Page 160 of The Good Duke
Whichever woman he bestowed even a smile upon left Persephone hurting and angry and aching inside.
Persephone made herself pick up a bolt of yellow fabric and pretended to consider it.
Would life have been different had she seen him as the only man for her, and the one she’d spend all her days with?
What if, back when he’d given Persephone her first kiss, she’d allowed herself to think of who they would both be when they were grown?
And the day she’d sketched him, and their families had a falling out, why hadn’t she fought for their friendship? Why had she allowed their proud, obstinate fathers to separate them forever?
The fabric in her hands trembled, and she tightened her hold upon it. For of course, Simon would have always been the only man she wanted in her life. But the same way girls didn’t see gowns as anything but a hindrance, they also couldn’t imagine boys who were friends as anything other than a friend.
With a sigh, Persephone gave her head a clearing shake.
So many bloody whys and even more wonderings about what life would and could have been were she his wife and not some matchmaker finding him the woman he truly deserved.
From the corner of her eye, a flash of blue snagged Persephone’s attention and diverted her from her tortured musings.
She wandered over to examine the particular bolt and stopped before the material.
Transfixed, she stared awe-struck.
The bolt of a cerulean-blue that faded to a white melded with a lighter shade of that exquisite blue made it more captivating than any of the art she’d viewed today.
Persephone hesitated and stole a glance about.
After she verified Simon remained locked in his conversation with the modiste, Persephone looked back to the material which had beckoned and held it close to her person.
As a girl, she’d never wished for a gown; as a woman, she’d yearned to know what it was like to be attired as all the powerful families whom she served.
Simon may not have believed this second outing plan to be a gift, but it was, in its own right, as wonderful as their visit to the museum. For, despite whatever reason he’d given for bringing Persephone here, somewhere inside, he’d known in his soul of souls she’d want this.
And she did.
“That zeel look lovely on you, ma chérie.”
Persephone gasped. The glorious fabric hit the table with athump.
With that, the modiste swept over and Simon stepped aside, as Persephone, for the first time in her adult life, found herself experiencing a true fitting.
A long while later, with an increasingly frustrated modiste, Persephone began to think her younger self had the better idea of it.
“A moment alone, if you would, Madam Colette.”
With the alacrity with which the woman complied to Simon’s request for privacy, Simon’s order was one she was all too familiar with from gentleman clients.
The moment the door closed, and Persephone and Simon were alone, he folded his arms at his chest and stared at her.
At his pointed and lengthy silence, she wrinkled her nose. “What?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Simon drawled. “Maybe it’s just that when you were alone, I saw you examining pale yellow silk, amethyst muslin, and that gorgeous cerulean-blue, but for the past hour”—he consulted his timepiece—“you’ve sent every luxuriant, vibrant article brought forth by Madam Colette’s seamstresses away.”
Persephone clasped her hands together. “I’m sorry I’ve taken so much time. I—”
“Do you truly believe I’m concerned about how long you’re taking?” he asked wryly.
“No,” she mumbled.
Simon narrowed his eyes. “Out with it, Seph.”
