Page 23 of ?n Arranged Betrothal with a Blind Duke
As they stepped through the door, the atmosphere shifted. The tinkling of a bell announced their arrival, and the friendly smile of the shopkeeper greeted them warmly. The air inside was fragrant with the scent of freshly cut fabric, and the soft lighting cast a cozy glow upon the merchandise that lined the shelves.
Annabelle breathed a sigh of relief, feeling a weight lifted from her shoulders as she immersed herself in the familiar comfort of the haberdashery. Here, amidst the delicate trinkets and vibrant fabrics, she could momentarily escape the expectations and superiority of the outside world.
She ran her fingers lightly over the intricate lace, marveling at the craftsmanship. The textures and colors sparked her imagination, igniting a sense of creativity and possibility. In this sanctuary, she could be herself, unburdened by the judgmental glances and snubs that had plagued her earlier.
Penelope, sensing her friend's need for respite, stepped closer and gently squeezed Annabelle's hand. Their unspoken bond provided solace and strength, anchoring them amidst the storm of social expectations. Together, they explored the haberdashery, their laughter mingling with the rustling of fabrics and the soft murmur of conversation.
“Oh, Annabelle,” Penelope gushed suddenly, rushing to the end of one long shelf and plucking a shimmering pink satin swatch of fabric. Her eyes were teeming with excitement, and she draped the swatch over her head. “Isn’t this just divine?”
Annabelle giggled.
“Haven’t you got enough pink dresses?” Annabelle teased, gesturing to the pink silk dress embroidered with dark pink pearls that adorned Penelope’s delicate, petite figure.
Penelope looked at Annabelle with pretend mortification.
“ You speak in a manner that is sacrilegious, Annabelle,” she said, clutching the swatch to her bosom. “To think there is any such thing as enough pink is simply ghastly.”
Annabelle doubled over at her friend’s theatrical display, the remaining tension leaving her body. She shook her head as she righted herself, wiping at her eyes.
“I should be punished, I suppose,” she said, still giggling.
Penelope put her free hand on her, her lip set in a straight line that trembled while her eyes sparkled with laughter.
“Indeed,” she said. “And your punishment shall be to endure more shopping in this lovely store with me.”
Annabelle sighed in feigned resignation.
“So be it,” she said as both women laughed.
In the cozy confines of the haberdashery, Annabelle and Penelope meandered through the aisles, their fingers delicately brushing against various fabrics and trimmings. Penelope's cheerful banter served as a comforting backdrop, her lively anecdotes providing a respite from the whirlwind of thoughts that consumed Annabelle's mind.
Yet, amidst the colorful displays and Penelope's laughter, the Duke’s presence persistently invaded Annabelle's consciousness. She couldn't help but wonder—had he gone for a leisurely walk with Patches, their loyal canine companion? What might he be doing at this very moment? The image of his unseeing eyes, squinting in concentration as he listened intently, remained etched in her mind.
Try as she might to focus on the task at hand—choosing ribbons for a new bonnet or inspecting the fine lace—her thoughts inevitably gravitated towards the duke. There was an inexplicable pull, an invisible thread connecting them that refused to be ignored. Her heart longed for his presence, yearned to be in his company once again.
Annabelle's fingers traced the intricate patterns of a delicate embroidery, her mind drifting to the moments they had shared. The way his voice had resonated in her ears, the warmth of his hand as it had brushed against hers—it all felt both distant and achingly close. The memory of his deep, resonant laughter stirred a longing within her, a hunger for more of those stolen moments that had ignited a flame within her soul.
Penelope's voice broke through Annabelle's reverie, and she turned her attention back to her friend, forcing a smile to her lips. Penelope's infectious energy was a balm to her troubled thoughts, but deep within her heart, the duke's presence loomed large, filling every crevice and corner.
“Oh, Annabelle, look at this exquisite lace!” Penelope exclaimed, holding up a delicate piece for her inspection. “Would it not make the most enchanting addition to your gown for the upcoming ball?”
Annabelle nodded absentmindedly.
“Indeed,” she said, her gaze fixed on the lace but her thoughts drifting back to the Duke of Thornwood. The image of his strong jawline, his piercing gaze that seemed to see beyond the surface, fueled her yearning. She longed to unravel the mysteries that lay behind those unseeing eyes, to delve deeper into the depths of his soul.
As the minutes slipped away, Annabelle's internal struggle intensified. The rational part of her urged caution, reminding her of the complexities and challenges that lay ahead. Yet, the fire within her burned brighter, refusing to be quelled. The allure of the duke, his enigmatic presence, held an undeniable hold over her heart.
With a sigh, Annabelle turned her attention back to the fabric in front of her. She chose a length of delicate silk, its softness gliding through her fingers, a tactile reminder of the emotions that swirled within her. The task of selecting ribbons and trimmings became a way to distract herself, a means to momentarily set aside the thoughts of the Duke that threatened to consume her.
Chapter Eleven
Adrian strolled leisurely through the sun-dappled pathways of Thornwood, the familiar scent of earth and blossoms filling his senses. Henry rode beside him atop his majestic black stallion. Adrian started their outing feeling embarrassed that he still refused to get on a horse just yet. But Henry didn’t say a word about it. Before long, Adrian forgot his discomfort.
“Do you remember how we used to seek out the mud puddles here after a rain?” he asked.
Adrian laughed heartily.
“I do,” he said. “If we weren’t jumping in them, we were pushing each other into them.”
