Page 17 of The Duke's Golden Belle
She covered her mouth with the back of her hand and bit her glove to not giggle. Clearing her throat, she asked, “Did you select them yourself, Your Grace?”
A chuckle escaped, and he grinned at her. “I see where you are going. Usually, I do . . . select my gloves. But my valet replaced a pair I ruined. Most likely, he used his hand to select the gloves, forgetting my hands were larger. Perhaps he never realized,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t remember the last time—or anytime—we have compared hands.” He gave a good hearty laugh. “Mayhap I’ll gift these to him. He was my batman in the war and there are things he is still learning, I suppose.”
“I suppose it depends on the glover’s establishment, whether they are made to order,” she returned. “Perhaps we could stop there and get a pair for you.”
“Solid idea! They are fur lined. If you will allow me, I should like to get you a pair as well.”
Isabelle opened her mouth to say something, then closed it. They were affianced and it wasn’t improper to receive a gift from her betrothed, a voice in her head said. But the thought of accepting a gift seemed to push the possibility of a broken engagement, something she had counted on, further from reality. She made a subtle nod, unsure of what to say to something that now seemed her fault.
“Tell you what,” he suggested. “Let’s take a wait-and-see approach. They may or may not have any grey leather in stock and I may have to choose a pair of ready-made gloves.”
“That’s a good idea,” she agreed, more subdued.
“I had planned to visit a few shops on the opposite end of town from the glover. We will see if we feel like going into the glover. How does that sound?” Michael suggested. “I thought we could stop for a cup of hot chocolate first,” he said, as the carriage stopped in front of Crustin’s bakery.
He instinctively knows how to calm my anxiety, she observed, reaching into her left pocket—only needing to touch the stone, not to rub it. More confident, she accepted Michael’s extended arm and departed the carriage.
* * *
A bell jingled above the door as the couple entered the shop and the smell of cinnamon, nutmeg, yeast, and something else Michael could not place greeted them.
“Welcome, Your Grace, Lady Isabelle,” Mr. Crustin said, rushing from behind the counter and dropping into a bow and curtsy.
Mrs. Crustin touched the side of the counter for balance, and she stood, then wiped flour from her hands on her skirts. “How is your sister, Lady Anna, today? She stopped in yesterday while your mother was in the modiste’s shop and had a sticky bun. She said my buns are her favorite!” she announced proudly. “I cannot tell you how heartwarming it was to hear. Being a bakery and all . . .”
“Mrs. Crustin, I wonder if you have something special for my lady here.” He looked at the baker pointedly from where he stood behind Isabelle and gestured with his eyes.Had Conners not gotten their agreement, after all?
“Oh goodness, Yer Grace. You must think me daft. Yes, yes, you would want something special. Might I hope to get you both to do me a big favor and try out a special room me and my husband have created? Follow me.” She wove through the small tables to the west side of the store.
“I’m positively drooling for a cup of Mrs. Crustin’s chocolate,” Isabelle whispered loudly to Michael. “Mrs. Crustin tops it off with crushed peppermint candy and a dash of nutmeg—and it’s become one of my favorite winter drinks. Did you know it gets rid of headaches?”
Startled, he looked at her. “Do you have a headache, Isabelle?”
She smiled. “No. No headache,” she replied. “I was only making small talk. I think I’m a little nervous.”
“Lady Isabelle, I have your special chocolate ready for you,” Mrs. Crustin said, squeezing her hand. “Here’s yer table, Yer Grace. My husband and I appreciate your coming here.” She hesitated a moment, as if trying to think of what more to say. “I will be right back,” Mrs. Crustin said, giving a short curtsy and going back to the kitchen.
Michael waited until she was out of earshot. “I’m sorry. I should not have been so vague. I planned with the Crustins for them to serve a small brunch for the two of us. Will that be suitable for you?” he said, flashing her his most sincere, apologetic look. He cursed himself under his breath for his short-sightedness. He understood her anxiety.Normally when she visits the bakery, the proprietor stays behind the counter and serves her.They normally didn’t rush from behind the counter to curtsey, and there was more. The place looked different today . . . clean of the residual flour and sugar that normally coated the floor. And there were new lace curtains in the windowed alcove area. The store sparkled, and it had the feel of a celebration about it! Boughs of holly, berries, and ribbons hung about the room, and he recognized the faint scent of pine—the smell he had struggled with a moment earlier.
“I have something to ask you, Michael,” Isabelle said, smiling up at him as he pulled the wooden chair out for her. Taking the seat, she sat down.
“Yes?” Michael said, taking the seat across from her.
She glanced in the direction Mrs. Crustin had gone. They were still alone.
“It’s a small thing. But if we are to be betrothed, I thought you might want to call me Belle. It is the name my brother, Garrett, gave me. He is the only one that calls me that . . . except for Marcus. It was easier for him to say, I suppose.”
“Belle,” Michael said, smiling. “I like it.” He had a question he wanted to ask, but there would be time for that . . . he hoped. “My valet made arrangements with the Crustins for us to have a special brunch here. How do you feel about milk bread?”
“I love it. My mother sometimes asks Cook to make it for us. Will they be serving that?”
“Yes. But the server will give us a few minutes alone. I’ve arranged for your maid and the coaching staff to be served in a separate space than we are—just behind that swinging door.” He gave a short wave towards the kitchen. “We are alone, but only for a few minutes. Hopefully, they will enjoy Mrs. Crustin’s selections and forget about us,” he said with a nervous laugh. Turning serious, he lightly touched her glove with his forefinger. “Would you mind if I removed your glove?”
* * *
A quiver of delight ran through her body. She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it. Instead, she nodded emphatically,yes.
Slowly, he pulled her glove off her hand.
