Chapter 14
The Weight Of Lace
“Prim! Are you ready?”
Prim jumped up in her room.
“Yes, a moment.”
She looked once more at herself in the mirror in her room. She was completely naked under the bright sun filtering in through the soft curtains of her room. her childhood room, the one she grew up in, her sanctuary. But who is this woman, standing in front of a mirror, invading it?
It couldn’t be her. She couldn’t be the girl with the marks all over her body.
She counted them and traced them with her fingers.
One crescent mark on the swell of your breast. Another right below, bite marks marring her skin.
Another on her waist, an angry bruise that had faded to yellow and green.
She found the one right under her armpit, a small sucking mark made of lips filled with passion.
And then the last one. A big bruise on the inside of her thigh, a perfect, mottled bloom where he had sucked the very breath from her skin.
A map of ruin her body created by the possessive rage of a reckless Duke.
And yet, as her fingertips skimmed the sensitive skin of her thigh, it was not shame that pooled in her belly.
She did not lament for all laws of propriety, she did not mourn the innocence that lay on the fallen leaves of the maze.
That was the worst part. What she grieved for was the loss of that sensation, of how he made her feel. Of his claim.
“Prim!”
She got dressed in a hurry, having used a million excuses to keep her maid from helping her out. No one would ever see those marks on her body. Only he would know.
“Are you ready, girls?” She said with a bright smile that made her face ache.
“I can’t believe we are going to the modiste with the Duchess of Blackwell!” Camilla clapped.
“Yes, she is so elegant and nice.”
Prim smiled for real this time. Abigail had sent her the invitation, and Prim welcomed the distraction. And was delighted that the Duchess included the twins for this outing. It was a lovely way for the Duchess to show her continued support and unofficially sponsor the twins.
Not long after, they heard the unmistakable noise of the carriage stopping outside their mansion. The girls vibrated with excitement. Prime walked out, securing her bonnet on her head.
“Prim! I am so happy to see you,” Abigail said from inside the carriage. “Come, let's not waste the beautiful day. We can even go for an ice cream after.”
Myrtle almost jumped up with excitement. Prim smiled softly, some of her burdens lightened. So, this is what it is to have someone supporting you truly? Once more, she was grateful for Abigail's friendship.
They entered the carriage and traveled through London. Abigail had a modiste that she liked very much.
“I must warn you, Prim. Madame Sybil is a little…difficult. Not that you need to worry. We have an understanding and mutual respect.”
“Difficult?”
“Or is it particular? Anyway, she’s a genius, and you will love her. And somehow I know she will love you.”
“Thank you so much for doing this, Abigail. It means the world to me. You have no idea how much I needed this outing.”
“I can see that you are tense. Is there something I can do?”
“No, no. Just the… lingering pressure of the scandal, you know.”
She hated lying to her only friend. But she could never explain the truth. Not even Abigail would understand the war being waged beneath her skin, between the shame of the marks and the treacherous, aching hunger for the man who had put them there.
They reached the shop, and they went inside.
Prim could see from the moment she stepped inside that this was indeed the lair of a genius.
At that particular moment, the shop was empty, and Prim could marvel at the designs on dolls, the fabrics, and the threads.
The twins clapped and lost themselves around the shelves heavy with rolls of fabric.
“Abigail!”
A woman twice their age and twice their vitality emerged. Her still red hair was in a bun, and her green eyes shone with joy as she took off her glasses and looked upon Abigail.
“Madame Sybil.”
Prim regarded with surprise the lack of decorum between the two women. Abigail noticed her confusion and laughed.
“Madame Sybil has been a particular part of mine and Edwin’s story. You see, back when we were… Well, that is quite difficult to explain. Anyway, Edwin came to Madame Sybil to ask her to give me her dresses at a discount. I was not always a Duchess, you know.”
“More accurately,” Madame Sybil said with a cold tone, “he came in and said that I should tell you that the dresses cost less, and he paid the difference.”
“I remember you enjoyed overpricing him,” Abigail laughed.
Prim chuckled as well. It seemed that Abigail and Edwin had a complicated story as well. Perhaps she could trust Abigail with her burden.
“Well, he deserved it,” Madame Sybil deadpanned. “He and that terrible friend of his. The one with the blue eyes, and that arrogant smile.”
“Leo,” Abigail kept laughing. “I remember he proposed to you.”
“Three times, if I remember correctly.”
Prim’s jaw tightened, and her fingers dug in her palms. Leo proposed as a jest to random women. Or had ladies on his lap in secret mazes.
“Boys,” Madame Sybil gestured. “I am surprised to see your husband evolve into a man.”
“It was a painful process,” Abigail quipped. “Now, I would love for these beautiful ladies to have new gowns this Season from your miracle-working hands. This is my good friend, Prim Jenkins, and her sisters Camilla and Myrtle.”
Madame Sybil looked at Prim with a cold, assessing look.
“With a body and colors like that, Miss Jenkins, I can make some miracles indeed.”
“Thank you, Madame Sybil,” Prim said. “You seem like a person who wouldn’t lie just for empty compliments.”
“Your assessment is correct.
“There is a particular gentleman Prim would like to dazzle,” Abigail said helpfully.
“A lady should dress for herself,” Madame Sybil claimed.
Prim’s breath was caught, and the smile that was already fake froze on her face. A particular gentleman. Abigail was probably referring to Nathaniel. But Prim thought of Leo. But then again, Leo preferred to remove gowns rather than admire them from afar.
“I agree with Madame Sybil. One should dress for themselves.”
Madam Sybil nodded with appreciation, then led Prim to a rack with the most amazing silks. Prim decided to forget everything and everyone and enjoy herself. She would not miss the chance that was given to her and sour her friends’ and her sisters’ moods in the process.
Abigail took her by the arm, and they chose the fabrics together. And it really worked for a while. All Prim could think of was the feel of silk and satin, the intricate designs of the lace, the soft velvet.
“I think we would look good in blue,” Myrtle said in glee.
“Of course, you do,” Camilla scoffed, holding up a length of deep emerald satin to her own chin. “We have the complexion of a sun-starved milkmaid. Blue is safe. It’s expected.”
“Exactly. My plan is to be a subtle pleasant surprise at a ball, not a cardiac arrest.”
“Which I hope,” Prim looks at Camilla, “is not anyone’s plan in this family. We’ve given people enough gossip opportunities.”
“They are going to gossip anyway. I would prefer to be looking dazzling while they do.”
“I must admit, this is a wise path for a lady your age,” Abigail said.
“Society expects young ladies to be pastel, placid, and preferably silent. It’s our duty to be a thorn in its well-tailored side,” Camilla said with a glint in her eyes.
“That doesn’t mean you need to look like an eye sore while doing so,” Prim smiled.
She went to the rack of fabrics and looked for a few moments before picking an iridescent periwinkle satin.
“I must say,” Myrtle smiles. “This is not a milkmaid blue at all, is it?”
“No,” Camilla says, impressed. “This is a I-fully-intend-to-outshine-your-daughter blue.”
“Good eye,” Madame Sybil is also impressed. “Now, for the designated trouble-maker,” the modiste looks in her collection. “This green and gold.”
Camilla looks amazed at the fabric.
“You are truly remarkable.”
The women laughed. Prim felt a weight lifted off all her shoulders. She laughed with Abigail while Camilla explained the merits of being bold and she knew that all would work out in the end. Her sisters were happy for now and she had Abigail now to be her rock in need.
“Miss Primrose Jenkins?” A voice was heard right after the bell at the entrance chimed.
The air suddenly changed. Prim, still holding a spool of silver lace, looked over her shoulder. The precious fabric fell through her fingers. Bridget, Duchess of Covington, stood framed in the doorway, sunlight from the street glinting off the perfect waves of her coiffure.
Prim turned fully and placed herself between the Duchess and her sisters. Abigail fell right beside her. Of course, her friend knew exactly who she was. Leo’s mother. By chance, in Madame Sybil’s, the most notorious modiste in London. Prim knew this was a very elaborate trap.
“You must excuse me, Your Grace,” Madame Sybil was the first to act. “Her Grace, the Duchess of Blackwell, has booked the place for her company this morning. I would be delighted to accommodate you in the afternoon.”
“But with the Duchess we are family friends,” the woman tried.
“The Duke of Mildenhall is a family friend,” Abigail clarified.
The quip was clear enough, so the Duchess of Covington changed her tactics.
“Miss Jenkins,” she smiled. “You look lovely.”
Prim felt cold sweat down her spine. Prim’s guard shot higher. She felt the cold walls of the trap close-in.
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
Bridget stood there awkwardly, her fingers wrinkling the embroidered handkerchief she was holding.
Prim frowned. This was not the same woman that had approached her at the Opera, with the fake smile and the saccharine voice.
There was a tension around her mouth that spoke not of smugness, but of strain.