Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
“Come in.”
A rush of enjoyment flowed through Algernon’s veins as he heard Beatrice’s sweet, soft voice through her bedroom door.
His grip on the knob tightened at the sound—as did his groin—but he ignored it and opened the door, waving the modiste in first. Last time he went into Beatrice’s room she had been laying on her bed, and although she was not positioned in any sort of sultry way and was fully clothed, the very fact that he had seen her so relaxed had felt oddly intimate.
To Algernon’s relief—and chagrin—he did not find her so today, but rather, she sat at the small table by the fireplace darning—
“Are those my socks?” Algernon asked, pointing to the fabric in Beatrice’s hands.
Beatrice cheeks turned almost as pink as the gown she wore, and she quickly put the sock and darning needle atop the table.
“It needed to be done,” she stated, her tone defensive as she stood, “and I wanted something to do, so I when I found your valet trying to mend them, I relieved him of the task.”
Algernon groaned as he pinched the bridge of his nose.
“I thought I told you no more chores?” he scolded testily. “You do not need to do such things anymore!”
“I like to do them!” Beatrice retorted, her voice rising to meeting his.
“Ahem!” the modiste, Mademoiselle Jeanette coughed, interrupting the start of their bickering.
Algernon threw an annoyed glance down at the woman, who smiled sweetly.
“If I may interrupt?” Mademoiselle Jeanette asked.
“Please do,” Algernon retorted, casting another dry glance at Beatrice. She gave him an equally exhausted look.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Beatrice,” Mademoiselle Jeanette said, curtseying toward Beatrice. “I am Mademoiselle Jeanette, and your…”
Jeanette looked toward Algernon for the proper term, but he floundered. What was he to Beatrice? Her owner? Her pimp? God, he hated the sound of both.
“Companion,” Jeanette went on when his silence had stretched into a minute, “has hired me to take your specific measurements and help you design a few more dresses.”
“What for?” Beatrice asked.
Her gaze flicked up to his, sending the strange scurrying sensation through his veins yet again.
“As you probably saw from your wardrobe, I only had a few dresses made with a guess at measurements,” Algernon explained. “You need ones that fit you properly if you are going to catch Henry’s eye. Consider it your next lesson.”
Beatrice frowned at him, and for a moment, he said and did nothing. He supposed, after the sudden and intense way he had kissed her the last time they were together, she had every right to look at him indignantly. Especially once he realized that it had been her very first kiss.
“We must stick to our plan, Beatrice,” Algernon stated calmly, letting the heat of her glare sink into him.
Slowly, Beatrice’s frown melted into a look of resignation, and she sighed softly.
“You are right,” she agreed then turned her attention to the modiste.
“Mademoiselle Jeanette, it is a pleasure to meet you,” Beatrice said politely, curtseying toward the young woman before her.
“Oh! A curtsey for me?” Jeanette exclaimed, giggling as she quickly helped Beatrice rise back up. “How very sweet, my dear, but not necessary. Come, come, let us get started.”
Algernon took a seat and watched as Jeanette began taking measurements.
There were several times that the modiste attempted to ask Beatrice personal questions, but each time he saw Beatrice begin to blush, he reminded the woman that she was there to do a job, not gossip.
It earned him a few cursory glances from Beatrice, but if she minded his intervention, she did not say so.
“Measurements are complete,” Jeanette announced a few minutes later, jotting the last number down in her notebook. “Let us move on to do design and colors, yes?”
“Blues and greens to compliment the dark shade of blue of her eyes,” Algernon answered just as Beatrice parted her lips to speak.
Her head snapped toward his direction, and she glowered at him.
“I believe she was asking me, Your Grace,” she said pointedly.
“You know what you would like,” Algernon replied in an equally sharp tone. He stood, standing up as he added, “But you do not yet know what you wear well—what draws the eye of a suitor— and that is what we need to accomplish.”
He waited for her another sharp retort, but although she glowered at him once more, she did not negate him this time. Knowing he won, he began to walk a slow circle around her as he tapped a finger to his lips.
“Yes,” he said after his inspection. “As I said, blues and greens to compliment her eyes. Nothing too bright. Stay away from pastels and pinks. The shade she wears now does her no justice.”
“Your Grace!” Beatrice hissed.
“Respectfully, my lady,” Jeanette intervened, “His Grace is correct. This shade of pink does your complexion and natural beauty a disservice. Cooler colors will bring out your features better, I assure you.”
Algernon smirked at Beatrice as she silently fumed then nearly laughed aloud as she rolled her eyes.
“Very well,” she gritted out, crossing her arms across her chest, “No pinks then. What about purple?”
“A heather purple would do very well on her, Your Grace,” Jeanette declared.
“Very well,” Algernon agreed. “But it must be silk. Actually, one in silk, one in linen, for each color.”
“Ah, I see. One for the day and one for the evening,” Jeanette said, nodding her head as she jotted down the note.
“Capped sleeves,” Algernon instructed further, resuming his walk around Beatrice’s person. “A low bodice. but not too low. Just enough to reveal the swell of her bosom but no more. No ruffles, no frills. Simple and elegant only. I want no gaudiness.”
“Well, at least that we can agree on,” Beatrice murmured.
Algernon smirked then carried on, “A few cloaks to match. Some gloves as well. Matching ribbons for her wrists and throat. And a few white night shifts for comfort. A robe as well. Now, I shall leave the two of you alone for approximately ten minutes so that you may take her measurements for undergarments.”
“Is that truly necessary?” Beatrice asked in an exasperated tone.
He raised a brow as he stopped walking toward the door and turned to look back at her.
“Do I appear a jesting man, Beatrice?” he asked.
She looked him and down, almost as if she was debating challenging him.
Do it, he thought at her. Goad me. I dare you.
Algernon’s lips nearly twitched toward a smile at the thought. There was no use denying it. He was starting to enjoy bickering with this woman.
“No, Your Grace,” Beatrice answered, bringing him out of thoughts. “You certainly are not that.”
Algernon held up his pocket watch.
“Ten minutes. Then I shall re-enter.”