Page 76 of Duke of Emeralds
“I am only one person,” Hester said. “Surely you have overestimated my need for clothing.”
“Oh, no, Your Grace! You have not yet seen my catalogue. I assure you, every piece is essential.”
Thomas gave her a shameless wink. “Ye can buy out the entire shop, if ye like. I’ll nae stop ye.”
Madame Evrard beamed. “He is a husband of rare understanding. If only all were so accommodating.”
The parade of boxes continued, each opened with a flourish: swathes of silk, spangled shawls, gloves with embroidery so fineit made her own needlework look like the work of an amateur. There were court dresses, walking dresses, dinner frocks, opera cloaks, and at least three bonnets so enormous that Hester suspected they required their own footmen.
It would have been overwhelming if not for the odd sense of giddiness that crept up as she realized how delighted Thomas was by the whole spectacle.
He leaned close to her so that only she could hear the deep baritone of his voice. “Go on, Hester. Ye cannae say ye aren’t the least bit excited.”
She raised a brow. “I was not aware you had opinions about ball dresses.”
He shrugged, unconcerned. “I have opinions about everything.”
She turned back to the modiste, who was now arraying swatches across the sofa as if assembling a color-based puzzle. “Thank you, Madame Evrard. It is… impressive. I do not know where to begin.”
The modiste clapped her hands. “You must let your instincts guide you. Pick what makes you feel alive, powerful, and exquisite. And if you need a second opinion—” here she gestured at Thomas “—your husband has excellent taste.”
Hester shot him a look. “Does he, now?”
Thomas folded his arms, looking as smug as a cat. “Told ye I was a man of surprises.”
She relented, allowing herself a small smile and straightening her shoulders, affecting severity. “You have not yet earned my full admiration. But you are, I admit, improving.”
He affected shock. “How will I ever manage to impress you fully?”
Madame Evrard, sensing her moment, interjected, “If I may, Your Grace, we also have children’s patterns. For your little one, yes?” She glanced at Thomas. “Or perhaps for a ward?”
Hester blinked then smiled, genuine and wide. “That is a splendid idea. Arabella should have something new as well.”
Madame Evrard gestured, and within seconds, an assistant appeared bearing a book filled with miniature frocks. “We will need the child for measurements, but I assure you—every girl wishes to be a princess at least once in her life.”
Thomas’s smile widened. “I’ll send for her,” he said.
While the modiste made a great show of organizing silks by shade, Hester began to flip through the catalogues, laughing at the more extravagant options and asking Thomas’s opinion on several. He was completely unabashed in his advice, even going so far as to completely disapprove of a dress that was “the color of spoiled ale.”
Midway through the process, the butler reappeared with a silver tray. “A message, Your Grace. From the Duchess of Eldenham.”
Hester took the card and read. “We are invited to the Eldenham Ball. It’s only four days away.”
Thomas grinned. “That’s a fine coincidence.”
Hester studied the invitation, feeling the nerves spark in her chest. It was the first truly grand event she would attend since becoming Duchess, and now, she would be expected to parade herself in the most public way possible.
She set the card down and turned to Madame Evrard. “We must make something suitable for the ball.”
“Mais bien sûr!” Madame Evrard swept aside the other swatches and drew forth a hidden portfolio, bristling with fashion plates so elaborate they looked more like battle plans than dresses. “Here. This one, I think—yes? The cut is daring but not indecent. And the color—what is your preference, Madam?”
Hester considered. She was about to answer when the modiste said, “Or perhaps, you would like red. His Grace sel?—”
Thomas coughed, and it was a sharp, hacking noise that cut through the room. For a moment, it seemed he might actually collapse; he clutched his chest and turned away, his face going red.
“Thomas!” Hester darted over. “Are you unwell?”
He waved her off then coughed again, louder this time, thumping his chest with one hand.
