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“You are sure?” Worry webbed the corners of Harriet’s eyes.
Marina nodded. “Quite sure.”
She had never dreamed of a love match. She had never dreamed of marriage at all. There were no expectations.
The old woman expelled a weary breath. “I hope you know what you are doing.”
“I do,” Marina replied. “You said it yourself; I am a sensible girl.”
A faint chuckle rattled from the dowager’s throat. “In that case, let us turn to the other matter that must be resolved.”
“Other matter?” Marina’s stomach tightened with fresh anxiety.
Something like mischief flashed in Harriet’s eyes. “The perfect gown, Marina.” She looked her up and down. “I mean this in the kindest way, but I do not trust you to choose your own. As such, we have an appointment at the modiste in half an hour, and I do not intend to spare any expense.”
Marina stared in desperation at her future grandmother-in-law, for if there was one thing she would never understand, regardless of how many books she read, it was fashion. And she hated nothing more than to be touched and measured, listening to the seamstresses talk of how they could cover her scars the most efficiently.
To her, the modiste was an exercise in humiliation, a stark reminder that she would never fit in.
“Come on,” the dowager took her arm, dragging her with surprising force, “I do not want us to be late.”
Marina let herself be towed along, for if this woman was willing to let her marry her grandson and take care of her great-grandson, trying on a few gowns was the least she could do. Besides, what was an hour or two of embarrassment when she was about to have her entire future to do exactly as she pleased?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Between the overpowering aroma of perfume, the bright colors, the endless list of fabrics and styles, and the constant ambush of “Oh, this would be lovely… How about this silk? What about that muslin?” the modiste’s shop was beginning to give Marina a headache.
“I am so very sorry, Your Grace,” she croaked to Harriet. “This is not where I excel. I do not know anything of silks and satins and muslins and lace, other than a vague understanding of how they are made. I have not had to know what suits me.”
In fairness, the dowager had been very kind, very patient, and surprisingly warm throughout the experience. It was the modiste who had chattered away at Marina without end, no doubt mistaking her for a lady who understood fashion.
Harriet patted Marina lightly on the shoulder. “That is quite all right, dear.” She looked to the modiste. “Do you have anything that is already made that she can look at?”
“Certainly, Your Grace,” the modiste replied. “I shall have some dresses prepared in the private room. I shan’t be a moment.”
With the woman’s departure, Marina breathed a little easier. She had not known that choosing a wedding dress could be so complicated.
“I should have prepared you better,” Harriet said with a reassuring smile. “We could have discussed design before we came here. Apologies, Miss Longman, I did not consider that you have been living more or less alone with your uncle for… a long while.”
“Twelve years,” Marina said with a nod.
Harriet hesitated. “I was sorry to hear about your parents. I remember reading of it in the papers.”
“It was a long time ago.” Marina dipped her chin to her chest, withdrawing.
“Whether it was twenty years ago or yesterday, whether you were a child or a woman of fifty, it hurts all the same,” Harriet said gently. “To lose one’s parents changes a person; how can it not.”
Marina cleared her throat. “I think I see a fabric over there that I like.”
She wandered out of the conversation and over to a roll of sturdy brocade, with a pale yellow base and an intricate golden design woven in. Hesitantly, she touched it, rather enjoying the silky feel beneath her fingertips.
“Miss Longman, is that you?”
Marina froze. She knew that voice.
“Yes, I thought I recognized you!” Arms enveloped Marina, her nose engulfed by the scent of rosewater and lilac.
It was Lady Yvette, the woman who had been so ‘generous’ with her advice at William’s ill-fated audition for a stepmother. Although, it did not seem so ill-fated now.
