Page 18 of A Duke in Autumn

“Mother, I have been thinking about Lady Annet’s suggestion, and… might I go to the modiste with her, and order a new gown for the next Ball at the Assembly Rooms?”

She waited, almost holding her breath, as her mother considered the request. It was difficult not to fidget, as she stood there, but she managed it.

“You may do so. Make sure that you take both of your maids with you, and take the carriage – I don’t want you wandering about the town inadequately attended. The gown must be suitable – nothing too daring, or too extravagant, mind you.”

“Yes Mother. Thank you. I will go to call upon Lady Annet now, to arrange it.”

Eugenia escaped as soon as she could, and almost ran next door. Lady Annet was enthusiastic, and, after a few moments’ discussion, they decided to go to the modiste that very afternoon. By the end of the day, Eugenia had almost managed to forget about her concern that Oakthorpe had somehow discovered her secrets. Almost. But she could not forget the dreams she’d had, which featured him, in a rather shocking manner.

Somehow, annoying as he was, he filled her thoughts. The way that he teased her, and tempted her to dare to step outside the bounds of everything that had previously defined her, was beginning to have the strangest effect. She undoubtedly found him attractive, and somehow, for some indiscernible reason, even whilst challenging her perception of the world, he made her feel safe. He had not yet shown any inclination to expose her transgressions – he simply seemed to enjoy the fact that she had done such things.

Was it possible that even a lady might do improper things, occasionally, and not have her life destroyed, or nearly so? It was a startling concept, which she set aside for later consideration.

~~~~~

Once back in his rooms in Lady Bellinghaugh’s house, Morris brought out the sketch that he had purloined from Lady Eugenia’s couch. The more he saw of the woman, the more intriguing she became, for the more obvious it was that she was not the dull thing that she appeared on the surface.

When he had asked her those questions about shopping, and modistes in particular, she had drawn herself up and faced him with almost defiance, as if she half expected him to reveal her secrets to her mother, but was not willing to back down, regardless. He admired her for it. The fire in her eyes made her beautiful in such moments – a far more lively beauty than her normal polished presentation created.

He spread the sketch out on the escritoire near the window, and studied it closely. The lines were drawn with a fluid certainty, the shading was delicate, and effortlessly indicated a realistic shape within the gown. It was a work of undeniable talent in its execution, but also in the design of the gown depicted. It was elegant, flowing, yet it was designed in such a way that it would display the body of the wearer magnificently, without being completely improper.

It would take a confident woman to wear such a daring gown. Whilst the figure in the sketch had only the barest indication of a face, his mind extrapolated, and presented him with the vision of Lady Eugenia wearing the gown, as it was drawn. The image sent heat and tension through his body. He wanted to see her in that gown.

For that matter, it had become apparent to him that he wanted to see her. As often as possible. For a woman who was, supposedly, everything that he disliked about unmarried women, she was somehow devastatingly attractive.

What had begun as a challenge to amuse himself over his few months in Bath was becoming something more. Something which he did not want to examine too closely yet. He studied the sketch before him again.

Would Lady Eugenia ever have a gown like this made? He could not envision it, especially after her mother’s comments about gowns suitable for young ladies. He was quite certain that her mother would deem the depicted gown far too daring in style. It was also a gown which he could not imagine in pastels. It demanded colour, to go with its strong elegant lines. A glowing sapphire blue, perhaps? Such a colour would look spectacular on Lady Eugenia.

There was, however, no point in him imagining it. For the gown would never be made, she would never wear it. Unless… the idea arrived in his mind, fully formed.

If he took this sketch to the modiste, would the woman be able to make it? After all, she had indicated that she could, potentially, make a gown just from the memory of a sketched design. Might he be lucky enough that she would have Lady Eugenia’s measurements on record? The concept was quite mad – gentlemen normally did not order gowns for a woman, unless the woman was their mistress. To order such a thing for a respectable unmarried lady, and to give it to her, was the height of impropriety – should such a thing be known, it would be the scandal of the year.

But… he wanted to do it. Perhaps, if it arrived as an anonymous gift…?

He would think on it overnight, and make his decision then.

Chapter Nine

Madame Bergeron had been most pleased to see Eugenia and Lady Annet again, and positively gushed at her when she said that she had come to commission a gown, or perhaps two. With her, Eugenia had brought the most modest of her own designs, one she had drawn long ago, but very much liked, and one of the few which she thought her mother might think modest enough for a young lady her age.

They chose fabric, and Eugenia spent most of an hour being measured, and having the cheapest of muslin draped and pinned on her, so that Madame might make it into a pattern of her unique dimensions. Lady Annet had also obtained permission to order a new gown, but her choice was somewhat more daring than Eugenia would have risked.

They left the modiste’s shop, well pleased with the afternoon, and returned home to dream about the Ball to come, and the likely reactions of gentlemen to their new gowns.

~~~~~

In the end, Morris had debated the matter of having a gown made for two days. He knew, absolutely, that he should not do it, that it went far beyond acceptable behaviour – but, after two days, the idea still drew him just as strongly. He gave in to the impulse, and set out to visit the modiste again.

The shop was as he remembered it – full of so much fabric in so many colours that it seemed a cave of wonders - and the modiste came rushing out from the back of the shop at the sound of the doorbell. She looked rather startled to see him again, but covered her reaction quickly.

“Your Grace, how may I assist you today?”

He swallowed, still utterly unsure of how he was going to explain what he wanted.

“I… aaah… I have a somewhat unusual request.”

“Yes, Your Grace?”