“My presence at a dressmaker will cause more speculation, not less.”
“Nonsense. A duke accompanying his aunt shows family devotion. Besides,” Cecilia lowered her voice, though not enough that Louise couldn’t hear, “you have excellent taste when you choose to exercise it.”
Aaron glanced at his pocket watch. Howlett’s note had suggested meeting at the Boar’s Head at two o’clock. It was barely noon.He had time, though every instinct screamed against spending it near Louise.
“One hour,” he said firmly. “Then, I have business that cannot be delayed.”
“Marvelous!” Cecilia was already steering him toward the door. “Emily, dear, bring Buttercup. He enjoys carriage rides.”
The journey to Bond Street took place in torturous proximity. The carriage, spacious under normal circumstances, felt impossibly small with Louise seated directly across from him. Every bump in the road shifted her slightly, drawing his attention to the graceful way she steadied herself, the delicate bones of her wrists visible beneath her gloves.
Emily chattered about snowflakes and whether the ballroom would have real snow or just decorations, while Buttercup attempted to stick his massive head out the window despite the cold. But Aaron heard none of it, too aware of Louise’s presence, the subtle scent of lavender that haunted his dreams.
Eventually, they arrived at Madame Beaumont’s establishment. The modiste herself appeared at the door, clearly having been watching for their arrival.
“Your Grace! Lady Merrow! Such an honor!” The woman’s French accent might have been genuine twenty years ago; now it served as a theatrical enhancement to her mystique.
They were ushered into a private salon, all gilt mirrors and cream silk. Emily immediately gravitated toward a display of ribbons while Buttercup found a patch of sunlight and collapsed into it with a contented grunt.
“Now then,” Madame Beaumont clasped her hands together, “Lady Ashworth’s winter ball, yes? Such excitement! Everyone wants silver and white, but we shall create something extraordinary.”
She whisked Cecilia away first, leaving Aaron trapped in a salon with Louise and the overwhelming need to be anywhere else. Louise moved to the window, pretending to study the street below, but he could see the tension in her shoulders.
“You don’t have to stay,” she said quietly. “I’m sure your business is important.”
“My aunt would never forgive me.”
“Your aunt seems quite determined.” Louise kept her voice carefully neutral, though being this close to him made her pulse race.
“She has that effect on people.” He turned to study a display of gloves with intense concentration.
The silence stretched between them, filled with everything they couldn’t say. Louise traced a pattern on the velvet settee, fighting the urge to smooth the tension from his shoulders, to tell him she understood his distance even as it hurt her.
Thankfully, Madame Beaumont returned with Cecilia, who wore an expression of deep satisfaction.
“Perfect! Absolutely perfect!” Cecilia declared. “Now, Lady Louise, your turn. Madame has some wonderful ideas.”
“I really couldn’t possibly accept a gown,” Louise protested as Madame held up several swatches of silk. “I’m only Lady Merrow’s companion. I’m sure I have something suitable in my wardrobe.”
“Nonsense!” Lady Merrow swept forward. “You’ll be properly dressed or not at all. I won’t have people saying I don’t care for my companion.”
“But the expense?—”
“Is not yours to worry about,” Lady Merrow said firmly. “Besides, the duke agrees. Don’t you, Aaron?”
Aaron looked up from where he’d been pretending to examine walking sticks. “My aunt is correct. You’ll be dressed according to your position in this household.”
Louise felt heat rise in her cheeks. “Your kindness is overwhelming, but?—”
“Please, Louise?” Emily abandoned the ribbons to clutch her sister’s hand. “I want to see you look like a princess!”
Louise allowed herself to be led away, but not before shooting Aaron one last look that seemed equal parts frustration and something else. Something that made his chest tight and his control feel suddenly fragile.
“She’s lovely,” Madame Beaumont said conversationally as she guided Louise toward the fitting area. “Such unusual coloring. We must be careful not to overwhelm it.”
Aaron moved closer without conscious thought. Through the partially open curtain, he could see Louise standing before a mirror as Madame held up various fabrics.
“The white silk is traditional,” the modiste was saying, “but perhaps something with more warmth? This cream would complement your skin beautifully.”
