He didn’t deserve her.
Maybe Alec was right. Maybe he should seduce her, then she’d be his for always.
Except Preston wouldn’t because it wasn’t right, no matter how badly his body ached for her.
Desire and lust still ruled his body, but his heart wanted more. He just needed to find the right words to tell her.
“When we return in three months, I want all my dresses to be pink,” Winifred said. “And one made of this.” She pointed to a rose satin.
“That is material for a ballgown, not a child,” Monique gently discouraged.
“One day I will have a ball gown in pink,” Winifred declared.
No doubt she would.
The girls had been measured, and she and Monique were reviewing fashion plates that could be altered in their design more suited for Delia and Matilda, as well as looking at the children’s patterns for the three youngest girls.
Delia offered her opinion most on what she’d like for herself and weighed in on what her sisters should have. Matilda, on the other hand, was curled up in a corner chair with a book, not really caring what dresses were decided for her.
As for Theodora, she requested dark greys only, as they wouldn’t show dirt. Lila wanted everything in lavender. As did Winifred since she couldn’t yet have pink.
The materials were laid out before them, but given it was for half-mourning, there was not much to choose from.
“Goodness, these measurements cannot be right,” Monique stated. “Winifred, come along so that I might measure you again. And please, stand still this time and no wiggling.”
“What of this wool?” Delia asked, holding a bolt of green. “I think you should have a dress made of it, Miss Claywell.”
Such a lovely shade. Nearly emerald in color, but not as bold. It was softer. However, Althea had no need for it, even if she wished for a dress of that color. “It’s lovely but unnecessary.”
“Do all purchases need to be necessary?” Delia asked, bringing the material to Althea then draping it beneath her chin. “It matches your eyes, and it’s a lovely color for you. Don’t you agree, Matilda?”
Before anyone could respond, the door to the shop opened, and in stepped Lord Melcombe.
“Uncle Preston, shouldn’t Miss Claywell order a gown made of this wool?” Delia asked. “It’s the perfect color for her.”
Heat rose to Althea’s cheeks as Lord Melcombe opened his mouth as if to speak, then cleared his throat, before uttering, “Yes, it’s becoming.” Then he focused on his nieces. “I needed to be in Willanton and thought to see how you were progressing in fabrics and fittings and such.”
“We are nearly finished, Lord Melcombe,” Althea said as she took the fabric from Delia and returned it to the shelf from which it came. “Winifred needs measuring a second time, but that is all.”
“Very good,” Melcombe said. “For I have need of you this afternoon.” Then he stopped, cleared this throat, and pulled at his cravat.
Was he blushing? She was certain that whatever the need, it wasn’t improper, except he desired to kiss her.
Goodness, she was reading too much into his words.
“The five of you should take the carriage back to Ambrose Hall. It will then return for me and your governess.”
Althea frowned because she couldn’t imagine why he needed her in Willanton.
Monique returned with Winifred, then gathered up her notes and swatches for each girl and stood. “The first of the dresses should be available next week if you wish to come in for a fitting.”
“Send word when it would be a good time,” Althea said to her.
“I’ll see that the girls are sent straight away to the carriage,” Monique promised.
Melcombe then turned to Althea and lifted her cloak from the peg. “Would you please join me?”
She couldn’t very well refuse, not that she wanted to, but it left her confused as to the purpose and allowed him to help her don her cloak.
