Page 77 of Duke of Emeralds
“Forgive him,” Madame Evrard said, completely unflustered. “Many men are overcome by fashion. It is nothing to worry for.”
Thomas managed to stop. “Forgive me, Duchess. Something went down the wrong pipe,” he said though Hester could have sworn he was fighting a grin.
She narrowed her eyes, suspicious. He smiled and took a seat.
Madame Evrard continued as if nothing had happened. “For the ball, I recommend something bold. The world already looks at you. Give them something to admire, yes?”
“Something bold,” Hester repeated, feeling an unexpected thrill at the prospect. “Yes. Let us do that.”
She picked out three possible styles then glanced at Thomas. “Which would you choose?”
Thomas studied them with exaggerated seriousness. “The green,” he said, tapping the page. “It’s the color of confidence. And if ye wear it, no one will think to pity ye.”
Hester arched a brow. “Since when do you care about pity?”
He shrugged. “I care about what ye want. That’s all.”
Something in her chest stuttered. She wanted very much to reach out and touch his hand, just to see what he would do, but the room was too crowded, the moment too fragile.
Instead, she turned to the modiste. “We will take the green. And the peach for dinner parties. And for walking perhaps—” she searched for something that felt more like herself, “the blue with the simple embroidery.”
“Très bien!” Madame Evrard scribbled notes, barked orders, and instantly dispatched three assistants to begin alterations.
Moments later, Arabella appeared, breathless and bright-eyed, ushered in by the butler. She stopped short at the sight of the transformed drawing room then broke into a wide smile.
“Oh!” she said. “Are these all for us?”
Hester kneeled to her level. “We thought you should have something new, too. What would you like best?”
Bella surveyed the room with the careful intensity of a small general then pointed at a lavender dress with a sash the color of cream. “That one. And also—” she added, more quietly, “something to match yours.”
Hester’s heart twisted. “Of course,” she said. “We’ll have them make you one just like mine.”
Madame Evrard swooped in, measured Bella’s arms and waist with lightning speed, and pronounced her “perfect for all fashions.” Bella bore it with stoicism then turned to Thomas.
“Do you want a dress, too?” she asked with utter sincerity.
Thomas managed to keep a straight face. “No, thank ye, lass. But I might try a sash if you think it suits me.”
He picked up the nearest ribbon and draped it over his shoulder then paraded about the room to Bella’s delight.
“Boys don’t wear sashes!” Bella giggled.
“Maybe not in England,” he replied. “But in Scotland, we wear all sorts of things.”
Bella was undeterred. “You should have something in blue. It matches your eyes,” she said with authority.
Hester felt laughter bubble up, the room gone light and bright with it. “She’s demoted you, Thomas. From Duke to dress dummy.”
He grinned. “It’s a fine promotion.”
The modiste and her assistants worked around them, and the drawing room was a hive of fitting, pinning, and laughter. Hester watched Bella preen in her new dress, watched Thomas lethimself be ordered about by a six-year-old, and felt—for just a moment—as if they were a real family.
The thought stabbed then lingered, and she told herself that this did not matter.
Hester’s dresses arrived the day before the Eldenham Ball, and her sitting room resembled a battlefield of silk and satin.
Miss Holt was already unwrapping the parcels with even more excitement than Hester.
