Page 25 of The Duke's Bride in Disguise
"What Lady Emily means," Mary, the maid, interjected quickly, "Is that she has never gone to a shop to buy them herself—usually she sends me."
Was it Raff's imagination, or did a queer look pass between mistress and maid? It was gone in an instant, but he could have sworn that Mary had cast her mistress a chastising glare. Heavens, he thought, he would truly have to have a talk with Lady Emily about assuming an air of confidence, once she became his duchess.
Once they were ready, Raff took Emily's purchases, which were wrapped in paper and tied with string, and guided the two women toward the door. Mary fell into step behind Raff and Emily, as they walked up the street in the direction of Emily's waiting carriage.
"How did you know I was in Mr Bobitol's?" Emily queried curiously.
"I didn't," Raff lied, crossing his finger's behind his back, "I spotted something in the window for Georgiana and when I stepped inside, there you were."
"What a coincidence," Emily said faintly, reaching a gloved hand to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
The alabaster patch of skin, just behind her ear, caught Raff's eye; so much so, that he had to force himself to tear his eyes away from it. It was just a small, seemingly innocuous patch of skin, but Raff found it so tantalising that he had to bite his lip in an attempt to quash the urge to kiss it.
Unexpected urges were not something Raff often experienced; he prided himself on being cool, level headed, and in control. Even in the few love affairs he had entered into, he had always chosen uncomplicated paramours—beautiful, but easily discarded. The idea that he could let Lady Emily go as easily as his previous mistresses was laughable. He felt fiercely possessive of her—even though she quite evidently did not wish to be possessed by him.
"Here we are," Lady Emily chirped, as they reached her waiting Landau, "Thank you ever so much for your gift, Your Grace. Toodles, for now."
Toodles? Raff snorted, not bothering to check his annoyance at her evident desire to be gone. With cat like reflexes, he reached out and grabbed Emily's hand, before she had a chance to alight the carriage.
"I very much look forward to showing you, and your newly trimmed bonnet, off," Raff said, in a voice that was low and deep with meaning, "When can you expect it to be ready?"
"I couldn't possibly say, Your Grace," Lady Emily retorted, glancing down with disdain at his hand, which encircled her wrist. "A bonnet is not a thing that should be carelessly decorated, simply to appease the whims of another. It takes time, patience and skill, to trim a bonnet—it should not be rushed."
Raff frowned in confusion; was she speaking of bonnets or herself? From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a small crowd watching the altercation between the pair, and luckily Mary did too.
"When did you wish Lady Emily to show off her new bonnet, Your Grace?" she asked brusquely, subtly inserting herself between the pair.
"Tomorrow afternoon, for a ride in the park," Raff answered, grateful to the maid for her intervention.
"It shall be ready by then," Mary replied, with a quick bob to the duke and a definite glare of admonishment to Lady Emily. At the maid's words, Lady Emily sighed, like a chastised school boy, and nodded her head in defeat.
"Until tomorrow, Your Grace," she said in the same tone that a man might use to confirm he was headed for the gallows. Without a second glance at him, Lady Emily allowed her waiting footman to assist her inside the carriage, followed by Mary, who had the good grace to bid goodbye to the duke.
What on earth just happened, Raff thought, as he watched the Landau make its way slowly down the busy street. From riddles about bonnets, to the daughter of a marquess humbly following the orders of her lady's maid, it had been rather a confusing day. Still, he thought cheerfully, as he made his way to his own waiting carriage, at least he had managed to arrange a get together with Lady Emily. That the get together had only come about because of duplicitous actions and strong-arming tactics was a point that Raff tried to ignore.
Nobody knew how Rotten Row in Hyde Park had got its name. Many believed that it was a corruption of the original nameLa Route du Roi—the King's Road—and that this corruption was probably borne from that uniquely English ability to butcher the French language.
Despite its less than appealing name, the Row was always filled with the most glamorous of sorts; gentlemen riding the finest horseflesh, young bucks showing off shiny new Phaetons, and ladies, dressed in the highest fashion waving out from gleaming carriages. Between the hours of three o'clock and five, the Row was the place where thebeau mondewent to see and be seen.
The next afternoon, Raff and Lady Emily, accompanied by a rather disinterested Laura, were the couple who were drawing every eye, as they paraded along the Row in Raff's open-carriage.
Raff was uncertain if it was Emily's bonnet that was attracting all attention, or if it was as a result of the gossip piece that had appeared in one of the morning's papers. The short, but rather precise column, had gleefully detailed that the "D of K" was spotted on Argyle Road arguing with his bride to be "Lady E".
Though neither of their names had been explicitly mentioned, it did not take a genius to work out who the author was speaking of.
And so, during a ride that Raff had hoped would allow him some much needed quiet time to charm Lady Emily, they instead found themselves the object of overt stares and glances.
It could just be the bonnet, Raff thought with a wry smile, as from the corner of his eye, he glanced the coronation of flowers that adorned Emily's headpiece.
It was a wonder she could hold her head up under all the trimmings; a dozen large, silk roses, of varying shades of pastel had been sewn above the brim of her bonnet, and around these, a hazy, giddy froth of Baby's Breath had been artfully entwined. The adornments were rather large, and very eye catching, but even Raff—who knew little of ladies' fashions—had to admit that it was most becoming.
"You're staring at my hat again," Lady Emily accused him, as she caught his eye.
