“Oh good, that is a great time,” the Baron said quickly. “The modiste is making adjustments to her gown –”
Charlotte cut in sweetly, “Papa insisted on ivory. It is suitable for a duchess.”
James’s gaze remained on Eleanor. “Do you… like… ivory, Miss Barker?”
Her spine straightened as though the question had reached deeper than fabric. “It is fine, Your Grace.”
“That was not my question.”
The ivory gown lay smooth against Eleanor’s frame, the fabric catching the light as she turned slightly before the mirror.
The room stilled again.
Lord St. George stood near the hearth, hands clasped behind his back. “Miss Barker appears satisfied,” he said coolly. “That is all that matters.”
James’s features stilled.
“She is your eldest daughter, is she not? Surely, you may cease referring to her as Miss Barker in my presence,” he said, mild but unmistakably firm. “And she is to be my wife.”
The silence that followed was brief, but sharp.
Lord St. George shifted, the movement small and unguarded. “Formality is appropriate,” he replied. “Especially when expectations must be made clear.”
James met his gaze. “Respect is appropriate. Especially in my presence.”
Charlotte’s fingers tightened at her side; her stare fixed on Eleanor with open hostility.
Eleanor did not look away from him.
James’s gaze landed on her again. “Are you?”
Eleanor’s fingers tightened on the silk. She hesitated for only a moment, the smallest pause, but James noticed everything.
“What?”
“Are you satisfied with this dress?”
“No,” she said quietly.
Lord St. George’s face darkened at once. “Miss – Eleanor –”
James’s gaze flicked toward him, cold. “Let her speak.”
Her father swallowed his anger. “You do not like it?” he demanded, already flushing. “After everything being arranged for you?”
Eleanor lifted her chin, her composure taut. “I prefer a warmer shade. Cream, perhaps.”
Charlotte’s lips parted in disbelief. “Cream?”
“It is softer,” Eleanor said. “And, if I may be frank, ivory will wash me out.”
Charlotte stared as though Eleanor had insulted the crown itself.
Lord St. George’s jaw clenched. “You will wear what I have provided!”
James watched Eleanor’s reaction. The slight flare of her nostrils. The restraint. The fact that she did not back down, not even when she was being cornered.
“You said you wanted me to be a duchess,” Eleanor said evenly. “A duchess should not look ill at her own wedding.”
