Page 60 of Bound By the Duke
“London looks quite pleased to have you back,” she murmured, almost to herself.
Across from her, Percival sat with that familiar grace. His broad shoulders were relaxed against the velvet seat. His gaze was also fixed outside, but his expression was unreadable.
Despite his silence, his presence was commanding, like a dark silhouette against the lively brightness of London.
The carriage eventually slowed to a halt in front of a building. Aurelia blinked when she noticed where they had stopped. She leaned forward, peering through the glass.
Her brow creased. “This is Maison De Soie,” she noted softly.
Percival had mentioned having to oversee important preparations, but she had not expected such a striking, elegant building to be their destination. Its windows glowed like polished gems, and golden letters curled above the entrance:Maison de Soie.
Her confusion must have been evident on her face because Percival’s voice broke through the quiet. “You should have a new gown for the ball.”
Her breath caught. She turned to look at him, torn between smiling and gasping. Although his words were so simple, the meaning was not lost on her.
He had noticed. He had thought of her.
For a moment, she only stared at those blue eyes of his. Her chest heaved with something she dared not name.
She was to have a new gown. Not for appearances, but forher.
The footman appeared, interrupting the moment. He pulled open the door with a bow.
Aurelia looked at him with a smile. It was time to step out. She gathered her skirts, ready to rise, when she noticed Percival had not moved.
“You’re not coming?” she couldn’t help asking, her voice soft.
His eyes flicked to her face. “I will wait here,” he replied simply.
Aurelia furrowed her brow. As the footman stood by the door, she hesitated. Because as much as Percival loved to hide his feelings, sometimes she could see right through him.
And, at that moment, the truth was clear enough. He was giving her space, careful not to impose himself in a place meant for women’s fittings. A small act of courtesy, perhaps.
But Aurelia did not want to be alone.
She took a deep breath. “Come with me.” Her voice was warmer now, edged with something unspoken.
Percival didn’t say a word at first. His gaze sharpened, and she could see a flicker in their blue depths. Silence fell between them, so terrible that she wondered if she had crossed a line.
But when he nodded, relief washed over her.
“As you wish,” he spoke lowly, before rising from his seat.
Aurelia beamed, unable to hide her glee.
The modiste’s shop smelled faintly of lavender and silks. The wooden frames showcased different gowns, their fabrics shimmering in the sunlight. The air was still, as though one was entering a temple of beauty.
The duke and duchess stepped inside. At once, a thin woman noticed their presence and approached them with a quick bow. She was Madame Lisette, the famed modiste of Mayfair.
However, when Madame Lisette straightened and spotted the tall figure beside Aurelia, her breath caught. Her hands trembled, and she bobbed a curtsey.
Aurelia’s brows drew together.
How odd.
But then it became clear to her when the modiste stammered out, “The D—Duke of Whitmore.”
Of course, the rumors that her husband was a fearsome beast must have reached the modiste.
