too much modesty for a woman of so comely a face and figure. Now, you must have a gown made for the Duchess of Ravenhill, a married woman of rank who need have no shyness in displaying her charms at her husband’s side.”
Dorian’s compliments both heartened Rose and made her flush pinkly, attracting a laughing kiss despite the open dining room door and the presence of servants in the hallway. His eyes followed her line of sight and his amusement increased.
“Do you really think that anyone could judge me for kissing my wife in my own house?” he teased her, arms now around her waist. “Anyway, never mind Smithers seeing me kiss you in the dining room, what will my valet say when he sees my neck and shoulder?”
Rose felt mortified, recalling exactly how Dorian had acquired both the red mark on his neck and the bite on his shoulder last night. She was the one who had been more like an animal…Despite his first fears, Dorian had been gentle in his handling, if ardent, and her own skin was unmarked.
“I’m sorry…” Rose began but the duke hushed her with yet another kiss.
“Do not be sorry,” he insisted. “Such passion is a sign that I served you well. Anyway, I shall shave myself this week and my valet need see nothing. Does that make you feel better?”
Warm and safe in his arms, Rose laughed and nodded.
“You must think me ridiculous, Dorian. I do not know how to be a wife, do I?”
The Duke of Ravenhill shrugged, a lock of dark hair falling across his brow as he grinned back at her.
“I do not know how to be a husband either,” he admitted. “We must learn to play this game together.”
Arm in arm they proceeded into the hallway to ready themselves for their journey.
“Your Grace, how good of you to visit our little establishment with your new duchess,” trilled Madame Delacroix, whose accent was far more London than Paris to Rose’s ear, although she was indeed as stylish and elegant in appearance as anyFrenchwoman Rose could imagine. “You must allow me to congratulate you both, Your Graces. How fine it is to marry well!”
“We thank you, Madame Delacroix,” accepted Dorian with humorous gravity “I daresay Monsieur Delacroix must think the same way and congratulate himself on marrying well every time he sees you.”
Rose noted the easy familiarity between the Duke of Ravenhill and the dressmaker and wondered again how many times he had been there before with other women. Or maybe alone. Madame Delacroix’s smooth black hair, deep blue eyes and dimpled smile could entice any man, even if the silver at her temples declared her well into middle age.
There were no other clients in the atelier this afternoon, its proprietor having closed the shop and put a sign on the door as soon as they entered. Now they sat in a small consultation room between the shop floor, the dressing room and the workrooms. A tray of tea was brought by a curious young girl in a work apron.
“Ah, you are far too charming a client, Your Grace,” chuckled themodiste.“Monsieur Delacroix is a very naughty man, if almost as charming as you. If he did not always bring such exquisite fabrics whenever he crosses the channel, I should not open the door. Still, in my line of work, there is no better husband than a cloth merchant, I suppose.”
“I am sure you are the only woman in your husband’s thoughts, Madame,” said Dorian with a somewhat arch smile and a smallbow of his head, “whatever you may believe of the habits of Parisians. Nor did you marry Monsieur Delacroix solely for his fine fabrics.”
“What can we poor women do against such charming men as the Duke of Ravenhill and my Henri?” sighed the dressmaker, casting her eyes now to Rose in appeal, as if sensing that the banter with the duke was unsettling the less worldly younger woman, and seeking to draw her in.
Rose giggled and turned red as soon as she heard the name“Henri,” thinking only of the title character in the improper book from the duke’s library.
“Behave!” whispered Dorian in her ear with mock severity. “I know exactly what you’re thinking right now.”
That only made Rose giggle again, her face blushing beyond her control. Rather than being offended or confused, Madame Delacroix seemed pleased, as if the credit for Rose’s laughter was hers alone.
“Now, all this chatter is not helping to establish the perfect gown for the Duchess of Ravenhill, is it?” she observed merrily, reaching out for some swatches of fabric from a side table and passing them to Rose. “A ball gown, I think you said when you came in. Is that right?”
