Page 45 of A Game with the Rakish Duke
“And you, Mrs. Slocombe,” Catherine replied, smiling politely at her. “I need a new gown for the Dowager Duchess of Newden’s ball. It needs to be eye-catching. Do you think you can manage it in time?”
The modiste gave her a dazzling smile. “Of course, Your Grace. For you, I can do anything. My seamstresses will work around the clock if necessary.”
Mrs. Slocombe set to work immediately, leading them to some comfortable upholstered chairs in a corner and plying them with fashion magazines. She told Catherine to look through them and pick two or three designs that resembled what she wanted, and then she would sketch the design until Catherine was satisfied. The first fitting could be done tomorrow morning if all went well.
Then the modiste left them, calling for tea.
Catherine sighed, picking up the first magazine off the pile and flicking through the pages in a desultory manner. Beatrice gazed at her, unable to suppress a giggle.
“What?” Catherine glared at her friend. “What is it? Do I have some crumbs around my mouth from breakfast?”
Beatrice giggled again. “Of course not, Cathy. I would have told you before now if you did.” She paused. “You just seem so irritable. You would think you were waiting to have a tooth pulled rather than choosing a spectacular dress design.”
Catherine let out a bark of derisive laughter. “They are one and the same to me at the moment. I am not in the mood for choosing a design at all.” She rolled her eyes. “If it were not for the Dowager Duchess insisting that I have a new gown, I would simply wear one of my old ones and be done with it. Why does it matter?”
“It matters,” Beatrice insisted. “This is your first ball as the new Duchess of Newden. All of the ton will be there, judging you. You must look impressive. And they will know if you wear one of your old gowns and will call you miserly… or frumpy.”
Catherine looked pained. “And it is a fate worse than death for a lady to look frumpy, heaven forbid!” She pursed her lips, looking down at the magazine in her hands. “It just all seems so pointless, Bea. I never thought I would be in this position. I wanted to stay unmarried.”
“I know you did,” Beatrice said in a gentle voice, reaching out and taking her hand. “But what is done is done. You are the Duchess of Newden, now, and you must look the part. We will look for designs together. It will not take very long, and then we can go to the Tearooms. We can share some of those divine éclairs they make. What do you think?”
Catherine felt her irritation suddenly drain away. She looked at her friend. “I think that I am very grateful to have a friend like you, Bea. How on earth do you put up with me?”
Beatrice laughed, waving a dismissive hand in the air, but she looked pleased just the same. “You can be prickly, to be sure, but you have the most loyal heart, dearest,” she replied, patting her hand. “That is how I put up with you. You always defend me. I know you would do the same thing for me if I was feeling out of sorts.”
Catherine’s heart melted. “I would.” She took a deep breath, gazing down at the magazine again. “Well, let us get on with it,then. The sooner I choose a design, the sooner we can have those divine éclairs.”
They looked through five magazines. The designs were all stylish and elegant, but nothing stood out to Catherine. The maid brought tea, pouring them each a cup. A half-hour passed.
Catherine was just about to throw a magazine aside, declaring that it was an impossible task, when she paused, gazing at the design she had just turned to. A slow smile spread across her face.
“What do you think of this, dearest?” she asked, handing Beatrice the magazine and pointing to the design, trying not to laugh. “I think it might be the ideal one.”
Beatrice gazed at the design, her eyes widening. “Do you not think it is a bit… overdramatic?” She bit her lip as she studied the sketch. “In fact, do you not think it is rather risqué?”
Catherine let out a bark of laughter. “Yes, I think it isveryrisqué,” she replied. “But the Dowager Duchess insists that I wear a gown to make the ton’s eyes pop out of their heads. This would certainly achieve that aim.”
Beatrice looked dubious. “Yes, you should stand out, but for the right reasons, Cathy.” She gazed at the design again, her cheeks reddening. “It is so… sensual. Very French.”
“Exactly,” Catherine replied, feeling defiant. “And everyone knows that French designs are the best. The Dowager Duchess will not be able to fault it. And if she tells me off, I will just say that I was simply doing her bidding.”
Beatrice still looked uncertain, biting her lip. Catherine snatched the magazine out of her friend’s hands before calling for the modiste. Mrs. Slocombe drifted into the room, smiling serenely.
“I have chosen the design, Mrs. Slocombe,” Catherine announced crisply, handing the modiste the magazine. “The one on the left side of the magazine.”
The modiste’s eyebrows arched as she gazed at it. “This, Your Grace?” Her eyes flicked from the page to Catherine and back again. “Are you quite sure?”
“I am positive,” Catherine replied in a firm voice. “Only I would like the back to be even lower while still protecting my modesty, of course.” She giggled. “And perhaps a shorter sleeve, if that is possible?”
Mrs. Slocombe nodded slowly, biting her lip. “If that is what Your Grace desires, then that is what you shall get,” she said, trying to smile. “I shall set to work on the design immediately. Please, finish your tea while you wait.”
The modiste walked out of the room, carrying the magazine with her. Catherine picked up her cup of tea and sipped on it, gazing out the window.
Beatrice looked at her. “Cathy, whatisthis all about?” she asked. “You have never been fond of outrageous gowns. Why have you insisted on that design?”
Catherine shrugged. “I told you. The Dowager Duchess wants me to stand out.” She stirred in her chair. “And besides, I am bored. It will be fun to set the cat amongst the pigeons, just a little bit.”
Beatrice didn’t look convinced. “If I may be so bold, I think you will look like a French courtesan.”
