“Why do you care?”
“I didn’t want them to live the way I did,” he bit out. “I didn’t want them fending for themselves and acting like damned heathens.”
He realized that his chest was heaving beneath her palms. The gentle, understanding look in her eyes made his lungs work even harder, everything in him tautening…waiting.
“Because you are a good man,” she said. “You care about them, virtual strangers, more than your father ever did about any of his children.”
He didn’t know what to say so he kept his mouth shut.
“Toby looks up to you, and a little encouragement would go a long way,” she went on. “He’s a charming fellow, much cleverer than he lets on. He volunteered to escort me to Madame Rousseau’s tomorrow for the final fitting of my dress for Bea’s wedding, and afterward we’re going to Gunter’s. Gemma said children adore the ices served there. I invited Eleanor along as well.”
“Eleanor at a dress shop?” He smiled humorlessly. “I would have a care, if I were you. She might read a treatise on the rights of workers and encourage the seamstresses to riot.”
“I doubt that since Madame Rousseau pays her seamstresses twice the going wage.”
He canted his head at her. “How would you know that?”
“Fittings take a long time; you have to chat about something,” his duchess said blithely. “I was wearing one of my old gowns, and Madame—her name is Amelie, by the way—commented on the fine workmanship. I told her I made it myself and that I’d done piecework from time to time. That led to a conversation about the trade in London, and Amelie told me that since she’d worked her way up as a seamstress, she knew ’ow…how hard the work was and how little it paid. So she pays her own apprentices better and… Why are you staring at me like that?”
“Because I’m sure that while Madame is privy to plenty of gossip, this was undoubtedly the first time a duchess confessed to working as a seamstress,” he said.
“Oh.” Fancy bit her lip. “Was it wrong of me to tell her? She seemed so nice…and Aunt Esther says Amelie’s discretion is even more famous than her dressmaking.”
“Tell her whatever you want, sweeting.” He brushed his knuckles against the curve of her cheek. “I find your candor charming.”
A notch formed between her brows. “I wasn’t trying to be charming.”
“I know. You are naturally that way.”
Her gaze shimmered with emotion, and her gaze darted to his mouth before she tucked her head against his shoulder. She let out a quivery sigh that he felt in his balls. Even though it had only been two days since their last bedding, he was already hungry for her. He didn’t know why talking with her about everyday matters should make him feel randy, but it did.
“I’m so lucky you’re my ’usb…husband,” she whispered.
“I am the lucky one, Fancy.” He meant it; he couldn’t think of another woman who could bring out the best in Toby and try to lure Eleanor from her shell. Who would care enough to do so.
While Imogen had given him the names of dressmakers, tutors, and the like who she’d claimed could make his siblings respectable, she had not offered to provide them guidance herself. Not that he had any right to expect that from her, especially not after the one disastrous meeting she’d had with them. Imogen had been subjected to Cecily’s vulgar fawning over her jewels, Jonas’s inexpert flirtation, and Eleanor’s utter indifference. Toby had capped things off by upending a cup of tea on her lap.
Imogen had not come for a return visit.
Yet Fancy was somehow making inroads with his siblings, a feat he had frankly begun to think was impossible. She shouldn’t have to go at it alone. They were his kin, after all, and his responsibility.
Clearing his throat, he said, “I have some time tomorrow. I shall escort you on your outing.”
Her lips curved against his chest. “That would be lovely.”
The following afternoon, Severin accompanied Fancy, Toby, and Eleanor to the modiste. He was relieved that Amelie Rousseau was as discreet as his wife had said. The modiste seemed to have taken a genuine liking to her new patron.
While Fancy was changing, the dressmaker murmured to him, “In designing Her Grace’s new wardrobe, I chose simplicity over ornamentation. True beauty, the kind that glows from within, has no need of excessive polish, yes? No need to gild the lily.”
Severin could not agree more.
Afterward, he took his wife and the children to Gunter’s Tea Shoppe on Berkeley Square. Amongst the fashionable set, it was the place to see and be seen, and waiters brought ices out to the lords and ladies, who enjoyed the treats in their carriages parked along the square. Since it was Fancy and the children’s first visit, all three wanted to eat inside the shop.
Severin secured them a table, and after deliberations worthy of Parliament over the ice menu, Fancy chose chocolate, Toby praline, and Eleanor pineapple. Severin opted for a plate of teacakes. When the sweets arrived, he enjoyed the delight on his wife and siblings’ faces even more than the delicious confections. Eleanor, who’d had her nose buried in a book during the fitting, laid the volume aside as she, Fancy, and Toby sampled one another’s flavors and debated which was the best.
Watching Fancy interact with the children, Severin had a sudden thought that one day she would be doing this with their own children. Given the frequency of their beddings, chances were good that she would be increasing soon. Part of his motivation to wed had been to secure an heir, but seeing Fancy wipe a smudge of cream from Toby’s nose—shockingly, the only mess he’d made thus far—turned the hypothetical into something…visceral.
Severin pictured her belly swollen with his child, her eyes in the face of their son, her sweetness in the smile of their daughter, and his chest constricted with a feeling he couldn’t quite name.
