Page 15 of His Forbidden Duchess
It was then that Lady Brimsleigh called out and waved to them from the garden table. “Ah, there you are! Felix, dear, do come and sit with us for a while. We were just discussing the plans for the next charity ball.”
Felix smiled politely, exchanging a quick glance with Eloise before they returned to their chaperones.
“Of course, Godmother,” he replied smoothly, offering a slight bow before taking a seat near her. Eloise followed suit, settling beside her mother.
The conversation shifted to mundane matters: social gatherings, charitable events, and the latest gossip making its rounds among the Ton. Eloise, though outwardly polite, found her thoughts wandering back to Felix’s guidance. She could not believe that she was following his instructions, but she was getting an undeniable thrill from playing their game.
Quite honestly, Felix’s advice makes sense.
After an hour of polite conversation, Felix and Lady Brimsleigh finally made their departure. Felix gave a subtle nod to Eloise as they left, a silent reminder of the lessons that had been set in motion.
Once they had gone, Eloise excused herself, rising from her seat and quietly slipping away. She sought out her maid, Margaret, who was tidying up in the hallway.
“Margaret,” Eloise called softly, catching her maid’s attention.
Margaret curtsied, her expression attentive. “Yes, My Lady? How may I assist you?”
Eloise hesitated for only a second. “I need you to help me with a dress I intend to wear tomorrow.”
“Of course, My Lady. Which dress would you like altered?” Margaret asked, following as Eloise led the way to her dressing room.
Once they reached her wardrobe, Eloise pulled out the gown she had chosen for the following day: a modest and elegant peach-colored gown that suited her complexion perfectly. She ran her fingers along the neckline, scrutinizing its shape and design.
“I wish to have the neckline lowered,” Eloise said decisively, her heart beating a little faster as she spoke.
Margaret blinked in surprise. “Lowered, My Lady?”
Eloise nodded, trying to sound casual. “Yes, just a little. Something subtle, nothing too bold. I still wish to look appropriate but more striking.”
The maid gave a knowing smile. “Of course, My Lady. I can make the alterations tonight, and it will be ready by morning.”
“Thank you, Margaret,” Eloise replied, feeling both nervous and excited by the decision.
Tomorrow, the real challenge will begin.
Chapter Seven
The grande-salle was filled with the sounds of tuning violins and light murmurs as the attendees gathered for the musicale.
Eloise entered with her mother, her chin held high but inwardly feeling more self-conscious than ever. She smoothed down the peach-colored gown, the altered neckline now more daring than anything she had worn before. It made her intensely aware of her own body.
As they made their way to their seats, Eloise spotted Felix lounging near one of the columns, his eyes scanning the room. Lady Danridge, ever attentive to social propriety, busied herself greeting the other guests, leaving Eloise to herself.
As soon as Felix spotted Eloise, he headed directly towards her. His eyes traveled from her face to her neckline before giving her a nod of approval.
“Good job with the gown,” he remarked in a deep voice.
Eloise shot him a glare, crossing her arms in an attempt to cover herself although she felt a flush of pride that he had noticed.
“I feel like a fish on display at the fishmonger’s,” she muttered through gritted teeth.
Felix chuckled softly, his tone both teasing and reassuring. “You should not be embarrassed about your body, Eloise,” he said as his eyes moved downward again. His focused gaze once again stirred the smoldering coals inside of her. “You have more than enough to catch any man’s attention.”
Have I caught yours, Felix?
Eloise cleared her throat sharply, trying to suppress the blush creeping up her neck. How could she even think such a thing?
Before she could respond, Felix glanced past her shoulder and spied Lady Danridge returning from her rounds. He quickly leaned towards her, his voice low and conspiratorial. “When Mortcombe starts rambling about music, do not correct him, even when he says something asinine.”
