Page 64 of The Gentleman Was Right
It hadn’t occurred to him that she might not be interested. Her dresses were old and frayed and shabby, and it had seemed a reasonable suggestion. Especially now that they knew the full extent of their funds.
“I don’t require a new gown,” she responded stiffly.
The one she currently wore had a hole in the elbow and could almost accommodate her thin frame twice. He wanted to argue with her, but he didn’t want to make her self-conscious, so he tried a different suggestion instead.
“Maybe you would prefer to go with Emmeline? Or with my sisters?”
“I don’tneeda new gown,” she reiterated.
“Maybe not.” He tipped his head to the side as he tried to figure out why she was so adamant. “But would you like one? Or two? Or five? We can afford as many as you’d like.”
She huffed. “There is nothing wrong with my gown.”
“It has a hole.” He reached out with his finger and touched the visible skin above her elbow.
She yanked her arm away. “Stop. You’ll only make it worse.”
“I thought there was nothingwrongwith your gown.”
She huffed again. “If I decide it’s time to purchase a new one, I willnotrequire your or your siblings’ assistance.”
His sisters always visited the modiste as a group. They fawned over fabric, style, and color, and then offered bluntly harsh critiques on what best suited themselves and each other. He had assumed all women shopped together and argued whether one shade of yellow looked better or worse against their skin than another, so her insistence was unexpected.
In retrospect, he realized it was foolish of him to assume Violet had the same shopping habits as his sisters. Or that she had strong feelings about fashion. Not everyone grew up with a mother who considered beauty more important than brains, decency, and lineage.
“I’m sorry,” he said. It seemed he was destined to spend the first full day of their marriage apologizing. “I didn’t mean to suggest—you look lovely no matter the condition of your gown, and if you don’t wish to purchase something new, you will receive no further pressure from me.”
She glared across the table.
Damn. He must be more tired than he’d thought, because he’d forgotten her disdain for compliments. It would behoove him to remember his commitment to be deliberate in his word choice, because offhanded comments that flowed from his lips without consideration weren’t going to win him any favors.
She required genuine, thoughtful compliments.
Notones he’d toss about to anyone.
He clenched the stem of his wine glass as a distressing thought occurred. Had his mother’s influence caused him to focus too much on physical appearance?
Earlier that morning, he’d looked in the mirror and not liked the image he presented. Being disheveled had made him less assured of himself. Was it wrong that he had strict standards for his own appearance?
Were his standards unfair? Or unnecessary?
He’d never considered it before, but in the flickering candlelight with his wife glaring at him, he couldn’t help questioning himself.
And her.
Why was she so upset that he wanted to take her shopping?
And why wouldn’t she explain her reasons to him?
Countless times throughout his life, he’d promised that he wouldn’t allow the lessons of his mother to influence the way he treated others. Had he unknowingly done exactly that?
Did Violet believe that he only cared about appearances?
“You have nothing to apologize for.” She fingered the small hole in her gown with her pinky as she spoke softly. “Isabelle has been nagging me about the state of our gowns for months. It’s only gotten worse since we met your family. She’s awed by the splendor of Emmeline, Belinda, Jane, and Louisa.” She tugged on her bottom lip with her teeth. “I might be a touch more sensitive about it than I should be.”
He twisted the stem of his wine glass between his fingers. It seemed he was just as sensitive as Violet, only in the opposite way. Perhaps they could find middle ground if they kept discussing it. “My mother is widely considered an unparalleled beauty. Her obsession with being admired led to an unhealthy emphasis on our appearance. She mostly ignored us while my father was alive, but after his death, she alternated between being critical and complimentary. She always had an opinion on how we looked, and I’m afraid it left an impression.”
“I can’t imagine what she had to be critical of. I’ve never seen your sisters with a hair out of place. And you—” She fluttered her fingers in his direction.
