“I want it,” Maisie exclaimed.
“No, I was going to say that I wanted it,” Ava complained.
Maisie gave her a victorious grin. “Too late.”
Ava rolled her eyes but gave up on that fight, returning her attention to Catriona. “So when are we going to the modiste?”
Catriona thought about it for a second. “I suppose now is as good a time as any.”
“Now?” both sisters gasped in surprise.
“I thought you would not want to go at all,” Maisie said in her surprise.
“Or that you would tell His Grace that you did not care for his kind gesture.”
Frederic snorted loudly. Catriona ignored him and didn’t bother to tell her sisters that she’d already done that with the dress which was what earned her this visit to the modiste in the first place.
“He has also invited me to a ball,” she informed them. “Which is in two days’ time. So I suppose it makes sense for me to get a new dress fitted if I am to attend alongside him.”
“Oh, this is so exciting.” Maisie shot to her feet, putting the dress carefully back in the box before she picked it up. “Then we shouldn’t tarry. If we fetch our bonnets fast enough, I’m sure we can be on our way within ten minutes’ time.”
“Five if we race,” Ava challenged, getting to a stand.
Maisie waved her off. “I have no intention of racing you.”
“Very well. I shall race myself then.” And without waiting for a response, Ava was off. Maisie, despite having stated that she would do otherwise, hurried out behind her.
It took Catriona a moment to stand. She read the letter again. Then again. And every time she did, she couldn’t help but think that he was flirting with her.
This stone-faced duke with steely eyes might be flirting with her.
It was an insane thought, one she constantly tried to dismiss. One that came rushing back even as she too made her way to her chambers to fetch her bonnet.
And every time it did, she thought of that hint of a smile she’d seen last night and wondered if he might have been smiling while he’d written his letters.
CHAPTER 8
The trip to the modiste went exactly how Catriona thought it would. Ava and Maisie could barely contain their excitement, wanting to get fitted in every dress that caught their eyes, claiming that ‘they didn’t think the Duke would mind’. And because Catriona doubted that he would either, she indulged them. After all, why else would he have opened an account?
The modiste, Mrs. Fairclough, was happy to assist. She encouraged Maisie and Ava’s eagerness to spend by offering them more and more selections. By the time they left, her sisters were both five dresses richer.
Catriona, on the other hand, had brought red and black tartan fabric with her, her family’s colors, and had asked the modiste to make a dress from it. She half expected Mrs. Fairclough to turn her nose up in thinly veiled disdain, but she’d seemed more than happy to assist with the request, even promising to have it delivered the morning of the ball.
In the end, she supposed it would not hurt to thank Joseph for his kindness.
Catriona had been in the middle of writing a letter to him, though she had been staring at the blank sheet of paper not knowing how to begin, when Francis came to tell her that the Duke had arrived.
Had she thought about him so much that she’d unknowingly willed him to see her?
The thought was insane, she knew, but she’d had no end of insane thoughts ever since he presented his offer of marriage.
Catriona wasted no time heading to the drawing room where Joseph waited. She took a deep breath on the other end, touching her hair to ensure none of her curls had fallen, though she certainly didn’t have any time to redo it if they did.
Why did she care?
She shook her body as if that would be enough to shake off the unreasonable nervousness before entering the room.
She immediately noticed a maid, who got to her feet the moment Catriona entered, but the maid wasn’t enough to keep Catriona’s attention for long.
