Chapter 8
Eight
"If one more ribbon is added to this monstrosity," June said through gritted teeth, "I shall be forced to commit a crime most unbecoming of a lady."
She glared at her reflection in the mirror, where the feathers of an absurdly decorated bonnet bobbed with every slight movement of her head. One particularly ambitious plume seemed determined to poke her directly in the eye. Perfect. Blinded by fashion—what a fitting epitaph that would make.
"Oh, don't be dramatic, Junebug," April said, circling June like a general inspecting troops. "The feathers are meant to draw the eye upward. It's quite the rage in London."
"I believe they're meant to draw birds of prey," June muttered. "I feel like a particularly gaudy pheasant."
May approached with yet another armful of fabric—this time a shade of orange so vivid it might be visible from the Scottish border. "This would complement your complexion beautifully."
June stared at the garment in horror. "That is not a color found in nature."
"Fashion need not be natural to be splendid," May replied, thrusting the dress into June's already overburdened arms. "Try this one next."
June cast a desperate glance at the growing pile of purchases her sisters had already arranged.
Three dresses altered to her measurements, two pairs of evening slippers, gloves in various shades that June could not distinguish between ("Ecru is entirely different from cream, June!
"), and reticules that served no purpose June could discern beyond decorative.
"I've lost count of how many items you've ordered," June said, attempting to shift the mound of orange fabric to a less precarious position. "Have you forgotten that neither of you is our mother?"
April waved dismissively. "Mother would have ordered twice as many and all in pastels. We're showing remarkable restraint."
June looked down at her current ensemble and wondered what restraint would look like. Her right foot sported a Moroccan slipper in pale blue, while her left wore a half-boot in practical brown leather.
The dress she wore—if one could dignify it with such a term—was clearly intended for someone with considerably more bosom than June possessed, causing it to gape alarmingly at the neckline.
And crowning this disaster was the bonnet, festooned with more feathers than seemed possible for a single headpiece.
"At least I convinced you to abandon the red dresses," June said, counting small victories where she could find them.
May adjusted her spectacles with a thoughtful expression. "I still think red would suit you. There's something about your coloring that—"
"No," June interrupted firmly.
"Perhaps just a shawl with red accents?" April suggested, pulling one from a nearby display.
June groaned. "I am neither a debutante nor a courtesan. What possible occasion would warrant such an array of finery?"
"The garden party tomorrow, for one," April said. "And the musicale next week. And the assembly in the village. And—"
"I take your point," June interrupted. "Though I fail to see how these extravagances will improve my circumstances."
May and April exchanged one of their mysterious twin glances that always made June feel like an outsider to some private conversation.
"It isn't about improving circumstances," May said carefully. "It's about allowing others to see you as we do."
June raised an eyebrow. "As a victim of your sartorial torture?"
"As a woman of remarkable beauty and character," April corrected, her voice softening. "One who deserves to be seen."
The unexpected sincerity caught June off guard, rendering her momentarily speechless. She was saved from having to form a response by the modiste, who appeared with yet another box.
"The gloves you requested, Your Grace," the woman said to April with a curtsy. "And the ribbons for Lady June's evening dress."
"Excellent," April said, accepting the package. "What do you think, June? Shall we add them to the blue dress or the green?"
June opened her mouth to answer, but the gentle tinkling of the shop bell interrupted her. She turned toward the door, then froze in mortification.
No. Not now. Not like this.
But fate, it seemed, had a particularly cruel sense of humor. For there in the doorway stood Theodore Roth and, beside him—looking unfairly handsome in a perfectly tailored coat—Duke of Icemere.
His blue eyes swept the shop, landing on June with such precision that she wondered if he'd known exactly where to find her. A slow smile spread across his face—not the practiced charm he bestowed on others, but something sharper, more genuine, and infinitely more dangerous.
"Well," he said, his voice carrying easily across the shop, "I see we've interrupted something rather... extraordinary."
Theo, catching sight of his wife, offered a bow. "April, my dear. We were on our way to the gunsmith and thought we might inquire if you ladies required a carriage back to the house."
"How thoughtful," April replied, moving to greet her husband with a kiss on the cheek.
June stood frozen, acutely aware of how ridiculous she must appear. She clutched the orange dress to her chest as if it might somehow shield her from Dominic's amused gaze.
"Lady June," Dominic said, approaching her with deliberate slowness. "I must say, you've embraced country fashion with remarkable... enthusiasm."
June felt heat creep up her neck. "This is not—I was merely—"
"Don't apologize," he interrupted, his eyes dancing with mischief. "The combination is quite inspired. Particularly the shoes. Most ladies content themselves with matching pairs, but you've pioneered an entirely new approach."
She glanced down at her mismatched footwear and curled her toes in embarrassment. "I was in the process of trying different styles."
"Simultaneously? How efficient of you." He circled her, studying her ensemble with exaggerated interest. "And the bonnet is a masterpiece. I'm particularly fond of that aggressive feather that seems intent on claiming your eye as its territory."
June reached up and yanked the offending headpiece from her head, sending several feathers floating to the floor. "I was not planning on purchasing it," she said stiffly.
"A pity. It had such character." He plucked one of the fallen feathers from the ground and twirled it between his fingers. "Though I suppose one must draw the line somewhere. Even fashion has its limits."
June began gathering the items strewn about her, desperate to restore some semblance of dignity. "If you'll excuse me, Your Grace, I should change into something more appropriate."
"Please, don't on my account." His smile widened. "I find this unguarded version of Lady June Vestiere quite refreshing."
She tried to move past him toward the dressing room, but her path was blocked by a display of ribbons.
"Allow me," Dominic said, collecting the bonnet she'd discarded. "Though I maintain it was a bold choice. Few women could carry off such a dramatic statement."
"I wasn't making a statement," June snapped, snatching the bonnet from his hands. "I was enduring my sisters' idea of assistance."
"Ah, sibling intervention. A perilous business." He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Though in this case, perhaps not entirely misguided."
June's breath caught at his proximity. He smelled of sandalwood and leather, a combination that was far more appealing than it had any right to be.
"What exactly do you mean by that?" she asked, proud that her voice remained steady despite the traitorous fluttering in her stomach.
"Simply that a change can sometimes reveal what was always there, merely hidden." His gaze was far too perceptive, as if he could see beyond her defenses to the vulnerable center she worked so hard to protect.
June retreated a step, bumping into a mannequin and nearly toppling it. Dominic's hand shot out, steadying both her and the display with infuriating grace.
"Careful," he murmured, his fingers lingering on her elbow. "These shops are treacherous places."
"I was perfectly fine until you arrived," she retorted, pulling away from his touch.
"Were you? You looked rather like a prisoner facing execution." His smile never wavered. "Or perhaps a naturalist captured by a tribe of fashion-obsessed cannibals."
Despite herself, June felt laughter bubbling up. She suppressed it ruthlessly. "Your analogies are as excessive as this bonnet."
"I'll take that as a compliment." He watched as she removed the ill-fitting dress's outer layer, revealing the more sensible dress she wore beneath. "Though I must admit, I'm disappointed to see the transformation begin. It was like watching a butterfly in reverse."
June fumbled with the lacings, her fingers suddenly clumsy under his steady gaze. "Don't you have somewhere to be? A gunsmith, I believe?"
"Theo can manage without me for a few minutes." Dominic glanced over to where Theo and April were deep in conversation, their heads bent close together. "Besides, this is far more entertaining."
June managed to free herself from the oversized dress, draping it over a nearby chair. Next, she bent to remove the mismatched shoes, acutely aware of Dominic's presence as she did so.
"You know," he said conversationally, "most ladies would have retreated to change in private."
"Most ladies would not have been ambushed while in a state of sartorial disarray," she countered, straightening up with as much dignity as she could muster. "Besides, there is nothing improper about what I'm wearing now."
"Indeed not. Though I confess, I find your practical sensibilities oddly charming." He picked up the orange dress she had set aside. "Were you seriously considering this shade? It's rather... assertive."
"It was not my selection," June said, taking the dress from him and hanging it properly. "May believes it would complement my complexion."
"Everything complements your complexion," he said, so matter-of-factly that June nearly missed the compliment hidden in his teasing.
She paused, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. "I—thank you?"
"You seem uncertain of whether that was a compliment," he observed, amusement coloring his voice. "Allow me to clarify: it was."
June felt her face warm again, and she busied herself with arranging the shoes into their proper pairs. "Your Grace—"
"Dominic," he corrected. "Surely we know each other well enough for you to use my given name?"
"Do we?" she asked, genuinely curious. "Know each other well, that is?"
Something shifted in his expression—a momentary glimpse of something serious beneath the playful exterior. "I believe we do. Or at least, I would like to."
The simple honesty of his statement disarmed her more effectively than any of his teasing. June found herself at a loss for words, an unfamiliar and discomfiting sensation.
"I shall be attending April's garden party tomorrow," he continued, rescuing her from her silence. "Will you save me a dance?"
"A dance? At a garden party?" She frowned. "I wasn't aware there would be dancing."
"There's always dancing when society gathers," he said with a shrug. "Formal or informal. And I find myself curious about how you move when not encumbered by competing fashion choices."
June pursed her lips. "You're mocking me."
"Not at all," he replied, his eyes suddenly intense. "I am, in fact, quite serious about wanting that dance."
June searched for a witty retort, a dismissive comment, anything to maintain the upper hand in their verbal sparring. But to her horror, no clever response materialized. She opened her mouth, then closed it again.
Dominic's smile grew wider, more triumphant. "Lady June Vestiere, speechless? I shall mark this day in my calendar."
"I—you—" June stammered, growing increasingly flustered by her inability to form a coherent sentence.
"I look forward to our dance," he said, executing a perfect bow. "I shall have no trouble finding you, regardless of your fashion choices tomorrow."
With that, he turned and rejoined Theo, who was saying his goodbyes to April. June watched him go, her mind racing to capture the perfect response that continued to elude her.
The bell tinkled again as the gentlemen departed, leaving June standing amid the scattered remnants of her failed fitting. May and April approached cautiously, as one might approach a wounded animal.
"June?" May ventured. "Are you all right?"
June remained silent, her gaze fixed on the door through which Dominic had vanished. Something was shifting within her—embarrassment giving way to determination, mortification transforming into resolve.
"June?" April tried again. "We can leave if you're uncomfortable."
Instead of answering, June turned to her sisters, her amber eyes bright with purpose. "Find me something that would bring him to his knees."