Page 40 of Claimed By Her Forbidden Duke
“Oh, but you could be,” her friend all but purred, climbing in after her and calling for them to set off for the dressmaker’s.
* * *
“I am thinking the beautiful red gown. What do you think?” Cecilia asked, holding the gown up to her figure.
Anything would look beautiful and elegant on her.
Penelope nodded eagerly. “I agree,” she said, her eyebrows raised. “A walking enticement.”
The two giggled for a moment before Cecilia nodded to herself, disappearing into a partitioned area to change into her dress. An assistant was on hand, ready to help.
Penelope waited outside, listening to her friend chatter.
“Will you truly not try anything on?” Cecilia asked. “You are a grown woman, Penelope. If this has anything to do with your brother?—”
“It has not!” Penelope insisted, keeping her voice hushed, but there was nobody else in the shop, thankfully. They had arrived early enough in the day.
She shifted in her high-collared dress, finding it stiff and too hot. Hooking a finger into the neckline, she tried to let her skin breathe.
“I just… chose unwisely today.”
Cecilia let out a huff of laughter. “Indeed, you did. Do you not wish to claim your boldness, Pen? Your beauty? You could have several suitors with their tongues hanging out if you only dared a little more! How do you think I ensnared my Reginald? My husband chose me because I knew how to present myself. I was nothing but a Persephone, waiting for my dark, daring Hades.”
She pulled back the curtain, striking a dramatic pose, her hair loose and tossed over one shoulder.
Penelope’s breath caught, awed by her friend’s confidence.Jealousof it.
Cecilia’s dress was nothing short of daring—a rich emerald green velvet gown that clung to her figure like a second skin, its low-cut bodice trimmed with delicate lace and a touch of sparkling crystals that caught the light with every movement.
The skirt billowed out in soft layers, but it was the daring slit that ran up the side, just high enough to reveal a flash of satin-clad leg, that truly set the ensemble apart. A ribbon of gold cinched her waist, drawing attention to her hourglass figure.
She looked every bit the woman who made her own rules—a vision of opulence and rebellion in one.
“Reginald is hardly a Hades,” Penelope pointed out. “Or daring.”
“Oh, you would love to know.” Her friend grinned secretively before she posed again. “What do you think of my gown?”
“It is most beautiful,” Penelope said, looking at it appraisingly.
Her neck and cheeks flushed, the stifling gown growing more uncomfortable by the second.
“I do not want beautiful,” Cecilia sighed. “I wantdaring. Dangerous. Enticing. Lest the ton think I am nothing but an old hag who has become a matron simply due to marriage.”
“Cecilia, you could not be a matron even when you are older and gray.”
Her friend sighed again dramatically, pressing a hand to her bare collarbones. “The marriage mart was my eternal spring, the Demeter holding me back from my full potential. Now, I reign in winter with my husband, and I will have the ton know that marriage is not the end of a woman’s life. It could only be the beginning of a hot, fiery story to be told.”
Penelope laughed at her friend’s bold speech, glad they were alone in the dressmaker’s, lest anybody begin to gossip about the scandalous way her friend spoke.
“I fear my Demeter is Finley,” she muttered.
“So you admit Controlwaite is holding you back,” Cecilia said. “You protect him too much, darling Penelope, when he does not deserve it.” She paused, her eyes narrowing. “Wait—oh,Penelope.” In her dress and all, she flung herself at the stool where Penelope perched, much to the assistant’s horror. “Do not tell me he chose your dress!”
“He—” The lie died on Penelope’s tongue. She bit her lip, not wanting to admit that he had, but not wanting to lie either.
But Cecilia looked at her as if she knew nonetheless. Her mouth opened, likely to issue more accusations, but movement caught Penelope’s eye and she turned, grateful for the distraction.
The dressmaker stood in the arched doorway of the changing area, a dress draped over her arms. It was the color of the richest wine, bold and darker than what Penelope often wore. The skirt, too, was fuller than her usual style, but it caught her eye immediately.
