Page 84 of A Deal for the Duke’s Virgin

“Angry? I am not angry.”

She blinked up at him. “What?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Oh, no, I’m not angry. Didn’t I tell you? I received a visitor this morning at the crack of dawn. Can you guess who it was?”

Thalia shook her head numbly.

Jonathan stalked over to her bedside and leaned down, grinning. “It was the Duke. He’s aware of the article in the scandal sheet. He confessed to it all, and we’ve come to an arrangement. You’ll be married. I hardly believed him at first, but then he produced a special license. You’ll be married within ten days!”

Thalia’s heart sank. Ten days? That was a good deal sooner than she would have expected. No wonder Jonathan was thrilled.

“I…” she began weakly, but he spoke over her.

“It’s excellent news. I gave him my consent at once, and it’s all arranged.”

“Jonathan, I⁠—”

He shot her a sharp look. “I hope you aren’t planning to do something foolish, like refuse to marry him. That simply isn’t an option for you now, Thalia. Now, get up and prepare yourself. That odd sister of his is arriving shortly with a friend. They will take you shopping for a wedding dress.”

With that, he turned and strode out.

Apparently, her agreement was neither wanted nor needed.

No change, then, she thought bleakly.

“Goodness,” Daphne breathed, sitting back in the carriage and fixing Thalia with a long, curious look. “You certainly have been through some adventures.”

“I wouldn’t call them adventures,” Thalia mumbled. “Between my brother and all my other concerns, I’ve barely had time to breathe. I am just so tired.”

“I can imagine,” Laura murmured, frowning.

She still hadn’t explained why she had left for Scotland in the first place, but Thalia had seen her wince when she spoke of her suffering. Did her friend feel guilty? Maybe.

It hardly mattered anymore.

“I had hoped that Christian would be here,” Thalia confessed. “I hoped to talk to him about things.”

Daphne and Laura exchanged quick, knowing looks.

“For what it’s worth,” Daphne said reassuringly, leaning forward, “I think you two are a good match. Really, I do. But you can talk to him later. There’ll be time for talking, I’m sure, but a wedding dress really cannot be rushed. Ah, we’re here.”

On cue, the carriage rolled to a halt outside a large modiste’s shop, its pointed roof reaching up to the sky. The women clambered out, and Thalia stared up at the place, open-mouthed.

I am shopping for my own wedding dress. How wild. I wish my stepmother were here.

A pang of dismay made her gulp. There’d been no opportunity to talk to Augusta about the change in her fortune. No doubt Jonathan had not yet told her, and since Augusta slept late, she had likely not read the scandal sheets. Neither had there been any opportunity for Thalia to talk to her since she’d been hustled from her room directly to the door and from there into Daphne’s carriage.

It would have been nice to shop for wedding dresses with Augusta, despite her aversion to shopping. No doubt that was why Thalia had never been to this particular modiste, despite the fact that Daphne assured her it was the finest one in London.

Giggling, Daphne took one arm, and Laura took the other, and Thalia found herself frog-marched into the shop.

They were greeted by a tall woman with pursed lips and large, doe-black eyes that did not quite suit her thin face. She wore black, as did the various assistants dotted anxiously around the room.

“Welcome,” she said in a heavy French accent. She spread her hands out, as if she’d conjured the place solely for Thalia’s benefit, and smiled benignly. “I understand that you are here to find the perfect wedding gown.”

“Yes, that’s so,” Laura said eagerly, stepping forward.

Together, she and the modiste began to talk in quick, clear French, pausing to inspect Thalia with equal parts approval and uncertainty. Daphne wandered off to inspect a wall of ribbons sprouting from the thickly papered walls like mold.