“Why am I surprised he is at a brothel?” Cedric grunted. “Keep an eye on him; let him think he’s gotten away. We’ll get him in the middle of the night when he won’t suspect it.”
“Understood, Sir.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Ariadne stared at her reflection, wondering if the woman she was staring at was truly her. The nightgown was soft, blush pink with ribbons for the arms, a square neck, and another ribbon that tied below her breast.
Turning, she saw the scandalous dip of the back, that took a plunge; it bared the smooth line of her spine only to come together over her bottom, another elegant ribbon was tied into a bow a hairsbreadth above the small of her back.
It was scandalous.
She felt twin stabs of desperation and hope.
“How is it, Your Grace?”
“I never knew such garments existed,” Ariadne wondered.
“Wonderful. Now for the stockings.” The modiste held up black silk stockings and matching shirred garters.
Dressed, Ariadne turned in front of the cheval glass. “I—” be brave, Ariadne. “—I’ll take these and order what other styles you have that you think will be best for me.”
“Lovely,” Modiste Redmonde smiled. “I have some fashion plates I have designed if you would like to look over them while I make some minor adjustments to this nightgown. Your job is to concentrate on cultivating yourboudoirstyle.”
Changing back into her original clothes, she headed back to the waiting room with an armful of fashion plates.
“Can you show me what she put you in?” Clara asked.
Finding the fashion plate and handing it over, Clara’s face lifted in glee. “I have a version of this, except my shoulders are fuller. Believe me when I tell you, my husband couldn’t keep his hands off me.”
Ariadne's cheeks flamed. “To be fair… Cedric and I haven’t crossed that boundary yet.”
Clara’s mouth dropped, “What? Why not?”
Mortified, Ariadne told her friend about that night and the mental process that went with it. “My mother always told me it was something perfunctory duty a wife must do.
“She always told me that she imagines herself somewhere else, shopping for silks, or crafting a hat, and with any luck, I’d have done my duty, and the dreadful business will be over.”
Clara’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. “W-what?”
Thinking it over— and comparing what her mother had told her and what she had experienced with Cedric—showed her just how ridiculous she sounded.
Her friend echoed the words in her head, “I have never heard of such a thing.”
“Apparently, it’s the same advice her mother gave to her,” Ariadne said. “As I think it over, I should never have listened to my mother’s advice about bonnet crafting.”
Clara was still at a loss for words; her mouth opened and closed several times before she said, “Well, if what you said about you not closing the marriage, clearly bonnets were not made.”
“No,” Ariadne replied. “And I partly blame my nightgown for that, too.”
“Partly?” Clara paged through the rest of the fashion plates. “Why partly?”
“I was naïve in thinking we would do such a thing when he did not know me from Adam,” Ariadne admitted while seeing a plateof a flounced blue silk nightgown constructed for a woman with child.
She shifted one that was off the shoulder and silky grey with slits up the side. She slid that one to the side.
“One thing I know is that men are simple creatures,” Clara asked. “They act more on instinct than on deep thought. Some eat with their eyes, well, metaphorically, and believe me, when he sees you in this gown, you’ll be makingbonnetsevery night.”
“I do,” she replied as the modiste stepped out of the backroom holding a flat white box in her hands.
