Page 42 of The Trouble With Her Duke
Annabelle peeked into the fitting room. Seeing Lydia dressed in the blue dress, she stepped in. “Miss Hammond, that dress suits you.”
“You think so?” Lydia asked, interested in Annabelle’s opinion.
“Yes. I do.”
She turned to the modiste. “I will take this one.” The duke had requested she replace her wardrobe, and she would take him at his word. “I need to select fabric for six more dresses.”
“I spoke with the modiste and showed her the pockets. She plans something similar for you,” Annabelle said.
The shop’s bell tinkled, and the door slammed closed behind the visitor. “Madame Couturiere is expecting me,” a haughty female voice said.
Lydia noticed Madame Couturiere’s face tighten with tension. “Miss Hammond, I must leave you for a few minutes.” She looked for her assistant. “Myrtle, take Miss Hammond’s measurements and help select her fabrics.” In an instant, the woman disappeared.
The woman’s voice raised the hair on Lydia’s neck. Who was she? Lydia tried to shrug off her concerns—but couldn’t.
“These dresses won’t do. How many times must I instruct you to place an expanding area in the front for a pillow?” the woman demanded. “It is important.”
“Your ladyship,” Lydia heard the modiste say, “You gave us no details when I asked what how much expansion you needed. I will adapt these as you wish, but there are several ahead of you, waiting.”
“I am one of your most loyal patrons,” the woman shrieked. “How dare you not address my needs before the others!”
Inhaling a deep breath, the modiste spoke. “Lady Withers, you may either wait your turn for the alterations or pay for the dresses and have someone of your choosing make the modifications. Your choice.”
Of course! She’s the woman who stormed into the duke’s home, thought Lydia, sneaking a peak toward the disturbance. The woman stepped from her fitting room in her shift and with a flat stomach. She saw no evidence of the pregnancy she had alleged to the duke, and after what she had just heard, Lydia needed to alert the duke. With all the excitement, she realized she had not changed out of the blue dress.
“Miss Hammond, isn’t that the woman who screamed at Father?” Mandy asked, pushing open the curtain.
Too late. The Widow Withers spotted her. “You!” she shrieked. “The duke is mine—not yours. You’d do well to leave the duke’s home.”
Stunned, Lydia stood there for a moment. “Children, go with Annabelle while I gather my items.”
“Lady Withers, you need to leave,” the modiste demanded. Madame Couturiere pulled a rope near the fitting rooms and rang a bell. A large man appeared from the back of the shop. “Henry, escort the widow out the back door and lock it behind her.”
“Everyone will hear about this,” she screamed as the footman escorted her out.
“I’ll count that as a promise,” Madame said, turning back to Lydia and the children. “I apologize for that unfortunate incident,” she said to Lydia.
“I understand, Madame. Please think nothing of it. If you’ve my fabric selections, we should work on Mandy’s selections.”
“We’ve taken Mandy’s measurements, and the fabrics she likes sit next to the patterns we’ve selected,” Annabelle said.
“Wonderful. Mandy, let’s finalize our selections. Afterward, we’ll visit the tailor for Michael.”
“This is the most fun I’ve ever had picking out clothing, Miss Hammond,” Mandy said. “I like the pink colors and flowery patterns.”
“The color suits your coloring. I’m very happy you’ve enjoyed our shopping venture!”
This was not the shopping trip I had anticipated. I wonder if her father will feel the same.
I’ve never been so humiliated, huffed Naomi Withers, speaking to no one in particular, as she retreated to her carriage. She spotted a shiny black carriage with liveried footmen wearing Damon’s crest. “When that carriage moves, follow it,” she told the driver. I’ll remove that termagant from his house, myself. Governess, ha! What man puts a governess as beautiful as her in their home? Naomi had not noticed her at any ton event—and she made it her business to know her competition.
Her patience paid off, as two women and two children left the tailor next to the modiste’s and climbed into the waiting, unmarked coach. She couldn’t see their faces due to their bonnets but was sure one of the women was Damon’s new governess. She recognized his brats. “I know that’s Damon’s coach,” she fumed. “She’s wormed herself into his home, pretends to teach his children, and I’m sure she warms his bed. Well, he is mine and I don’t share what’s mine. I’ll have him back.” What was even more concerning was that she feared the woman had overheard her argument about the dress, and Naomi was certain she would relay that to Damon.
The duke’s carriage pulled in front of Ivy’s, a small hotel restaurant catering to the ton. Naomi watched the small party enter. Wonderful. She tapped on the ceiling of her carriage and had the driver wait.
Entering the restaurant, she spotted the two women and Damon’s children at a table in the back with four other ladies. Unperturbed, Naomi made her way there.
“Excuse me, my lady,” an older woman said, stopping her. “Do you have a reservation?”
