Page 86 of When a Duke Loves a Woman
“I assume Thorne will want to waltz with you.”
“He mentioned doing so, yes. I thought to ask Mick to teach me the proper way to do it, so I don’t embarrass myself.” Her brother had learned long ago from his widowed lover.
“You’re not going to embarrass yourself. Do you know how to curtsy?”
“I’ve never had a need to.”
“You’ll need to curtsy to his mother.”
“Why?”
“Because she is a duchess, it is her ball, and she is his mother. And it is what one does.”
Gillie suspected a good part of the next two weeks was going to be spent learning to do things simply because they were what one did.
“I think we should invite Fancy to join us in educating you,” Aslyn said. “As her time at the finishing school is only recently passed, she should have much to contribute, probably things I wouldn’t even think about teaching you, since everything is rather second nature to me now.”
“I have only a few hours available each afternoon. I still have my tavern to see to.”
“We shall make it work.”
Chapter 22
The days passed far too quickly, and Gillie soon found herself staring at the gorgeous ball gown spread out across her bed, the deep purple silk and satin, glistening in the lamplight, the delicate embroidery in the bodice that must have taken hours to stitch. Over the past two weeks, she’d had numerous fittings, had seen it coming together as several seamstresses worked on it, yet still she was in awe by all the details of it and the knowledge that very soon it would grace her body. It had been delivered only that afternoon, and she’d hardly been able to take her eyes from it, imagining how it would catch the lighting as Thorne waltzed her around the ballroom.
She did want to waltz with him—badly. He came to her every night, but it never seemed to be enough. She always wanted one more night, one more memory. Tonight’s would be one unlike any they had ever shared.
She stood a few feet away from the bed where an assortment of silk and lacy undergarments also waited for her. Aslyn had provided her with a list of the order in which the items went on, but as she perused it, it seemed impossible to complete the task in the time remaining before Mick arrived with his coach to escort her to the affair. She’d already bathed, was wearing nothing but her night wrap, but dear Lord, she should have begun dressing at dawn. Why did women have to wear so much? It was like putting on armor, which she supposed proper ladies did to ensure they didn’t engage in improper behavior. A gentleman couldn’t get through all of that very quickly in order to reach the heavenly parts. Although if he did manage to reach them, she supposed his determination was to be applauded.
She rather liked that Thorne didn’t have to work so very hard to get her out of her clothes. They’d certainly not be engaged in any naughtiness this evening. She shouldn’t have been disappointed, and yet she was. On the other hand, perhaps he’d embrace the challenge of proving her misconceptions wrong. She could always hope.
The loud knock on her door caused her to jump. She had no time for visitors. It came again with a more urgent pounding of fists. With a sigh, she headed for it. No doubt trouble was brewing belowstairs. She’d have to change into her work clothes, go handle the matter—and once down there, something else would need her attention and before she knew it, the ball would be over and she’d have missed it. Perhaps it was for the best.
While she felt prepared for the evening, the real test would come when she arrived. She knew all the proper forms of address, to whom she should curtsy, to whom she should not. She knew the acceptable topics of conversation—boring though they were. She understood her opinions might be too radical for some. Over the years, she had learned to blend in even within her own tavern. She could blend in tonight.
Opening the door, she gaped at her smiling sister-by-marriage. “Bloody hell, is it already time?” How long had she been staring at the clothing on her bed?
“Not yet. We thought you could use some assistance,” Aslyn said, as she edged her way past Gillie, followed by Fancy and two other ladies—servants based on their dress—carrying an assortment of boxes.
“What are you doing here?” she asked her sister.
Fancy smiled. “I wanted to help.”
“You’re not putting flowers in my hair. I’ve told you before I’m not a bloody garden.” Fancy had promised to adorn her hair with flowers for Mick’s wedding. One of the reasons she hadn’t gone was her fear of looking ridiculous.
“We have something better.” She went to the table where the servants had set the boxes, opened one, reached inside, and pulled out what looked to be a ball of hair—a red mahogany. She smiled brightly. “It’s a hairpiece. Aslyn assured me women wear them all the time. We had a devil of a challenge finding the right shade, but I think we managed. And we brought some lovely pearl combs with which to secure it.”
“I like my hair as it is.”
“Yes, but...”
It was fine for a tavern but not for an aristocrat’s ball. And she did so want not to embarrass Thorne. “I suppose the gown would look nicer if my hair were longer.”
“Nan can work magic with hair,” Aslyn said, her own blond tresses gathered up into a soft sweep with curls dangling provocatively here and there.
Gillie assumed Nan was the maid who was busily bobbing her head. “Yes, all right. Let’s see how it goes.”
It went horribly. Her strands were tugged and pulled until she was surprised they remained attached to her scalp. But she couldn’t deny when the additional hair and combs were in place that it was difficult to tell she was a woman who wore her hair in a style more suited to men. Her face was framed in delicate curls that invited a gent to toy with them.
