Page 39 of The Iron Duke's Flaming Christmas
“Perfectly,” she said, through gritted teeth. “I will do as you command. You are my master, after all.”
His eyes flickered, darkening, resting on her lips for a moment, before he turned around abruptly, marching back to the drawing room.
Selene kept walking, barely able to breathe. She didn’t want to go to this party and watch him with Lady Gwen, or anyof the other fine ladies who would attend, laughing and chatting with them, and ignoring her entirely.
It would only make her feel even worse about herself and remind her—like a boot digging into her neck—that she was not a lady, and never would be. That she could never hope to be enough for him, no matter how much she longed to be.
She took a deep, ragged breath. It was going to be torture watching him. But there was nothing she could do about it now. He was still her master, and she was his employee. She must obey him.
At that moment, she heard Lenore squealing. She sighed, picking up the skirt of her gown, and resumed her chase.
***
“My, you look as pretty as a picture,” said Mrs. Kittles, beaming at Selene, walking slowly around her. “I still cannot believe that His Grace told me to give you a gown to wear to the party, but I must say, it does become you, my dear.”
Selene flushed at the housekeeper’s praise, gazing at herself in the full-length mirror. She didn’t recognize the woman who gazed back at her, wearing this gown. She usually wore plain, coarse gowns, as befitted her station, and because that was all she could afford.
She exhaled slowly. This gown was a dream, even though it wasn’t frilly or fussy. It was a streamlined, elegant muslin gown in a pale musky pink, with a high bustline and short, puffed sleeves. The expensive fabric felt beautiful against her skin. Mrs. Kittles had done her hair, twisting it up into a chignon, rather than her usual tight bun, and had even given her a simple pearl necklace with matching earrings to wear, as well.
“I cannot wear it,” she burst out. “I… I do not look like myself. I look like someone else entirely.” She turned to Mrs. Kittles. “I look like I am trying to rise above my station.”
“Now, now,” soothed the housekeeper, patting her arm. “You are all in a dither, my dear, because you are about to attend a grand party with the nobility, and you are not used to it. No one will notice you. Just take your sewing basket and sit in a quiet corner, and you will be fine.”
“Where did this gown come from?” she asked, turning back to the mirror. “I do not understand.”
The housekeeper arched her eyebrows. “It belonged to the late duchess,” she replied, in an even voice. “It was not one of her best gowns. It was not special, so do not worry if you spill a drop of tea upon it, or anything like that.” She paused. “It is quite astounding that the duke kept all of the duchess’s gowns, but there you have it.”
Selene gasped, turning to the housekeeper. “This belonged to the late duchess? And he is letting me wear it?”
Mrs. Kittles nodded. “He can be a kind soul, beneath his frosty exterior,” she replied. “He told me that you said you did not have anything suitable for the party, so he gave me leave to choose a dress for you out of the trunks in the attic, and I thought this one would fit you well and is appropriate for the occasion.”
Selene shook her head in wonder. Mrs. Kittles had chosen well—the gown was elegant but understated. Her heart trembled. She still couldn’t believe that the duke would allow her to wear a gown that had belonged to his late wife. What could it mean?
But before she could grapple with that thought, there was a knock at the door. A maid entered, smiling at them, her eyes openly admiring.
“Oh, you look beautiful, Miss Bomind,” she said. “Just like a real lady!”
Selene reddened again, squirming where she stood. “Thank you, Rosie.”
“The guests are arriving,” said the maid. “I was told it is time for you to bring Lady Lenore to the conservatory to greet them.”
Selene took a deep breath. “Very well.”
She took one last look in the mirror, before turning toward the door. Her stomach was in knots—she couldn’t recall the last time she had been so nervous. And she was doubly nervous now that she knew she was wearing a gown that had belonged to the late duchess.
She looked down, noticing that her hands were trembling. How was the duke going to react when he saw her in this gown—even though he had insisted she wear it?
***
Ian stood at the entrance to the conservatory, brushing dust off the sleeves of his jacket, even though it had been brushed thoroughly by his valet. He adjusted his cravat. He always felt trussed up when he had to wear his better attire for parties and balls.
He put his hands behind his back, resisting the impulse to start pacing the floor. He despised social events, even those that he hosted himself. The only reason he was doing this was in honor of his houseguests. It was correct protocol.
He frowned. The guests were starting to arrive, but there was still no sign of Selene with Lenore. Had Mrs. Kittles misunderstood him and not given her a gown to wear? Or was she planning to plead a headache to get out of it? She hadn’t looked happy when he insisted she must attend.
Suddenly, he froze. Lenore was skipping into the conservatory. His daughter looked lovely in a pale green silk gown with matching ribbons, two circles of red in her cheeks, like apples. He couldn’t help smiling at her. She was as pleased as punch that she had been allowed to come to this party.
The next minute, Selene walked into the room. His breath caught in his throat, and he felt his jaw drop.
