Page 33 of Stolen and Seduced By the Duke

Her sisters stared at him. Margaret blinked.

Camelia slowly turned towards Iris. "Was Father listening outside the door?"

"I believe he was," Iris replied, looking delighted.

Bernard's cheeks reddened. "I was not listening."

"You entered at precisely the moment Margaret mentioned the gown," Camelia observed.

"That was a coincidence."

"A remarkable coincidence," Iris added.

Margaret laughed despite herself, and her father looked mildly offended. "Enough. Listen to your sister and go into town this instant. Buy a new dress." He reached into his coat and produced a small leather pouch, placing it firmly upon the table. "Here is some coin. Buy whatever you like."

Margaret looked at the pouch, then at her father.

"Papa…"

"No arguments," he said. "We cannot have the ton speaking ill of you and your dress. You will be a duchess afterall."

She rose and crossed the room before throwing her arms around him. Bernard stiffened in surprise before embracing her tightly. "Thank you," she murmured against his shoulder.

"You deserve a happy wedding day," he whispered. "Despite the circumstances."

Margaret closed her eyes. She wanted to believe that. She truly did.

But happiness seemed too dangerous to embrace. If she allowed herself to think of tomorrow as a happy occasion, she might begin imagining a future rather than merely an escape. She was not marrying Pierce because she loved him. She was marrying him because he offered protection, and freedom.

That was all. At least, that was what she told herself.

* * *

An hour later, the three sisters were on Bond Street, and Margaret found herself standing before a mirror while a dressmaker fussed around her. The gown she eventually selected was nothing like the one she had intended to wear. It was ivory silk with a soft, square neckline and delicate sleeves that gathered neatly at her wrists. A narrow band of silver embroidery traced the bodice and continued in a subtle pattern along the skirt, while tiny pearl details caught the light whenever she moved. The gown was elegant without being excessively grand, and a matching ivory sash fell from the waist in graceful folds.

Camelia clasped her hands. "There. That is a wedding dress."

Margaret examined her reflection.

She barely recognised herself.

The ivory made her dark hair appear richer, while the cut of the gown emphasised her curves without making her feel exposed. She touched the embroidered flowers with her fingertips. They reminded her faintly of the Flora costume she had worn at Pierce's masquerade.

She quickly dismissed the thought.

"I suppose it will do," she said.

Iris laughed. "You look beautiful."

Margaret glanced at her sister. "Do I?"

"You know you do."

Margaret looked at herself again.

Beautiful?

The word felt strangely dangerous. Tomorrow Pierce would see her dressed like this. The thought sent a flutter through her stomach. She hated that. She hated that she liked it.