Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
“Oh, this color!” Iris exclaimed as she spun about on the spot. “I love it!”
“It does suit you, Your Grace.”
“And shame on me for doubting you,” Iris laughed as she hurried to the mirror to get a better look. “It won’t happen again.”
The modiste blushed. “It is quite alright. Although, I have been doing this for some time…”
“Yes, yes. You’re the expert and I am just a silly Lady. I know it.”
“I did not mean it like that!”
Iris laughed further. “I am joking, Agatha. Merely a joke.” She spun back, her eyes wide and glimmering. “But truly, this is the one. A gown made from this, and I might never want to take it off.”
“Keep in mind, this is only the base color.” Agatha came in behind Iris and turned her to face back into the mirror. “The hems will be darker, I am thinking. And I would love to see a colored print… perhaps a floral gold.”
“Oh, how bold of you.”
“I have been known to be so.”
“And I have already been proven wrong once today,” Iris said with a rightful nod. “Let’s not make it twice.”
“Your Grace…” Agatha stepped back and indicated across the room where there stood a small stool. “If you don’t mind. The color might have been chosen but we need to take measurements.”
“What? Oh, yes.” Iris shook her head. “Silly me.” She glanced at herself a final time and then started back across the room.
She was dressed in a light shift of white, but that was only because it would not do to be naked.
Around her shoulders, however, was an emerald-colored shawl that Agatha was using to match colors.
She had dozens of the things, every color imaginable, and after a morning of wrapping herself in each in search of the perfect color they had finally struck gold.
And the morning was far from over with yet.
It was just an hour ago now when Iris had returned home with Agatha in toe.
She brought with her a collection of her materials, and instruments used for measuring.
The task, as she was given by Iris, was to build for her a new wardrobe.
And Agatha, the sweet little lady that she was, was only too eager to begin.
“Now that we know how green suits you, we can play a little with the other shades,” Agatha explained as she began to measure Iris’ waist. “Of course, you don’t want a wardrobe made entirely of green, so we will have to find more colors that suit your complexion.”
“And find them we will.”
“Once we do, I can produce a list for you to choose from. Dress types and gowns of certain styles. Select what you wish, we will choose the colors for each, and then we will style them to your body type and whatever proclivities you desire.”
“Proclivities?” Iris frowned. “What is your meaning.”
“Well…” Agatha indicated for Iris to hold out her arms so she could measure.
“I have stencils of various gowns, of course. But what if you like the cut of one but wish for it to be without sleeves? Or another suits you but you want it tighter, or the dress to flow. There is no singular design, and the dress should be made to fit its wearer and her personality. Not the other way around.”
Iris was beaming. “It sounds like a lot of work.”
Agatha’s eyes widened. “I got ahead of myself. I did not mean—”
“Which is a good thing,” Iris assured her. “Truly, I look forward to it. Although it might take a few days. I hope you do not mind coming back.”
“If it is fine with you, Your Grace.”
“Nothing could be finer.”
Iris was buzzing with excitement. Earlier, when she had approached the modiste and asked her to return to her home so they could build a wardrobe together, she had been nervous. No doubt when Philip learned of this, he would be furious, and she did not look forward to that particular conversation.
However, the nerves had since faded, and all Iris felt now was the thrill of having a wardrobe built for her personally.
As the youngest sister of five, rarely did Iris get the chance to have dresses made like this.
She was always wearing her sister’s outfits, so this was a treat beyond comprehension.
It might even be worth the fight I am sure to have. If the duke is going to be angry with me, the least I can hope for it to look good while he shouts and blusters.
There was an element of immaturity in what she was doing also, Iris knew.
This would anger the duke, and deep down she was only doing it because she wanted to see him mad.
More than that, she wanted to prove that she was not his to control.
If he wanted to treat her like she did not exist, then she should be free to do as she pleased.
And if he felt the need to punish her for it… a shudder ran up her spine at the thought. So be it, she decided with a coy smile.
This was all well and good to imagine. To even hope for. But when the duke came home and found her in her bedroom with the modiste there, she knew right away that she’d made a mistake.
“What’s going on?” Philip appeared suddenly in her doorway.
Iris’ eyes widened and a stone dropped in her stomach. She was not facing the door so she could not see Philip’s face. But the coldness in his voice was enough to tell her how he was feeling.
“Iris…” he growled.
She swallowed and turned around. “Ph—Philip,” she stammered upon seeing him, confirming immediately that he was indeed angry. “You’re back.”
“Your Grace!” Agatha jumped on the spot and took a hurried step back. “It is lovely to see you again…” She offered a deep bow.
Philip surveyed the scene coolly. “I take it that this is the modiste you were telling me about? From the village.”
“That’s right.” Iris was shaking.
“And you brought her into my home?”
“I did.” She attempted to stand tall and look brave but failed completely.
Perhaps this wasn’t such a smart idea after all. An act of immaturity and I should not be so surprised that he is furious with me.
“Why?” he asked, still standing in the doorway.
“I…” She swallowed again. “I thought I would have some gowns and dresses made. Is there a problem?”
She could literally see Philip trying to contain his anger. And likely, was it not for Agatha’s presence, he would have unleashed it. Oddly, he was not glaring at Iris so much as he was at the modiste, as if she were the one at fault.
“I would ask that you leave us,” he said to modiste.
“Oh!” Agatha yelped. “Yes, of course—”
“Wait!” Iris cried. “We are not finished.”
“You are today.”
“But—”
“It is perfectly fine,” Agatha assured her as she hurried to pack her things. “We made a good start today, Your Grace. More than enough for me to busy myself with.”
“I am so sorry,” she apologized to Agatha. “And I promise to come and see you in the next day or two.” When she said those words she saw Philip turn rigid with frustration.
Agatha was quick then to pack her things. Done in silence as Philip continued to glare and scowl. Agatha kept her head down the entire time, refusing to meet Philip’s eyes, whipped into a nervous panic that had her tripping over her things as she hurried from the room.
It was only once she left that Iris spoke again.
“That was rude.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said, that was rude.” She stepped down from the stool and strode across the room.
Still wearing her shift, she was aware of how little covering it offered her, how her breasts bounced without containment.
Philip’s eyes flicked to them quickly, but looked away just as fast. “Agatha is not to blame here.”
“Agatha?” he scoffed. “You are on first name terms now.”
“Why not?” she said hotly. She came to within feet of Philip but stopped short, careful not to get too close. “You might be determined to hate every soul in the village, but I am not. And from all I have seen of them, there is no reason I should be.”
He groaned and rubbed his eyes. “We are not talking of this again.”
“Oh, I know that well enough. I wouldn’t dream of forcing you to explain yourself. I know how you hate me snooping.”
Iris was into it by that point. Having overcome her initial surprise and fear, she found herself whipped into a frenzy.
Philip was going to be angry at her whatever she said—and she refused to apologize for doing what he deemed as the wrong thing.
How could it be the wrong thing if he could not tell her why?
If this marriage was to be one of turmoil and non-stop fighting, no chance at them ever getting along, so be it. But she would not simply roll over and accept her fate. This was her home, her life, and Philip needed to know it.
“You’re upset with me,” Philip said.
She scoffed. “What makes you think that.”
“And this…” He indicated into the room. “This was done to annoy me.”
“Not everything is about you, Philip!” she cried and threw her hands up.
“I can see how you might think it is, but did it ever occur to you that this life is my own? We might be married. We might be forced to live with one another for the rest of our lives, but that does not mean I am going to just accept that from now on everything I do must be by your rules. Your way only.”
“Iris…” His expression softened. “That is not—”
“Do not tell me that I am being dramatic or reading into what is not there.” She could feel herself getting carried away.
The feelings that had been sitting beneath the surface surging forth so that even if she wanted to, she would not be able to control them.
“I know you did not want this marriage – you were very clear on that. Just as you know I did not want it either.”
Philip winced at her harsh words, and she thought she saw regret behind his eyes. But she did not stop.