Page 12 of Dukes Do It Better
“I’m leaving this week,” Emma reminded them. Freddie’s birthday celebration had come and gone. Fun was had by all, and she’d been enjoying the time with her family. But she hadn’t intended to spend more than a couple weeks in Town.
Phee and Lottie exchanged a look, and Emma raised an eyebrow in question. “I smell a rat. You two have concocted a plan.”
“Just hear us out,” Lottie began.
“You’ve been hiding in your cottage for years, Em. Years,” Phee said in her usual direct manner.
“Not that the cottage isn’t lovely, because it is,” Lottie hastened to add. “But is it enough? When you debuted, society fell at your feet and you loved it. We worry you’re staying in the village for the wrong reasons.”
“You’re hiding,” Phee repeated.
“I’ve visited London. You make it sound like I’m a hermit living by the sea,” Emma grumbled.
“Never during the Season. Even now, you’re leaving right as society is returning.” Phee crossed her arms and cocked her head. “We’ve discussed it and we think you should stay for the Season. Let the old Emma out to play. Don’t you miss her?”
An unexpected pang of panic hit Emma’s chest at the words. “The old Emma was a spoiled brat who made awful decisions and took advantage of everyone around her.” And accidentally killed Phee’s awful uncle. Self-defense, but still. Old Emma was dangerous, willing to lie, cheat, and apparently kill to protect her own interests.
Lottie nodded. “But what about the rest of it? You thrived in the social whirl. You loved to dance and drink champagne until the wee hours of morning, and you adored dressing to perfection.”
The apricot satin beckoned, and Emma couldn’t stop touching it. “Life is different now. I’m different,” she whispered. Or rather, she hoped she was different.
Phee slid her arm around Emma’s waist and pressed their heads together. “In all the best ways, Em. But you’re still a woman. Not just a mother. Please stay with us for the Season. Dance and laugh with your friends. We miss you.”
Emma leaned into the sideways hug and sighed. If she stayed honest with her family, and didn’t do anything she’d have to hide, it might be different. No lying about where she’d been or who she’d been with. After all, she wasn’t a debutante anymore. She was a widow. What could it hurt? Besides, it wasn’t as if her spring schedule was terribly pressing back home, and Alton would love the time with his cousin. “Fine. We’ll stay. But only for the Season.”
Phee grinned as Lottie grabbed the bolt of satin and held it aloft. “Madame! We need a gown, posthaste, if you please. We will take all of it. It wouldn’t do to have anyone else wearing this fabric.”
The modiste crossed to them with a wide smile, motioning for a clerk to take the apricot satin. “Lady Emma’s gown will be one of a kind. If you wouldn’t mind waiting, I’ll sketch a few ideas.”
An almost forgotten excitement stirred, fizzing like the fresh pop of bubbles hitting her nose from a glass of champagne. Madame’s creations were stunning. There was something magical about wearing a garment designed to make you feel beautiful.
The modiste’s shop was wall-to-wall fabrics, trims, and premade gowns. Paler fabrics were in the front of the store, where the bleaching sunlight couldn’t do as much damage, and the richer, deeper colors inhabited the far walls. The last time she’d shopped here, Emma had been eighteen and forced to stay up front with the pale colors.
She had to wonder how Malachi would react if she showed up at an event wearing something vibrant and luscious like the apricot. Or perhaps the garnet shade Lottie was ordering.
That man’s eyes would burn right out of his skull with lust, and she wanted nothing more than to see him hungry for her the way he’d been in October.
“If I’m to stay for the Season, I’ll need more than a single ball gown, won’t I?” Emma grinned at her friends and headed deeper into the store toward the alluring colors along the back wall.
“There she is. I knew the old Em was in there somewhere,” Phee laughed and followed with Lottie.
Midway across the store, Lottie stopped beside a young woman shopping alone. “Not to meddle, my dear, but with your skin tone, I’d suggest using that color in limited amounts. Not a whole gown.”
Emma glanced back. Beside her, Phee sighed good-naturedly. “Lottie is fixing people again. Should we wait, or rescue the poor girl?”
The young lady didn’t seem to know what to say to someone offering commentary on her shopping.
When Emma spied the fabric in question, she winced. “She’s right though.”
“Or course she’s right. It’s Lottie.”
Upon closer inspection, the lady struck Emma as familiar. It could be because the woman had one of those faces someone would struggle to describe after an incident. Medium-brown hair, pulled under a straw bonnet adorned with a wide brown ribbon. Brown pelisse, darker brown walking dress. Brown eyes sparked with intelligence, keeping her from looking like a human impersonating a sparrow. Also reminiscent of a bird, the lady cocked her head, studying Emma in return as they approached.
“Lady Emma, what a pleasant surprise,” the lady said. “I hadn’t heard you were back in Town.”
Emma’s smile froze. They were supposed to be acquainted, then. Her gaze flew to Lottie’s, hoping her friend could offer a clue as to the lady’s identity.
The woman in brown laughed. “Don’t look so panicked, I beg you. I apologize. You may not remember me.”
