Chapter 11
Eleven
Isobel looked at the white fabric on the bolt, running her fingers over the silk, a pit of dread opening in the bottom of her stomach.
Or perhaps it wasn’t entirely dread. Maybe there was a small flush of excitement there too.
An anticipation of what was to come with the Duke of Foxdrey and the heat he instilled into every fiber of her being each time he touched her.
I cannot think like that. I’m not going to beg for that man to touch me.
Joan held up a pearl button. “What do you think about this for the back of your wedding dress?”
How hard would it be for the Duke to undress me if those are the buttons on the back of the dress?
Isobel’s cheeks warmed. “I think they might need to be a touch bigger. Something that looks a little more refined.”
Refined. Not easier to undo. I am not thinking about him undoing anything.
Reaching into another little box, Joan pulled out a button that was a little bigger, the pearl shining in the light that flooded through the window. “Well, do you think this one is better?”
Isobel shook her head and handed the button back to Joan. “I think you were right about the smaller button. The maid might have to take a little longer to help me unbutton it, but the dress will be more stunning.”
Joan grinned and went back to the little buttons, taking one to show the seamstress. “I can’t believe the Duke is asking you to get an entirely new dress. A wedding dress isn’t cheap, especially when you’re going to be marrying a man of his social standing.”
It was as if Joan was walking on air since the news of the wedding. All she could talk about were the details that the Duke of Foxdrey would be arranging, wondering what the venue would look like for the reception. If Isobel had to hear one more question about flowers, she thought she might scream.
And then there was the way Father was parading around the house in his drunken glory, celebrating the fact that he had no debt by drinking himself into a stupor. At least if he was happy, he wouldn’t be bothering Joan.
Though there was still the worry that once Isobel was gone, Joan would have to endure their father.
Joan stepped beside her, taking the fabric from between her fingers. “If you keep staring at that fabric for too long, you’re going to make the seamstress think that the one you selected a few days ago isn’t good enough.”
Isobel forced a laugh and stepped back. “Maybe you should be the one designing the rest of the dress. You’ve already picked the silk and the buttons. Perhaps you should choose the ribbon or a lace?”
“No.” Joan shook her head, looping her arm with Isobel’s and pulling her over to the seamstress. “For you, dear sister, only a simple dress would be suitable. One that allows your beauty to shine through.”
“But with a stunning train,” Miss Hopkins, the seamstress, said while nodding to the dais. “If you would step up so I may take your measurements?”
Isobel looked at the white fabric on the bolt, running her fingers over the silk, a pit of dread opening in the bottom of her stomach.
She had stood in a dressmaker’s shop once before, surrounded by lace and silk and hopeful smiles, believing herself on the brink of something permanent. Dreadful, and permanent.
That gown had been chosen quickly, dutifully, with very little discussion of buttons or trains.
This time felt different. Heavier. More deliberate. And far more dangerous.
Joan's eyes lit up as she examined a bolt of expensive French silk. "Oh, Isobel, look at this one! And these pearl buttons. They're exquisite! We should get everything in the finest materials since the Duke is being so generous."
"Joan," Isobel said gently, steering her sister away from the most expensive options. "We needn't be extravagant. A simple, elegant dress will be just as lovely."
"But he's a duke! Surely he can afford it."
"That's not the point." Isobel kept her voice low. "Just because he can afford it doesn't mean we should take advantage of his generosity. We'll choose quality, but we'll be reasonable about it."
Joan pouted slightly but nodded. "You're right. I just got carried away. Everything here is so beautiful."
"I know," Isobel smiled. "But you'll look beautiful in anything. Now, shall we see what Miss Hopkins has for you to try on?"
Without an argument, Joan followed Miss Hopkins through the curtain at the back, appearing a few moments later in a dress of blush that brought out the color in her cheeks which appeared whenever she was excited.
Joan beamed and stepped onto the dais, turning this way and that while her measurements were taken. “What do you think the Duke is going to say to you as part of his vows?”
“I think he’s simply going to recite the words he’s told to say.” Isobel perched on one of the chairs in front of the dais. She turned her attention to Miss Hopkins. “Is my dress going to be ready in time?”
“It will. The dress itself is already constructed; it’s simply the finishing details left and the fitting today.
” Miss Hopkins smiled and started pinning the loose sections of Joan’s dress into place.
“Miss Joan has already given me the buttons you wish to have, and I agree with her that you will look stunning if we keep the dress timeless and elegant.”
Isobel nodded, biting the inside of her cheek as butterflies came to life in her stomach. There was going to be another walk down the aisle to another man she wasn’t sure she could be happily married to. And part of her hated how her body betrayed her.
Well she told herself she hated this.
And yet…
The image of Lord Sinclair rose unbidden in her mind: the cold eyes, the polite distance, the way she had already felt invisible before the vows were even spoken. That marriage would have been quiet misery. Dutiful. Empty.
The Duke of Foxdrey was nothing like that.
He unsettled her. He saw her. He provoked her into laughter, into feeling far too much. Even now, the thought of him stirred something sharp and unwelcome in her chest.
Why does he still make me feel like this? I will not let myself want him.
Joan twirled in her dress, holding her arms out to the sides. “I don’t think I’ve ever owned anything this fine before. It’s magnificent.”
“You’ll be the belle of the ball at the wedding,” Isobel said, smiling and shaking her head. If nothing else, at least getting married would bring nothing but good for Joan’s marriage prospects.
With the Duke of Foxdrey in their family, Joan would be able to marry a man of her choosing.
She was already beautiful, but the connection to a duke made marriage look all that more attractive.
There would be time for Joan to fall in love with a man instead of picking whoever seemed like the best option.
For that, Isobel would owe the Duke, and that fact bothered her nearly as much as his lips on the side of her neck.
Joan put her hands on her hips, her gaze locking on Isobel. “You’ve been distant all day. I swear, you’ve been spending more time in your head over the last two days since you accepted the proposal and now, you’re doing it again.”
Isobel winced. “I’m sorry. I have much weighing upon my mind. The wedding is only three days away and I don’t know what I'm going to be walking into. The Duke is a difficult man. Challenging.”
“I didn’t know you knew him so well,” Joan said, her tone teasing as she looked down at the pins in her bodice.
“I think it should be let out just a touch where you have this pin, Miss Hopkins. I’m sure there will be delicious food there and I want to enjoy it without feeling like I’ll tear through my seams.”
Chuckling, Isobel shook her head. “I think you might be assuming a little too much about the wedding. I’m sure it’s going to be a simple affair.”
“Simple affair or not, if your future husband doesn’t have a delicious spread, I’m going to be judging him.
” Joan smiled broadly as Miss Hopkins offered her a hand to help her down from the pedestal.
“Now, I’m going to change and then you’re going to put on your dress, and I get to see what that looks like. We must make sure you’re perfection.”
“I hardly doubt the Duke is going to care if I look like perfection or not.” Isobel stood and smoothed down her dress, waiting until Joan reemerged before putting on her own dress and returning to the dais.
She stood on the platform as Miss Hopkins dragged out the train. It might not have been the longest, but Isobel would have to make sure she didn’t catch it on anything while walking to the altar.
“I knew the pale blue was going to look better on you than the white,” Joan said, touching the fine silk. “It makes those rich tones in your hair look even better. Isobel, you look like an angel.”
Isobel rolled her eyes, glancing at her sister in the mirror as Miss Hopkins began to work pinning in some of the looser sections of the dress. “I hardly look like an angel, Joan, but thank you for saying such. I do think you’re biased though.”
“I am biased, but you should grow used to people telling you how good you look. Now that you’re going to be a duchess, people are going to be falling over their own feet to flatter you.”
“They’ll only wish to flatter me in the hope that being associated with me will benefit them.” Isobel scowled in the mirror, already thinking about the useless societal drama she’d have to endure. “It’s the Duke who has the title, not me.”
“And yet, the wives will all want to speak with you in hopes that it propels them and their husbands into better social standing.” Joan sighed, leaning back in her seat. “Perhaps this will be a chance for you to make friends other than myself.”
“I hardly have a need for more friends,” Isobel said, her tone teasing. “I have my hands full ensuring that you’re not too much trouble.”
“Isobel,” Joan said, her tone scolding. “This is a chance for you to start over with your life. You won’t have the burden of protecting me from Father anymore, which means you can be free. It’s what you’ve always wanted.”
A lump rose in Isobel’s throat, making it a little harder to breathe. “You’ve never been a burden.”
“Don’t lie to me.” Joan stood, starting to move around the room, looking at ribbons for a moment before turning. “You have done more than I could imagine, and I know you’ve been longing for a day when you didn’t have to. You might not see it that way, but I can tell you’re miserable.”
“I’m not miserable.”
‘Not in the last few days maybe. You seem to have a new life breathed into you with the Duke around.”
Isobel said nothing to that, not knowing how to tell her sister all that had transpired between her and the Duke. Even if she could, she would hardly advertise the kisses or the touches or the way he seemed to bring to life some part of her she hadn’t known existed.
Instead, Isobel focused on turning when Miss Hopkins asked her to turn. The seamstress deftly pushed pins in places the dress needed to be adjusted. Meanwhile, Isobel stared straight ahead, but each time she glanced at the dress, there was a tightening in her chest.
Can I really do this?
Joan smiled, going over to a rack of lace veils. “We’re going to have to pick out one of these too. Since the dress is a little plain, do you think there should be something more decorative on the veil? We could go with this one. The lace is so intricately woven!”
“You have a good eye,” Miss Hopkins said, glancing over at the veil Joan held up. “One of my seamstresses completed that only yesterday. A passion project of hers, she called it. It’s the only one of its kind as she’s insistent on not making more like it.”
The veil was gorgeous. Tiny flowers, vines, and leaves all twined together and moved with the flow of the fabric. Isobel couldn’t help but stare at it for a moment. The piece was nothing short of a work of art.
“I can see that look on your face,” Joan said, folding the veil neatly. “We’re getting this veil as well. If this is the man you’re truly going to marry, then you deserve to look the way you wish to look on your wedding day.”
“I doubt the Duke wants me spending money on a veil. He already got us both dresses.”
Still, she wanted the veil more than she thought she would. It was a beautiful piece.
“If I do get it though, the Duke might lose the wager he’s made with me.” Isobel bit the inside of her cheek before nodding. “Very well. I suppose by keeping the dress more of a simple style, there is room in the budget.”
With a mischievous grin, Joan handed the veil to one of the clerks to be boxed up before sitting on the chair in front of the dais. “You have a wager with the Duke?”
“I do.” Isobel looked at herself in the mirror, trying to process everything that was happening. “He thinks that he’s going to win, but little does he know that I’m competitive by nature. I’m going to win that fight.”
Joan sighed and shook her head, a slight look of disapproval cast. "Really, Isobel, unless the man is cruel to you, is there any reason to antagonize him?"
"You don't understand," Isobel said quietly, her fingers twisting in her lap.
"This isn't just about a game or winning some petty argument.
This is a man who built his fortune on others' ruin.
Who profits from the very vice that destroyed our family.
Father gambled away everything we had at the Mayfair Fox, Joan. "
"But the Duke isn't Father."
"Is he not?" Isobel's voice was sharp. "He may not be the one rolling the dice, but he is the one who provides the table. The house. The temptation. And now I'm bound to him. What's to stop him from ruining me the way he's ruined countless others?"
Joan was quiet for a moment. "So, you think if you keep your guard up, if you stay one step ahead of him, you can protect yourself?"
"I have no choice." Isobel looked away. "I cannot allow myself to be vulnerable with a man whose entire livelihood is built on exploiting weakness. I will not be another casualty of the Mayfair Fox."