Page 36 of The Duchess' Replacement

Sarah ran her hands over the cool fabric. “I’ll take these three, please?”

Miss Cordell busied herself with wrapping the ribbons and placed them in a small, pink box for William to take out to the carriage.

Sarah wandered through the store. William was right, it wasn’t as big as the ones she’s been to in London, but her selection was impressive for a small shop. There were some styles from a few seasons ago still displayed but for the most part the styles were relatively new.

Still…

“Miss Cordell? Why is it again you can’t get more shipments in from London, or Paris, for instance? Is there something standing in your way? Perhaps I can be of assistance.”

Miss Cordell opened her mouth but William interjected from the doorway. “Your Grace. I have placed your package in the carriage. Would you like to continue on or return to the estate?”

Sarah clucked her tongue. William’s sudden interjection raised her suspicion.

She thought back to her conversations with Lizzie and Mrs. Bates. She got more out of them when she complied to them instead of fighting against them. She would allow William to steer the conversation away from this particular topic, but she mentally added it to the growing list of things she was determined to find out about.

She thanked Miss Cordell for the ribbons and promised to stop back in later in the week to get a better look at the selection of her dresses.

As William ushered her out of the modiste she couldn’t help but think her dear husband had something to do with Miss Cordell’s predicament.

“Where would you like to go next, Your Grace?” William stood at the carriage, his body language suggesting he wanted nothing more than to return to the estate.

Sarah looked up and down the street. People were out and about, mostly minding their own business except for a few glances and whispers.

She tried not to take anything as untoward. She could understand why people would do a double take when it came to her. She imagined half of them were surprised someone deigned the Duke suitable enough for marriage.

Sarah shifted her feet as she adjusted her cuffs. If they only knew the reason why she married him. An arranged marriage wasn’t unheard of, but the part about her being left at the alter was one she didn’t wish to share.

A man across the street let out a boisterous laugh.

Sarah tilted her head, “Who is that over there?”

William rubbed the back of his neck. “The butcher, Your Grace. Mr. Crowfelt is his name.”

Sarah’s eyes lit up. “The butcher. I’m assuming that’s who supplies us with the delicious meats Cook serves us. They are the most scrumptious cuts of meat I’ve ever tasted. I know it’s not done, but I’m going to go over and say hello.”

William reached out to stop her but she was already across the street.

“Mr. Crowfelt, is it?”

A burly man with an apron stained red stood in a doorway to the shop.

“It is.”

An out of breath William scurried up to Sarah.

“Mr. Crowfelt, this is Lady Sarah, the Duchess of Stoleton.” The way William said her title had her looking at him curiously.

There was a weight to it, as if Mr. Crowfelt should mind what he says in her presence. She couldn’t have that. These people were in her care. They should be able to speak freely in front of her, how else would she be able to help them if the situation called for it.

The man’s face scrunched into a sneer.

Sarah dipped her head, “It a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Crowfelt.”

The man stood with his head cocked to the side. Sarah felt as if she were under interrogation for a crime she didn’t commit.

She shook off the inference and continued on. Not everyone gave the best first impression. Perhaps he was just shocked that the Duke not only found a wife, but she was able to string sentences together.

“William here had mentioned you are the butcher and I had to come tell you the meat you supply us with is top notch. Really. You could rival some shops in London.” She said with utmost sincerity. “Between the meats and luscious fruits and delectable vegetables I fear I may be visiting the modiste for constant changes in my measurements.” She mused.

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