Page 161 of The Good Duke
And because it’d always been so easy to talk to him, Persephone threw her hands up. “Simon, these materials, they are exquisite.”
He stared. “And?” he asked when she didn’t say anything more. “That is a bad thing?”
“No.”
“All right, so let us allow Madam Colette to do the work she’s been generously paid to do.” Simon made to leave.
“I can’t wear them,” she blurted, calling him back.
He frowned. “What do you mean you can’t wear them? That is the whole purpose of a dress, Seph.”
“It’s not though, not really.”
When she didn’t immediately clarify, Simon gave her a pointed look.
With a sigh, Persephone explained, “There are different purposes for dresses: there are the ones for debutantes just out for their first Season. Ones for women in mourning. Serviceable ones for servants and hired help.”
She pointed to the ones the modiste had been attempting to get Persephone to consider. “The fabric Madam Colette is presenting, and the bolts I was admiring earlier, they are for balls and soirees and visits to a theatre, and, Simon”—she lifted her palms up—“I am not going to those places, not as anything more than a companion, and that’s if I’m even invited along to accompany you and Lady Isabelle.”
Which only conjured thoughts of him bringing Persephone along for intimate parts of his and Lady Isabelle’s courtship, and had she cut herself open, it wouldn’t have hurt more than this.
She made herself speak through the agonizing lump in her throat. “I’m destined to leave and certain for employment, if I can find it,” she said as a reminder to herself.
Fury flashed in his eyes.
“With your skills, talents, and knowledge, you’ll find work,” he gritted out.
As though Simon was equally angered by her self-disparagement and his mention of Persephone’s future employment, florid color splotched his cheeks.
But he’d said the words, and in that, he’d helped Persephone prove her point.
“Exactly, Simon.” She spoke in hushed tones. “I’m selecting material to be made into dresses I can use again over the years.”
His mouth tightened. “That isn’t why I brought you here.”
“Then whydidyou bring me here?”
“Because some part of me thought, even though you hated dresses as a child, that you might actually enjoy having gowns designed just for you,” he exclaimed. “And if you did, I wanted to be the one to give them to you.”
Oh, my God.
Simon dragged a hand through his hair and took a moment to compose himself.
Persephone’s heart skipped a beat.
He knows me. He knows me better than he did when we were children.
And he knew Persephone more than she even knew herself.
Simon glanced about the shop. After he’d confirmed they were still alone, he looked squarely at Persephone.
He spoke again in hushed tones. “Now, I know I was wrong. You still detest the modistes and dresses.”
She didn’t. She tried to tell him but couldn’t get the words out past the tears stuck in her throat.
Simon dropped his voice a shade lower. “But, Seph? I’ll be goddamned if you walk out of this establishment with only dresses made of fabric suitable forfutureemployment, and notsomematerial you’ve longingly eyed from the moment you stepped in—”
Catching Simon by his lapels, Persephone dragged herself up and kissed Simon.
