Page 15 of A Duke in Autumn

The modiste stood, watching him. He should, he realised, reward her in some way for her helpfulness. Perhaps a shawl of the finest quality for his great great-aunt.

“Thank you. Now, on another matter entirely, I would like to purchase a shawl – the finest and most unusual that you have.”

Her face lit up for a second with that avariciousness he had seen before, then she turned and indicated that he should follow. Soon, they stood before shelves which were piled with shawls of luxurious fabrics, folded neatly. He chose two pieces which he thought Lady Bellinghaugh would like, paid perhaps more than they were worth, and left the modiste happy, and hoping to see him again.

~~~~~

“Why these are delightful, and such uncommon patterns! Thank you, Oakthorpe. But… pray tell, what led to this gift? I cannot imagine that you set out into the town simply to buy your aunt a gift, however much I appreciate the thought.”

Morris repressed the urge to squirm on his seat. Somehow, Lady Bellinghaugh could still make him feel like a school boy caught out in a prank. He had not, truthfully, thought through this moment – he should have expected her to be suspicious, when he appeared with a gift, just for the sake of it. Still, now that it was done, he would just have to pass it off whilst being as charming as possible, then turn the conversation to other matters.

“My dear aunt, it was a whim of the moment, as I walked past a modiste’s shop. The colours caught my eye.”

Lady Bellinghaugh gave a snort of amusement.

“Do you imply, Oakthorpe, that you have no woman more interesting than an aging aunt, whom you might choose to gift such an item to? I find that utterly unlikely, no matter your tendency to ignore the young women of the ton. Surely, there are others…?”

Her raised eyebrow and wry smile made her implication clear – she expected him to have a mistress tucked away somewhere, to provide him the entertainment he did not find amongst the women of society. He shook his head, laughing.

“No, my dear Lady, there are not. No mistress tucked away in a country cottage or a townhouse in a less fashionable part of London, no discreet liaisons with willing widows. I am not such a fool as to place myself in a position to be demanded of… Any liaisons in my life have been exceedingly brief, by my choice. I suppose that, eventually, I will find a woman I am willing to marry but, until then, I will content myself with a fairly quiet life. God knows, once I do choose to marry, Mother will want to make the wedding such a grand production that it will be talked about for years.”

Lady Bellinghaugh considered him, and he wondered what thoughts passed behind her shrewd hazel eyes. She gave a nod, her fingers idly stroking over the delicate fabric of the shawls on her lap.

“Forthright as always. Good. I have no time for dissimulation. You are no doubt right about your mother. But, if your life lacks so much of female companionship, perhaps you should at least remedy that a little.”

“Oh? What do you suggest?”

He was genuinely curious to know what Lady Bellinghaugh would say – she was astute, and subtly manipulative at times, but also genuinely cared for all in her extended family.

“At least call upon some of the better families in town, spend time with their daughters, in parlours and the like, which is a far nicer way to get to know a woman than the hothouse environment of Balls and the like. If you only see girls at Balls in London, I doubt you’ll ever get to know one well enough to decide whether she might suit.”

Morris suspected that she was right in that assertion – the average Ball reminded him of a cattle market, with the girls preening and pushing, and their mothers unsubtly hawking their wares, in the hope of attracting a suitable buyer. If his aunt wished it, he could see no reason not to indulge in some social visits – his time for the next few weeks was uncommitted – and if he did, she would likely report back to his mother, that he was at least trying to find a wife. Which would minimise the nagging once he went back to Oakthorpe Grange.

“I suppose I could do that – they will all get their hopes up, and then be disappointed when I go home, but still, it will fill some time.”

“Good. Then I would suggest that you start with those closest by, whose character we already know fairly well, and work out from there, until you have exhausted the entertainment available from social calls. Start with Lady Eugenia, and her mother – they are, after all, only next door.”

Morris felt her eyes upon him as she spoke, and for a moment, he wondered – was she pushing him towards Lady Eugenia?

He would not put it past her. But, if he was honest, the idea appealed to him – what more might he discern about Lady Eugenia’s hidden aspects, if he took tea with her in her home? The revelations of the previous day, from the fact that she had risked an excursion unchaperoned, to the discovery of her artistic talents, left him even more intrigued than he had been before. The more he thought about it, the more he wanted the excuse to spend more time with her.

“As you wish, Aunt. That seems as good a way to start this enterprise as any other. I shall call upon them this afternoon.”

Lady Bellinghaugh simply nodded, the look on her face implying satisfaction and, setting the shawls aside, reached to pour him a second cup of tea.

~~~~~

Eugenia’s hand moved rapidly and surely, the pencil outline of another gown design appearing rapidly on the paper which rested on the large book on her lap. Many loose sheets had been slipped between the pages of the book, mostly sketches of designs for gowns, but with, closest to the front, a number of landscapes. Those were there in case her mother happened to enter the room without warning, so that she might quickly exchange one sheet for another, and keep her drawings of gowns hidden.

The gown she was drawing now had been inspired by their visit to the modiste, yesterday. The rich fabrics, and the figure displaying style of the gown which had been the window, had inspired her.

She sat in the parlour, for the couch was placed in such a manner that the early afternoon sun through the window warmed it, and provided excellent light to work by. She would usually have stayed in her rooms, but they were colder, and did not catch the sun at this time of day, so she had decided to risk the parlour.

Eugenia eyed the drawing critically, then adjusted a few lines, making the flowing fall of the skirts clearer, and adding a little shading to better indicate the curve where the bodice hugged the bosom of the wearer. She was quite pleased with this one, and it was, she thought, perhaps even more daring in design than those she usually drew.

A sound impinged upon her – had she heard a knock at the front door? She was not sure. She turned her eyes back to the sketch. Just as she moved the pencil towards the page again, a tap came on the parlour door. She started, hastily pulling out the landscape sketch and covering the drawing of the gown with it. She hesitated, then, for good measure, shoved the book and drawings behind the large cushion beside her.

“Enter.”