Chapter 16
The next morning…
“This is not a matter for the groom to witness,” Hermy snapped when Greg informed her that Madame Giselle had once again taken up half his study for her wedding dress fitting.
“You heard Fave last night, there’s danger lurking. We don’t know where the attack will come from.” Greg bent backward to peek into his office.
Madame Giselle waved at him and nodded, ready with the measuring tape around her neck and a pin cushion on her wrist. She’d brought a seamstress with her, too, one of the assistants Hermy had seen at the shop the previous day. She had a room separator in tow. A crate full of fabrics burst open the moment the footman set it down upon carrying it inside.
Hermy crossed her arms. “You’re not supposed to see the bride before the wedding. Can you go somewhere else?”
“I promise, I won’t look.” Greg walked into the room, greeted Madame and her assistant, and picked up a stack of papers from his desk. “See? I have plenty of paperwork.” He waved the stack of papers then sat on the settee next to the window with the chess set.
Half an hour passed, and Greg had set the papers aside and was gazing out the window. To Hermy, observing quietly, it seemed he was navigating a silent storm of thoughts, each rub of his chin charting a course through troubled waters, searching for a beacon of clarity amidst the fog of contemplation. He was invisible to the seamstresses, but not to Hermy.
“Ouch!” she shrieked when the seamstress pricked her with a needle.
“Pardon, milady. This one needs a few alterations if you’ll take it.”
“No, this has too much ruching here.” Hermy fiddled with the layers of ruffles attached to the bodice along the cleavage. “This tickles.” She lifted her right arm over her head and fiddled with the ruching that continued along the edge of the bodice to the back. “I think this is made for girls without breasts.”
Greg sputtered and then coughed into his fist. Hmm, interesting; he wasn’t all that focused on the chessboard and his thoughts after all.
“Lady Ellsworth, you’ve tried all twenty dresses I brought this morning. None of them suited you.”
“The dresses you brought, Madame Giselle, are not made to suit women. They are the colors of fruit and belong in the bowl on the centerpiece of a buffet rather than at a wedding.”
The older woman gasped, her eyes wide in shock, but Hermy saw Greg shaking in mirth, trying to hide his face behind the ledger he’d been writing on earlier.
Excellent, she was the source of his amusement.
“The apricot suited you so well, lady Ellsworth?—”
“It suits a dish of custard and whipped cream. An orange gown with so much lace is not something I should ever wear with my hair color.”
“What about the mint green one? There’s no fruit in that color!”
“That is the perfect color,” Hermy said seriously, “for the ices at Gunter’s Tea Shop.”
Greg burst out into laughter in the back corner. Hermy remained as serious as she could. Madame Giselle cast an evil look to Greg, and he arched a brow in return.
“And the midnight blue? That’s an excellent color to contrast your complexion.”
“True, it is. But if I make a show of reluctance and marry His Grace in a color suitable for mourning, I’ll be in trouble.”
Madame Giselle put her hands on her hips and puffed indignantly. “What about the cherry red? Will you tell me you belong in a puff pastry?”
“It’s not funny, Madame Giselle. I need a dress for a return to society I don’t want. I need to look my best so the expression on my face is not the first thing people see.”
“And the wedding? You don’t want that either?” Madame Giselle put both hands on her wide hips and gave Hermy a more motherly look than any she’d received even before her mother died.
Through the corner of her eye, Hermy saw Greg lean back and put a hand on either armrest of the chair. He watched her intently now.
“I want the groom more than anything. Marriage is something I’ve dreamed of since I was a girl. The wedding, however?—”
“I understand. It’s another matter. You’re nervous about the wedding night, dear.”
Hermy drew her eyes wide open and looked past Madame Giselle, where Greg was outright staring with visible amusement.
“That’s not it, Madame,” Hermy assured the older woman.
“Let me tell you that there’s nothing to worry about. You will soon enough learn what the duty is. Lie down and let it wash over you. With a beautiful bird like you, it shan’t take too long.”
That was supposed to be reassuring for a virgin bride? Hermy found it terribly sad.
Greg took a wide stance and rubbed the corners of his mouth with his thumb and index finger as if he were trying to massage away laughter. Hermy suppressed a chuckle.
“Lady Ellsworth, I only have one dress left. It’s not even meant for you, it’s very simple in a plain blue fabric.”
“Please let me see it.”
“Lady Ellsworth, for the occasion, I truly believe in the power of color?—”
“And I believe in facts and what I see. I see these colors in a fruit bowl, but not at my wedding. Let me see the blue dress.” Hermy walked around the room divider and searched the pile of garments on the chairs. All the dining room chairs had been lined up to create a little wooden row of soldiers to hold the gowns. The colors clashed so terribly, they reminded Hermy of a fruit salad more than a bowl. “Which one is it?” She rummaged through the fabrics as Madame Giselle came around the room divider.
“Natasha, show her the blue, please.” Madame Giselle gestured to her assistant.
The girl dutifully peeled a white cotton sac from a parcel.
“That’s rather small,” Hermy said.
“It’s a new fashion. You wear something like this under such a gown rather than a petticoat.” Madame Giselle held up a lace corset with so many decorative seams and ribbons hanging from the side that Hermy had to look twice to think about how the body of a woman would fit into this. Then her eyes turned to the silk.
When Hermy steppedout from behind the room separator, Greg found himself unable to look away. She wore a simple blue dress that seemed to catch and play with the light, shimmering in shades of teal and gold like the waterfalls he’d seen in India. She was luminous. But beyond the dress, it was her radiance that squeezed his heart so tight, only a kiss could set him free.
Don’t betray her trust in you. You must not take advantage of a damsel in distress.
Hermy twirled and the blues enveloped her as if she were being pulled into a water swirl. “This might do.” At the end of the swirl, the fluid fabric dropped to her sides, cascading over her gentle curves. She came to a halt, but Greg’s heart raced.
His entire body was hard, his neck pricking up. He loved her and wanted to marry her, and he wouldn’t allow anyone to steal her away from him again. There was no denying his feelings, he’d been in love for her for as long as he could remember. But did she still want him to be? Or was he merely the last resort in her distress? Even though he wanted her more than the air he was breathing, this was not how he’d claim victory.
“Hermy, may I speak to you for a moment, please?” He cleared his throat, waiting for his courage to catch up with his purpose. Whether this was reasonable, honorable, or perhaps expected, at the core, it felt stupid. And yet, what he was about to say was necessary.
She walked slowly toward him, or perhaps it was just the way her body moved that seemed to slow his mind down, for he couldn’t peel his eyes off the beauty heading toward him. If this were a ballroom, he’d turn to search the lucky man who earned her attention, but this was his house and Greg was painfully aware that they were alone but for the servants.
Her hair, a soft hazelnut color with subtle highlights, was tied back into a loose bun and Greg’s fingers itched to pull out the pins and set her silky mane free. A few strands had escaped the confines of the bun, gently resting against her neck. When she stood just a step away, she looked more than just beautiful; she became the focal point of his attention, captivating him completely with her presence.
“Let this be a lesson to you,” Madame Giselle whispered to her seamstress. “A true beauty doesn’t need ruffles or adornments. Sometimes, all she needs is a color to bring out her complexion. Let nature do the rest.” With these words, she flicked the trunk shut and Hermy turned a shade of pink. “Your Grace, I will send the invoice with the remaining items when they are delivered.”
“Thank you,” Greg said curtly with the air of a Baron indeed. Hermy tingled inside seeing him in command with others, knowing that she still possessed the singular ability to perturb his composure.
While a footman arrived and ushered Madame Giselle and her seamstress out, Hermy cast Greg an expectant gaze. His love for her was simple, yet profound, rooted in the countless moments they had shared, from laughter to silent understanding. The urge to kiss her was more than just a fleeting desire; it was a deep-seated need to affirm their connection, to communicate his feelings in a gesture that words could never fully capture. In his eyes, Hermy was not just the woman before him, but the essence of everything he cherished, compelling him to draw closer, one heartbeat at a time.
“You ought to know how breathtaking you are,” Greg started.
She ironed out the nonexistent wrinkles of the blue dress and her pink flush turned crimson. “I do like this dress.”
“It shall be yours. As well as everything else in this house and everything that belongs to me.”
She swallowed, her neck visibly tightening. “I thought you knew I didn’t come here to seek your charity, I was running away from?—”
“I didn’t misunderstand, Hermy. I know you too well to pretend otherwise and if I made any false reproach, I’d insult your intelligence.”
Her eyebrows narrowed and she blinked at him.
Out with it.
What he really wanted was wrap his arms around her delicate waist, press his mouth on hers, and claim her like he’d done every winter and every summer when he’d seen her at the end of the semesters at Eton and then at Oxford. He wished he could be the impulsive green boy and follow his heart, but his mind held him back like a leach. All these years of ingraining him with the duties of a Baron had done more damage than he cared to acknowledge.
“I cannot steal from you.” That came out wrong.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Ahem … we are both benefitting from our bargain. The agreement.”
Hermy was the only person he knew who could quirk a brow and narrow it at the same time for an extra scrutinizing stare. She was the only person who knew his heart better than he did.
“I’m not paying you the Earldom in return for my freedom.”
Greg reached forward, he wanted to embrace her. But instead, he rubbed his eyes. He couldn’t blink, she was so beautiful, but he mustn’t stare lest he act on his impulse. “I don’t mean that.”
“Then what do you mean? This sounds an awful lot like rejection.”
“It’s the opposite.”
Now she grimaced. “What?“
“I’m not helping you for the Earldom.”
“It’s part of me.”
“I know. That was why I couldn’t have you before.”
“You’ve had me.”
He groaned. “It’s not why I wish to marry you. The reason has nothing to do with the Earldom. And people will gossip—vicious tongues will claim I tried to ascend in rank by taking you.”
She hugged herself and rubbed her arms as if it were cold, but the room grew smaller and hotter by the second. “And it’s unthinkable that a Baron would take the fallen girl from 1814.”
“No.”
“Then what is the reason, Greg? What is it you wish to speak to me of besides insulting me?”
He lay his hands over her arms, right where she rubbed herself and stepped closer. “That’s not the reason I want to marry you, and I wanted to make sure that you know it. That’s why I wanted to propose to play for it, so you can best me and keep me away.”
She closed her eyes for a moment. “You think I don’t want you as a full husband, merely on paper, and if I win against you in chess, you’ll keep your hands off me?”
Putting it this way, it doesn’t sound anymore as if his reason had won over his mind. “Yes.”
“That’s stupid.”
“Because you’d always win?”
“Because if I won, I’d want you. And if I lost, I would want to give myself to you. It’s like a coin toss, winner gets all, loser takes everything.”
“There’s a lot more to chess than tossing a coin.”
“To chess, yes. Our arrangement, no.”
“But you’re the daughter of an Earl and I must not take advantage of you.”
“I’ve always been the daughter of an Earl and you took before, why not now?”
“Because I cannot be sure you’d want me to.”
Her eyes grew wide. “Just ask.”
Two simple words hit Greg harder than a blow in training from Caleb Klonimus. She’d said it so easily, yet the answer was heavy with everything that had ever held Greg back.
He tried to speak, opening his mouth, then croaked, “Do you still love me?”