Chapter 8
The trip to the modiste went exactly how Catriona thought it would.
Ava and Maisie could barely contain their excitement, wanting to get fitted in every dress that caught their eyes, claiming that ‘they didn’t think the Duke would mind’.
And because Catriona doubted that he would either, she indulged them.
After all, why else would he have opened an account?
The modiste, Mrs. Fairclough, was happy to assist. She encouraged Maisie and Ava’s eagerness to spend by offering them more and more selections. By the time they left, her sisters were both five dresses richer.
Catriona, on the other hand, had brought red and black tartan fabric with her, her family’s colors, and had asked the modiste to make a dress from it.
She half expected Mrs. Fairclough to turn her nose up in thinly veiled disdain, but she’d seemed more than happy to assist with the request, even promising to have it delivered the morning of the ball.
In the end, she supposed it would not hurt to thank Joseph for his kindness.
Catriona had been in the middle of writing a letter to him, though she had been staring at the blank sheet of paper not knowing how to begin, when Francis came to tell her that the Duke had arrived.
Had she thought about him so much that she’d unknowingly willed him to see her?
The thought was insane, she knew, but she’d had no end of insane thoughts ever since he presented his offer of marriage.
Catriona wasted no time heading to the drawing room where Joseph waited. She took a deep breath on the other end, touching her hair to ensure none of her curls had fallen, though she certainly didn’t have any time to redo it if they did.
Why did she care?
She shook her body as if that would be enough to shake off the unreasonable nervousness before entering the room.
She immediately noticed a maid, who got to her feet the moment Catriona entered, but the maid wasn’t enough to keep Catriona’s attention for long.
Joseph had been standing with his back to the door, but he turned immediately upon hearing her enter. Catriona’s breath caught in her throat. How was it that he’d become more handsome than the last time she’d seen him?
“Good evening, Your Grace,” she managed to greet, curtsying slightly. When she straightened, she saw displeasure written across his face.
“I insist that you stop calling me that,” he said.
“Oh, forgive me.” She caught herself before she touched her face, a nervous habit she’d never been able to break. “It just seemed… appropriate.”
“Between two people who are going to be husband and wife?”
“Two people who have agreed to a marriage of convenience,” she amended.
Joseph stared at her for a long moment, and Catriona braced herself for his disagreement, but he only shook his head slightly. “Still, it feels wrong to hear you call me that.”
Why?
She wanted to ask him badly enough that the word nearly left her lips. She caught herself just in time. “I shall ring for tea,” she told him then gave the maid in the corner a quick look. The maid immediately moved towards the bellpull. “In the meantime, you can tell me why you have visited.”
Joseph inclined his head to the side. “And do you intend for us to have this conversation while you stand so far from me?”
Her heart skipped a beat. Catriona tried her best not to show it. Why was he saying such things and why on God’s green earth couldn’t she keep herself together?
A little stilted, Catriona made her way forward and stiffly sat on the couch. He sat across from her, crossing one leg over the other without taking his eyes off her for a second. She couldn’t meet his gaze full on, so she picked at invisible lint on her dress, waiting for him to break the silence.
“You did not respond to my letter yesterday,” he said at last.
Her eyes flew to him. “Surely that is not the reason you’re here?”
“I thought it prudent to get to the bottom of your reasoning for ignoring me.”
But why?
This time, the question screamed in her head. It took extra effort to keep it tucked away.
“I was not ignoring you,” she protested slowly. “As a matter of fact, I was in the middle of writing a letter thanking you for your kind gesture before you came.”
“So you did visit the modiste then?” He raised a brow. “I had expected you to hold on to that stubborn streak of yours and deny my kindness once more. I’m happy to know that even you are not immune to such luxuries.”
“Even me?” she echoed. “And what do you mean by that, exactly?”
“I meant no offense.” He held up both hands in surrender, but Catriona ignored it.
“I have not determined if I should be offended or not,” she countered. “I hope you don’t think that I have fallen victim to being charmed by your obvious wealth, Joseph.”
He blinked, and for a brief moment, she thought she saw a shadow of a smile. “Charmed? No. But you have softened towards me, certainly.”
“I fail to see why it matters if I do. I’ve already agreed to this marriage, and I have no intention of absconding from my decision.”
“Even so. I think it would be beneficial if we were to be friendly with each other at the very least. That dress was a show of my effort. The account at the modiste even more so.”
“Truly? Because something told me that you only offered to have me go to the modiste simply because you did not want your ego burned by my rejection.”
“That may have been a part of it, admittedly,” he said, which surprised her, “but your response intrigued me. And I had half expected you to decline my second gesture.”
“I nearly did.”
“What changed your mind?”
The fact that I thought you might have been teasing me. The fact that I think I may truly be warming to you.
But she would never say those words, so she settled on a believable lie. “My sisters insisted. They were quite taken with the dress, by the way.”
“They have wonderful taste,” he responded. Catriona caught herself before she smiled at that. “And why weren’t you? Taken with the dress, I mean.”
“I never said that I wasn’t. I simply thought it too much for a gift. Going to the modiste, however, gave me a bit of control on how to take advantage of your kindness.”
“And by that I assume you mean you decided to choose the most unattractive dress you could find just to spite me?”
She couldn’t stop herself this time. She blurted out in laughter, more amused by his assumption than offended. Catriona hid her smile behind her hand, but she didn’t miss the spark of surprise in his eyes.
“I should probably be upset that you think I would do such a thing, but I suppose I cannot blame you for coming to such a conclusion,” she said. “But no, I did not do that. I did, however, bring my own fabric.”
“Did you now?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as if he was truly in tuned with the conversation. “May I see it?”
Catriona frowned. “Whatever for?”
“I am curious,” he said simply.
That only deepened her confusion, but she supposed there was no shame in showing him?
“One moment, then.” She stood and left.
The moment she was out of the drawing room, Catriona quickened her steps, making it to her bedchamber in a matter of minutes.
She fetched the last scrap of tartan from the back of her armoire before heading back, ignoring that small voice of nervousness about what he would say when he saw it.
Would he care that it was not one of the commonly used fabrics in London?
Would it bother him that she was still so attached to her Scottish heritage?
That irrational nervousness only grew maddening when she returned. He was in the same spot, watching her as she returned to her seat. Catriona held out the fabric with as straight a face as she could manage.
Joseph gave it one look before tucking it into his pocket.
“What are you doing?” Catriona asked with a frown.
“Keeping it,” he answered with ease. Then he stood, holding a hand out to her. The way he towered over her did unspeakable things to her insides. “Let us begin.”
“Begin what?”
He tutted, a sound she never thought she would ever hear come from him. It only confused her further, and she could do nothing but stare up at him. “So full of questions,” he muttered.
“Valid questions,” she told him.
He didn’t answer. He simply took her hand and guided her to stand then he said, “It’s time for your first lesson.”
“Oh?”
“I will be teaching you how to dance.”
“I already know how to dance,” she snapped. “Surely you must think more highly of me. We even danced once if you recall.”
“Of course, I recall,” he said with such quickness that she momentarily forgot her consternation. “And you are a skilled dancer, Catriona. However, you will need to know far more than waltzes if you expect to become a proper duchess.”
“And what makes you think that I don’t already know other dances?”
He raised a brow. “Do you?”
She crossed her arms, annoyed that she’d just backed herself into a corner. She didn’t know anything other than the waltz and the Scottish Highland dances that she was certain would never make an appearance at any London ball.
Again, there was that hint of a smile on his face before it was gone. Though it might have just been smugness.
“Let us begin then,” he said. And she had no argument. “We’ll begin with the quadrille.”
Catriona held back her protests. It felt appropriate as she was not one to simply sit back and allow someone to tell her what to do, but he was right.
As much as she hated it, she knew she could not hope to be a wallflower at any balls she attended in the future.
She couldn’t hide behind her sisters any longer, pretending she didn’t care that no one would ask her to dance.
Now, she had one of the most handsome men in London teaching her to do the quadrille in her drawing room.
Sometimes she couldn’t believe how she’d gotten here. How had she gone from resigning herself to a life of spinsterhood to preparing to attend a ball with her future husband?