Page 119 of His Grace, the Duke
“Would you like to try it on?” said the duchess.
The ladies squealed again as Mrs. Robbins stepped forward and held up a hand mirror. Prudence picked up the tiara and turned to her sister. “Goodness, it’s heavier than I imagined.”
Piety did a little dip, lowering her head, and Prudence placed the tiara atop her golden curls. All the young ladies sighed as Piety looked at herself in the hand mirror.
“You look like a queen,” Blanche whispered with awe.
“No one say that on the day,” said the duchess. “Her Majesty will be quick to take offense.”
The other girls twittered with laughter.
Rosalie blinked. “Is... will the Queen be coming to the wedding?”
“Of course,” the duchess replied with a haughty sniff. “Miss Harrow, you do remember my son is a duke of the realm, do you not? The Queen will come and show her support for his union.”
“Daddy says she will be the first one to call me ‘Duchess,’” Piety added, still admiring herself in the mirror.
A footman knocked twice and entered. “Your Grace, Madame Lambert has arrived,” he called. “I’ve put her in your parlor.”
The girls squealed anew. “The modiste!”
“Your wedding clothes are ready!”
Piety turned as if to leave.
“Not so fast, Miss Nash,” the duchess called. “You are not a duchess yet. The jewels stay here.”
“Oh.” Piety gave a soft little laugh. “Of course, Your Grace.” She slipped the tiara off her curls and set it back on its stand before leading the way out of the room.
With all the ladies cleared out, Rosalie could glance across the room and see James standing there, his arms folded over his chest. Like her, he’d watched the proceedings with a careful eye.
Mrs. Robbins replaced the hand mirror and righted the sunburst tiara on its stand. “I’ll go see they have everything they need with the modiste and then begin packing this away,” she said to the duchess.
“I can help,” said Rosalie.
“Don’t you want to watch Miss Piety try on her wedding clothes?” the duchess said with a raised brow.
Rosalie smiled. “Not particularly. Quiet suits me this morning. Please, Mrs. Robbins, let me help.”
“Of course, dear,” said Mrs. Robbins. “I’ll only be a moment, and we’ll finish together.” With a curtsy to the duchess, she took her leave.
James made to follow her out, but the duchess called to him.
“James . . . wait.”
He stilled, halfway to the door.
The duchess turned to Rosalie. “Which would you choose, Miss Harrow?”
Rosalie glanced warily from James back to the duchess. “Itis not for me to choose, Your Grace. I am not marrying the duke.”
“Humor me,” she replied. “I want to see something.”
Rosalie raised a brow. “This is a test, then? What happens if I fail?”
“Absolutely nothing,” the duchess replied. “You are no longer my ward, remember? I have no say over what happens to you.”
Rosalie glanced at James, and he gave a curt nod. She swallowed, surveying the jewels. Walking past the starburst crown and the one with the square-cut sapphires, she paused in the corner. There, on a green velvet cushion, sat a pretty tiara made of thin-spun gold. It was made to look like leafy vines, with clusters of amethysts for grapes. It had no matching earrings. A few diamonds added sparkle, but it was nowhere near as ostentatious as the starburst crown, nor as queenly as Elizabeth’s choice with the dripping teardrop pearls.
