"Make you devastating, darling. Those society peacocks won't know what hit them." She snapped her fingers. "Strip."
"I beg your pardon?"
"To your chemise. How can I dress you if I don't know what I'm working with?"
"Alaric is standing right there!"
"The duke has seen female forms before, I assure you."
"Not mine!"
Alaric was already backing toward the door, his face red. "I'll be in the library. The very distant library. Behind closed doors. Possibly in another country."
When he was gone, Madame Laurent smiled. "He's smitten. I've never seen him blush. This is delightful."
The next two hours were a whirlwind of measuring, draping, pinning. Madame Laurent worked with frightening efficiency, her assistants following her rapid-fire French instructions.
"The dress must be perfect," she declared. "Not just beautiful—meaningful. You are not trying to blend in, darling. You are making a statement."
"What kind of statement?"
"That the Duke of Wexmere has chosen someone real over all the painted dolls who've been throwing themselves at him for years."
"Is that what they are? Painted dolls?"
"Some. Others are sharks in silk. A few are genuinely nice but boring. You, though—you have character. I can see why he loves you."
"How can you see that?"
"Your hands, darling. They work. Your eyes...they see. Your stance...you don't apologize for existing. Most of these society girls, they're taught to be decorative. You're functional and beautiful. Much more interesting."
"You make me sound like a particularly attractive piece of furniture."
"Furniture doesn't usually capture dukes."
By the time Madame Laurent left, promising to return in the morning with the completed gown, Marianne was exhausted. She found Alaric in the library, surrounded by ledgers but clearly not reading them.
"Survived?" he asked.
"Barely. She's intense."
"She's the best. She'll create something that makes you feel powerful."
"I don't need to feel powerful. I need to feel like I won't embarrass you."
"You could never..."
"If you say I could never embarrass you one more time, I'm throwing something at you."
"Book or ledger?"
"Whichever is heavier."
He smiled, pulling her down beside him on the sofa. "Tell me what you're really afraid of."
"That they'll see I don't belong. That they'll laugh at you for choosing someone so far beneath your station. That you'll see me next to all those elegant ladies and realize you've made a terrible mistake."
"Marianne, I need you to listen to me. Really listen, not just hear while planning counter-arguments."
