“A secret engagement is so romantic,” Henrietta said. “It always is in novels.”
Catherine opened her mouth to chastise Henrietta. Mrs. Warburton looked like she was about to explode. The girl needed to be more guarded in her speech around strangers.
Before she could speak, however, another voice sounded from the doorway.
“I utterly agree with your old mentor, Miss Aster,” John said. “That’s something for you to remember, Retta. If you ever enter into a secret engagement, I’ll horsewhip the gentleman in question.”
“John! You can’t be in here!” explained Henrietta, even though she was once more fully clothed.
Mrs. Warburton, for her part, swept down into a low curtsey. “Your Grace,” she said.
John gave a small bow in return.
“And, if I may say, Your Grace,” the older woman said, “I agree with your pronouncement on secret engagements.”
“They’re never romantic,” John said to his sister, “and always a bad idea. If you ever contract a secret engagement—I don’t care if he is a prince—I will refuse the match on principle.”
“But brother, all that secret yearning? The lingering glances? And no one knows but those involved! How can you say it is not romantic?”
John met Catherine’s eye and she could have sworn he blushed, albeit faintly.
“Mrs. Warburton,” he said, clearing his throat. “Could you ask one of your assistants to escort my sister to her bedchamber to pick out fabrics?”
Henrietta objected to being ferried out of the room. But John insisted and she had to oblige.
“Shall I follow as well, Your Grace?” Mrs. Warburton asked.
“No, Mrs. Warburton,” John said, once Henrietta was gone, “I would like you to measure Miss Aster now.”
“Your Grace?” the modiste said in confusion.
“She will have a suite of clothes, including evening things, as well.”
“Y-Your Grace,” Catherine stuttered out, sure that she had turned crimson from her hairline to her chin. “I cannot accept—”
“I am your employer, Miss Aster,” John said, “and I will not have myself contradicted.”
Catherine could say little more. The modiste looked equally taken aback by this turn of events, but she could scarcely object either. She gestured for Catherine to come over to the dais.
Instead of leaving the room, John sank into one of the chairs opposite the platform.
With her eyes, Catherine urged him to leave. First, she was angry with him. Second, she knew Mrs. Warburton would find this behaviorhighlyirregular.
Indeed, Mrs. Warburton cast an eye over to John.
“Your Grace?” she questioned.
“I am going to remain in this seat, Mrs. Warburton.”
“Very well, Your Grace,” she said, swallowing, her face downturned in what Catherine could only interpret as moral outrage.
Nevertheless, the modiste removed Catherine’s plain gray dress and undid her stays, leaving her standing in her chemise.
Catherine met John’s eyes in the mirror.
He looked almost feverish, his lips unusually red. He fidgeted in the chair but did not take his eyes off of her.
Her anger flared as she saw the unmistakable desire in his gaze.
