Chapter Eighteen
Lady Amelia Brimley
“I am most anxious to see your lovely gown.” Mademoiselle Brigit, the modiste, moved to the elongated chest on the bench in my dressing room. Despite my mother’s protests, I was determined to wear the gown. True to his word, Oliver had sent Mademoiselle to help me alter the gown for our wedding.
Mademoiselle lifted the lid, and the faint scent of lilac drifted in the air from the sachet.
The gown was wrapped in silk to preserve the fabric.
She unfolded the fabric, and unexpected tears blurred my vision.
The last time I’d seen the gown was on Sally’s wedding day.
She’d been stunning in the ivory lace. Noah had worn his uniform, and the couple made a stunning picture.
I envied her then, and I envied her now.
“Oh, what lovely Venetian lace, very exquisite,” Mademoiselle said. The older woman inspected the hand-woven fabric.
“Yes,” I managed to choke out of my tight throat. Noah had shunned my suggestion of marriage. Although it stung, I had to accept his decision. “It is quite lovely.”
She lifted the dress out of the chest by its shoulders. The skirt unfolded to the ground, followed by a heavy thump.
“What was that?” I asked, pausing in the process of removing my robe.
“It appears to be a book of some sort,” Mademoiselle said. She draped the dress over her arm, and the material moved to reveal the familiar embossed cover of Sally’s diary.
I reached down and snatched it up, my heart beating like a hummingbird.
I’d been searching all over the house for it, and she’d tucked it into the chest with her wedding gown.
With the volume in hand, I debated whether I should dismiss Mademoiselle or move forward with my fitting.
I stared down at the book, my hands damp from the repercussions of my find.
If I opened the cover and began to read, would it reveal the truth of Mother’s claim?
Somehow reading it seemed wrong, yet I had to know the truth.
“Are you ready for your fitting, Lady Amelia?” Mademoiselle asked.
“Of course.” There wasn’t time to indulge my whim.
I’d have to wait until I was alone before I could crack open the cover.
I placed the journal on the chair by the window and draped my robe over it just in case we were interrupted.
I wouldn’t put it past my mother to spy on me.
She hadn’t been thrilled with my engagement, and when I brought up the subject of the gown after Oliver had left the previous night, she insisted I buy a new one.
My father had stood up for me and ordered the gown sent to my room.
The dress had a full skirt and, clad in my chemise and pantaloons, I stepped into the tiered lace material.
I’d dreamed of wearing this gown like my sister and mother before me.
Mademoiselle pulled the bodice up, and I inserted my arms into the long, capped sleeves.
I was instantly uncomfortable, and I was unsure why.
The dress pulled at the bosom. Sally and my mother were slighter in that area and shared a similar-sized waistline.
The dress was snug around my middle, adding to my disquiet.
I gazed at myself in the full-length mirror, dissatisfied by what I saw.
Perhaps my mother was right. The gown wasn’t becoming on me at all.
Where Sally was willowy, I was voluptuous.
Would Noah compare me to his wife and find my figure unfavorable?
I shook off the notion. Noah had said his piece.
Thoughts of Noah sent my gaze shooting to the diary hiding in the chair. By rights, I should disclose what I knew. Except I wasn’t sure if it was true or not. I only had Mother’s word but no proof. I had a sense the answer was in the journal.
“Can you lift your arms?” Mademoiselle asked, pin cushion in hand and a furrow between her brows.
I did as she instructed. She pulled at the back of the bodice and fitted it to my torso. A slow-moving panic traced a path along my nerves, and I felt trapped in the gown. I inhaled, the waistline digging into my stomach.
From the tugging sensations, Mademoiselle was pinning the back in place. The tighter she pulled, the more panicked I became.
A rush of air cut through the stuffy room, and I caught a glimpse of Ethan in the mirror. He tilted his head and grinned, rushing into the room. “Auntie Amelia.”
“Ethan, whatever are you doing in here? It isn’t proper for a gentleman to be in a lady’s room,” I said, the anxiety lessening at his entrance. He knew he wasn’t supposed to wander around the house alone, yet I was still pleased to see him. “Does Miss Penny know where you are?”
He offered a sheepish shrug and plucked at a stray thread on his sleeve, not looking at me. “Papa said I could play in the garden with you.”
Lately, the scamp had taken to lying to get his way. “Did he indeed?” I asked, calling his bluff.
“Hello,” Ethan said, gazing at Mademoiselle curiously and ignoring my question. There were smears on his cheek that looked suspiciously like cherry tart and crumbs on his shirtwaist. “I am Ethan. Who are you?”
Mademoiselle arched one thin brow at Ethan, a soft smile lighting her eyes.
“Mademoiselle Brigit is a modiste. She’s fitting me for my wedding gown.
” The words sounded foreign to my lips. I had been anxiously waiting for Oliver’s proposal so I could escape from my parents’ house.
Yet I was dreading the time when I’d be leaving.
Although I would make a point to visit often, I wouldn’t be seeing Ethan every day.
“You look very fluffy,” he said, eyeing the dress. He lifted a hand, one cherry-stained finger poised to touch the fabric.
Mademoiselle gasped, horror twisting her mouth.
“No, absolutely not,” I warned Ethan with a shake of my head. “Do not touch the gown, young man.”
He frowned and dropped his hand. Scuffing the toe of his shoe on the carpet, he asked, “When is Oliver coming to live with us?”
“Oliver isn’t going to live with us, my love.
” Soon, I would be his wife and a duchess.
Guilt warred with joy. At last, I would be free of the shackles of an unmarried woman.
Being a duchess had its own benefits, most especially influence.
I had several charitable ideas in mind to implement once I held the title.
Except I’d be forced to leave my nephews behind in pursuit of my own agenda. “I’m going to live with Oliver.”
He jutted out his lower lip, a slight quiver to his mouth. Pale brown eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “No, you can’t leave, Auntie Amelia.”
“Give me a moment, Mademoiselle.” I knelt down and rested my palms on his shoulders. “Please don’t cry, my love.”
“But you’re leaving me,” he said, a tear tracing down his cheek.
I wiped it away with the pad of my finger. I cupped the side of his face, and he rested his cheek in my hand. “No, I’m not leaving you, my darling. I would never leave you.”
“But you’re going to live with Oliver.” The tears were falling in earnest, his words catching on a sob.
The dress be damned, I pulled him into my body and held him tight. He clung to my neck. “Oliver will be my husband, but you will always be my nephew, and Oliver will be your new uncle. You’ll like that, won’t you?”
“What about Father?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
My mind spun a hundred different directions at his innocent question. “Your father approves of the match.”
“I don’t want you to marry Oliver. I want you to marry Papa.” He melted into me, and I had to grab his waist to prevent us both from falling.
Had he come up with the idea on his own, or had my mother coached him? Suspicion caught ahold of my mind. It was bad enough she’d tried to use me. Would she be desperate enough to groom her own grandson to manipulate the situation? “I thought you liked Oliver?”
He pulled back and met my stare with one of his own. “I like Papa more.”
“As you should.” I liked Noah a bit too much as well.
I pushed a strand of hair away from his face and gave him an encouraging smile.
If circumstances had been different, Noah and I might have ended up together.
Or Sally and he might still be married. Once again, the diary called to me.
“I love Oliver, and I want to be his wife.”
“Then you should live here. Grandpapa says the house has too many rooms.” He nodded at his own idea.
I ruffled his hair and stood, pleased to see his tears had dried up. “I’m sorry, but that’s not possible. I will have my own household to run.” One where I wouldn’t be under my mother’s constant thumb. “But you can come to stay with us whenever you’d like.”
“Promise?” he asked.
I kissed his forehead. “I promise. Now you must leave. It isn’t proper for a gentleman to be in a lady’s room.”
With a heavy sigh, he nodded and ran from the room. I looked down at the dress, dreading what I’d see. A streak of pink from where Id’ hugged him marred the heavy lace along the edge of the bodice. The dress didn’t flatter me one bit and I met Mademoiselle’s troubled gaze.
“Do you think you can fix this dress?” I asked.
“The cherry stained the lace, I might—”
I shook my head, frustrated by what I was about to say.
I’d fought my mother for the right to wear the gown, and now I had no interest in wearing it.
If I admitted the truth, Mother would win.
It was childish, but I’d rather walk down the aisle in a hideous gown than admit that to her.
“I’m not talking about the lace. The dress isn’t.
..well, I don’t like it. Can you fix it? ”
Mademoiselle walked around me, her hand on her chin, before she nodded. “I can. And we’ll start with this,” she said, pointing at the stained lace. “The gown has good structure. It simply needs fewer embellishments.”
“Agreed.” I stood still while she unfastened the long line of tiny buttons, muttering to herself in French the entire while.
I had to trust she could salvage the dress, if for no other reason than pride.
I wanted to make Oliver proud on our wedding day.
The same way Sally had made Noah proud while wearing the same dress. Only mine would be tailored to me.
I stepped from the gown and retrieved my robe.
The diary sat innocuously on the chair. I fitted it to my palm, the leather cool under my touch.
The dress fitting was done, and I was anxious to be alone to read the journal.
Except I didn’t have time. After the modiste appointment, I promised I’d call on the duchess to check on her health.
Once darkness fell, I’d close myself in my room and read the journal. Yet even as I made the plans, my pulse raced with uncertainty. Ignorance was bliss for a reason, and if I were smart, I would dispose of the diary.
I tucked it into my secretary desk and rushed from the room before I could change my mind.