Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Johanna
The carriage taking her and Lady Stark to Bruton Street was spacious and well sprung. The seats were soft, well-cushioned, and felt like luxury. It was a duke’s carriage after all, which was why she felt so out of place in it.
I will have to get used to it if I am to be a duchess.
A prospect that sounded quite daunting now that she was actually betrothed.
Though she’d attended the Blackstone house party, she had not realized until this moment that she had not had any real hope of a gentleman offering for her.
She had never pictured herself as an actual bride to a duke.
She’d been desperate and willing, but there had been a part of her that was sure it would be for naught.
Otherwise, she would have been as panicked then as she was now.
Somehow, selling her body for one night seemed an easier act than being a duchess for the rest of her life.
Obviously, the latter was better than the former, but…
she had no idea how to be a duchess. What if she did something horribly wrong?
What if she shamed her new husband after all he had done for her?
Lady Stark did not seem concerned, and that was the only reason Johanna was not in a complete panic.
“I think violet,” Lady Stark said suddenly, as if they had been having a conversation rather than sitting in complete silence.
“Violet?”
“Yes. To match your eyes.” Lady Stark nodded, as if that explained everything.
Johanna could only blink said eyes in response, still uncertain what Lady Stark was speaking of.
Should she ask what would match her eyes?
Or would asking make her appear a ninny?
Was she supposed to understand what Lady Stark was speaking of?
Yet how could she do the right thing when she had no idea what her ladyship meant?
She had to ask. Even if it did make her look like a pinhead.
“What will match my eyes?” She kept her voice soft, low. After all, she did not want to anger her ladyship, who had already been far kinder than many women in her position might have been. Johanna did not want to take such kindness and generosity for granted.
“Your wardrobe.” Leaning back against the seat, Lady Stark’s gaze swept Johanna up and down.
It did not feel judgmental in a lowering manner, but more as though Lady Stark was assessing Johanna’s physical qualities rather than critiquing them.
If she found them lacking, it did not show in her expression.
“Yes. Violet as the base, certainly. No one is going to question your antecedents if they’re focused on your eyes.
They really are marvelous. Men will write poems.”
“Poems?” Johanna echoed.
“About your eyes.” Lady Stark flapped her hand. “Keep up, girl.”
The idea of men writing her—her—poems was absurd, but she was not going to argue with Lady Stark.
Not that she had much of a chance to, as the carriage lurched to a halt and one of the two footmen who had accompanied them appeared to open their door and help them down.
Johanna held her breath as she did so but managed to reach the cobblestone street without any mishap.
Was it her imagination, or were passersby shooting her and Lady Stark glances?
It felt as though everyone was looking at her. Judging her. Waiting for her to fail. Johanna glanced around, and several hastily averted gazes did nothing to convince her otherwise.
“Come along, Johanna.” Lady Stark’s stern command had her hopping.
Perhaps she was to be a duchess, but she doubted that she would ever feel confident enough to take on Lady Stark.
Her feeling of confidence lessened even further when they walked into the modiste’s.
There were several ladies already inside, perusing the fabrics, while a smiling woman stood toward the back, watching them with an air of waiting to be needed.
She brightened even further when she saw Lady Stark, her keen gaze taking in Johanna at the older lady’s side.
She hurried forward and curtsied deeply.
“Lady Stark.”
“Madame Allard.” Lady Stark looked around the room. “We need purples. Everything but the royal shade.”
Johanna was beginning to realize this was Lady Stark’s way of speaking. Madame Allard did not seem surprised, and she must have understood immediately what Lady Stark meant because she nodded.
“Oui, my lady.” Madame Allard gestured at Johanna’s face. “Those eyes! Magnifique!”
Feeling like everyone was looking at her, Johanna did her best not to shrink into herself.
One of the other ladies, a beautiful blonde, was frowning at her with narrowed eyes and pursed lips.
Her gaze was critical as it traveled over Johanna’s current attire.
Johanna knew the dress she was currently wearing was not particularly well-fitted.
Madame Allard noticed that, too. She frowned at Johanna.
“You must come to the back,” she said, stepping aside and waving her hand at a curtain. “I will have my assistant work on the gown she is wearing now, and it will be ready by the time you leave.”
“Perfect.”
Lady Stark moved ahead, and Johanna followed in her wake, bemused and uncertain of what to do.
The assistant was going to fix her gown before they needed to leave? How long would this take?
Hours, it turned out.
Johanna had never had the benefit of a full fitting, and Lady Stark was determined to ensure she had everything she needed, from small clothes to ballgowns to pelisses that would not suit the weather for months. All in varying shades of purple or with purple patterning or purple trim.
“A riding habit, too,” Lady Stark ordered, through the flurry of fabric and pins.
“I do not know how to ride,” Johanna told her, because Lady Stark—or, really, the Duke of St. Albans—would already have been spending a fortune on the clothes they were ordering. Trying to guess at the cost made Johanna feel dizzy, so she had given up ages ago.
“You will learn.”
The pronouncement was made with such confidence that Johanna did not dare argue.
She would learn.
Lady Stark had spoken.
Johanna was not against learning, but she was starting to feel overwhelmed by the number of things she needed to learn. Even ordering clothing like this was an experience in how little she knew about being a lady.
What looked best on her, what the current fashions were, what a lady should absolutely not wear…
Lady Stark seemed to know it all, assisted deftly by Madame Allard, but it was definitely the lady leading the way in suggestions.
She knew what she wanted Johanna to wear, and Johanna was grateful someone did.
By the time they were done, hours had passed, and Johanna was not at all surprised to be presented with her previous dress, which now fitted her perfectly. After listening to Lady Stark and Madame Allard’s back and forth, she would not have expected anything less.
Although Lady Stark did not say that Johanna was to marry her grandson, Madame Allard seemed to understand that instinctively and did not even blink when Lady Stark ordered a wedding dress to be prepared immediately.
A bonus was offered to have it done in two days, and all Madame Allard did was nod.
The modiste also provided Johanna with several more day dresses that had been altered to fit her perfectly and a promise that the wedding dress would be delivered in two days.
As they walked out into the main shop area again, Johanna felt as though she might list to the side and faint.
It was sheer grit keeping her upright—that and her determination not to disappoint Lady Stark.
Which was why she did not immediately notice Lady Astrid and her companions until the lady called out to her.
“Johanna! What are you doing here?” Lady Astrid’s tone of shock cut through Johanna’s exhaustion, jerking her back to attention.
“Shopping?” The answer came out as a question because Lady Astrid’s query echoed so many of the thoughts tumbling through Johanna’s mind.
What was she doing here? What was she thinking? How did she think she could ever be a duchess?
It is not as though I had another choice.
“Lady Astrid,” Lady Stark greeted the startled redhead. They exchanged cheek kisses, then Lady Astrid came to do the same with Johanna.
“I apologize for my outburst,” Lady Astrid said ruefully, stepping back from greeting Johanna.
As always, the lady was impeccably attired, currently in a dark orange-and-black jacquard, with black gloves and a necklace of carved amber.
The effect with her red hair was quite striking.
“I did not expect to see you in London. How is your mother?”
Tears sprang into Johanna’s eyes—another measure of her exhaustion—and she felt her throat clog.
Lady Stark patted her on the shoulder, bolstering her.
“She is better,” Johanna managed to answer, feeling as though she was trying to speak through a foghorn.
“No longer ill.” Only starving. Which would soon be remedied.
Surely, if Lady Stark was willing to spend so much on clothing, she and the duke would see to it that Johanna’s family was well fed, too.
They’d certainly reassured her as such during breakfast this morning.
“I am so glad to hear that.” Lady Astrid clasped Johanna’s hands, utterly sincere in her relief, which made Johanna want to cry again.
She did not know what she had done to attract Lady Astrid’s friendship, but she was so grateful for it. Lady Stark cleared her throat, gave Lady Astrid a pointed look, and glanced at the women beside her. Lady Astrid started as she realized she had forgotten to make introductions.
“Oh, please excuse my poor manners, Lady Stark. I was so startled to see Lady Johanna here and concerned about her mother, I forgot myself.”
“Of course, Astrid.” Lady Stark smiled reassuringly.