Page 45 of The Scottish Duke Tames the Bluestocking
“But it would be so much fun,” Abigail cajoled. “It would be the first ball you attended as husband and wife, you must go! Please tell me you will ask Hugh to go, please!”
The temptation was overwhelming. Harriet had been cooped up in the manor for weeks, with only household duties and awkward encounters with Hugh to occupy her time. The thought of donning a beautiful gown, of dancing and laughing and forgetting her troubles for one night...it was too enticing to resist.
“Very well,” she relented, a grin spreading across her face. “I shall speak to Hugh about attending the ball.”
Abigail let out a squeal of delight, throwing her arms around Harriet in an exuberant hug. “Yes!” she exclaimed and laughed. “Oh, everyone will see you together and be so jealous - you do look lovely with one another, and you simply must get a new dress, and...”
Harriet hugged her back, feeling a rush of affection for the vivacious young girl. “Careful - you know that I must convince Hugh first,” she reminded gently.
Abigail's smile turned sly. “Leave that to me. Oh, let us go now.”
Abigail wasted no time - grabbing Harriet’s hand and dragging her to Hugh’s study, where he sat poring over estate ledgers. Abigail burst in without knocking, Harriet trailing behind her.
“Hugh, we must speak to you,” Abigail announced, her chin lifted in determination.
Hugh glanced up, his brow furrowed. “What's this about?”
Abigail thrust the ball invitation at him. “The Duke and Duchess of Wentworth are holding a ball, and I think you and Harriet must attend. If you were to take me along,” she tried mischievously.
Hugh’s gaze flicked to Harriet, a question in his eyes. Though a flush rose to her cheeks, she met his stare evenly. “It would be good to get out... it might be enjoyable,” she said, her voice small. It gained strength when she looked at Abigail, however. “Unfortunately, dear Abigail, you can only attend after your debut - as you very well know.”
Hugh was silent for a long moment, his expression inscrutable. Then, to Harriet's surprise, he nodded slowly. “Very well. If it means that much to ye both, we shall attend the ball. But I agree with Harriet, Abigail. Ye can only attend after yer debut.”
Abigail pouted at this, though the unhappiness soon made way for a bright grin. “As long as the two of you go. Oh and you must tell me everything when you return.”
Hugh’s lips twitched in amusement and he nodded at his wife. “But I do think you will need a new dress for this,” he said gently and Abigail grinned brightly.
“Oh, yes,” Abigail agreed at once. “Harriet and I can go into the city tomorrow to visit Madame Delacroix. She is the most celebrated dressmaker in all of London - and I know she will create something that will be the envy of all theton!”
Harriet glanced at Hugh hesitantly. She was not quite certain that she felt entirely comfortable about spending so much of his money on a dress. Hugh, however, flashed her a grin.
“Go,” he insisted. “I will arrange for the payment - tell Madame Delacroix to craft this dress as soon as possible. I’ll have the carriage readied for you in the morning.”
The next day dawned bright and clear, the perfect weather for a trip into the city. Harriet felt a thrill of excitement as she and Abigail settled into the plush velvet seats of the carriage, the horses’ hooves clattering over the cobblestones as they made their way towards London’s fashionable shopping district.
Madame Delacroix’s shop was a vision of elegance, with gleaming mirrors and richly upholstered chaises scattered throughout the airy space. The renowned dressmaker herself greeted them with effusive warmth, her keen eye already assessing their figures and coloring.
“Ah, I have just the thing for you, Your Grace,” she trilled, guiding Harriet towards a display of shimmering silks and delicate lace. “A daring shade of crimson, I think, to complement your striking features.”
Harriet ran her fingers over the sumptuous fabric, marveling at the way it seemed to come alive beneath her touch. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed.
Madame Delacroix smiled. “And I suppose you want it at once?”
Harriet glanced at Abigail before looking at the woman. She was not quite yet used to the treatment of a duchess, and she hesitated.
“If... if at all possible, Madame,” she managed to get out at last. “My husband will arrange for the payment...”
Madame Delacroix flashed her a smile. “Please, Your Grace. Do not fret. His Grace sent word of the payment early this morning and insisted that the dress be finished as soon as possible. If you will not mind waiting a bit - I can arrange for you to have some tea - I will have it done by the close of business today. You could always send a servant...”
“Oh, no. We will wait. Please, can we, Harriet?” Abigail pleaded. Harriet hesitated, but nodded after a look at Abigail’s pleading face. She supposed it was quite enjoyable for her to get out of the manor.
“Yes, we will wait,” she decided, and Madame Delacroix nodded.
For the next several hours, Harriet lost herself in the joy of fabrics and fittings, the worries of her marriage temporarily forgotten amidst the whirlwind of creation. Madame Delacroix was a genius, her deft fingers pinning and tucking and draping until the most exquisite gown she’d ever worn began to take shape.
But as the dress neared completion, Harriet became increasingly aware of the speculative glances being cast in their direction by the other patrons. Hushed whispers and pointed looks followed them as they moved about the shop, an undercurrent of something that felt suspiciously like disdain threading through the atmosphere.
At last, unable to bear the scrutiny any longer, Harriet pulled Abigail aside. “Is it just me,” she murmured, keeping her voice low, “or does it feel like we're being watched?”
