Chapter 14
Madame Delacroix’s dress shop was utter chaos.
Silks draped over velvet chairs, ribbons spilled from polished tables, and gowns trimmed with lace. Elegant ladies filled the showroom while seamstresses hurried back and forth carrying pins between their lips and muttering frantically about hems, sleeves, and impossible waistlines.
Charlotte stood in the middle of it all, wondering if battlefields sounded very much the same.
“I saw the blue one first,” Joan declared.
Penelope scoffed loudly. “You only want it because I said I liked it.”
“It would suit me better,” Joan demanded.
“It would suffocate you,” Penelope said, looking at Joan's figure, which made her gasp in offense.
“Girls,” Harriet gasped dramatically, clutching at her chest. “Must you quarrel before half of Mayfair?”
Irene sighed beside Charlotte. “I warned you this would happen.”
Elizabeth watched the scene with open delight from a cushioned chair near the mirrors. “Oh, let them argue a little,” she said cheerfully. “Young ladies ought to fight over gowns. It is practically tradition.”
Charlotte rubbed at her temple. “That is comforting, Your Grace.”
Joan held up a deep sapphire silk. “This colour would make my complexion radiant.”
Penelope snorted. “It would make you resemble a decorative curtain.”
Harriet looked moments away from fainting. “Penelope Brown, one day your sharp tongue shall destroy us all.”
“It has not yet,” Penelope replied brightly.
Charlotte stepped between her sisters before the gown was torn in half. “Enough. Joan, the blue silk suits Irene best.”
Joan gasped in betrayal. “You wound me.”
“I survive by wounding all of you equally,” Charlotte informed her calmly.
“Penelope, you dislike blue anyway.”
“I do not dislike it,” Penelope argued. “I merely think it beneath me.”
Irene quietly touched the fabric. “It is lovely.”
“There,” Charlotte said firmly. “Irene shall have the blue.”
Joan folded her arms. “Then I demand the green satin.”
Penelope immediately pointed. “I wanted the green satin.”
Harriet looked heavenward. “Lord, give me strength.”
Elizabeth began laughing so hard her shoulders shook.
Charlotte turned toward the dowager with mock accusation. “You are encouraging them.”
“Certainly,” Elizabeth replied. “This is most entertaining.”
A seamstress approached nervously, carrying measuring ribbons. “Perhaps we should begin fittings?”
“Yes,” Charlotte said quickly before another war began.
The sisters dispersed reluctantly while Harriet collapsed beside Elizabeth with theatrical exhaustion. “I raised wolves,” Harriet declared mournfully.
“You raised daughters,” Elizabeth corrected. “There is very little difference.”
Harriet barked out startled laughter while Charlotte smiled despite herself.
The afternoon slowly settled into something far calmer as measurements were taken and fabrics discussed.
Joan insisted upon rich jewel tones that made her look striking and lively.
Irene chose elegant soft silks with perfect grace, while Penelope selected bold colours that scandalized Harriet every few minutes.
“Purple?” Harriet cried. “Absolutely not.”
“It is cheerful,” Penelope defended.
“It is loud,” Harriet said.
“I enjoy loud,” Penelope grinned.
“We know,” Irene muttered.
Elizabeth beckoned the girls toward her chair as though presiding over court. “No lady should choose a gown merely because it is fashionable,” she instructed wisely. “One must dress according to what flatters one best.”
The sisters listened surprisingly well. Even Penelope.
“Dark colours are handsome on Joan,” Elizabeth continued. “Your figure carries them beautifully.”
Joan beamed instantly.
“And Irene would look lovely in nearly anything,” Harriet sighed. “The unfair child.”
Irene flushed delicately. “Mama.”
Elizabeth pointed toward Penelope. “And you must never wear anything dull because your spirit would overpower it entirely.”
Penelope looked delighted by this pronouncement.
Charlotte watched the exchange quietly with warmth blooming in her chest. Her family had immediately embraced Elizabeth with genuine affection, treating her with kindness instead of impatience.
Elizabeth, in turn, positively glowed beneath the attention.
For the first time in years, Charlotte felt something close to peace. Her sisters were laughing. Harriet looked relaxed. Elizabeth was happy. And all because of Victor. The thought startled her.
Charlotte glanced absently toward the mirrors while the others argued over sleeves and embroidery. She still felt guilty sometimes when Elizabeth spoke so lovingly of her supposed engagement. The deception sat heavily upon her conscience, no matter how necessary it was.
Yet what choice have I truly?
Victor’s generosity had changed everything for her family.
Her sisters would enter society properly now instead of desperately patching old gowns together and praying nobody noticed. Harriet no longer looked perpetually frightened about unpaid bills and uncertain futures.
Charlotte had spent years sacrificing herself for them. Now, suddenly, someone else was helping shoulder the burden. Her chest tightened unexpectedly.
Blast the duke for being kinder than I wished him to be.
“Charlotte.”
She blinked to find Elizabeth staring at her thoughtfully. “Yes, Your Grace?”
“You require a gown,” she replied.
Charlotte immediately shook her head. “Oh no. Absolutely not.”
Harriet looked horrified. “Charlotte scarcely buys anything for herself.”
“That is because I possess perfectly acceptable dresses already, mama,” she said.
“Country gowns,” Penelope said bluntly.
Charlotte narrowed her eyes. “I shall remember that when you request additional ribbon money.”
Penelope wisely fell silent.
Elizabeth waved dismissively. “You shall have a new dress.”
“There is no need, really, Your Grace,” Charlotte said.
“There is every need,” Elizabeth said.
Charlotte laughed awkwardly. “Your Grace, truly, my sisters are the ones requiring proper wardrobes. I merely accompany you everywhere like a respectable piece of furniture.”
“You are far prettier than furniture,” Joan informed her.
“Most furniture is prettier than Charlotte’s wardrobe,” Penelope added.
Charlotte gasped in mock outrage. “I supported this family for years, and this is my reward?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” Irene replied sweetly.
Elizabeth rose decisively from her chair. “Come along.”
Charlotte quickly realized resistance was futile. The dowager swept toward another display while seamstresses scrambled after her. Moments later, Elizabeth triumphantly selected a gown of rich deep burgundy silk trimmed with cream lace and delicate gold embroidery.
Charlotte stared at it helplessly.
It is beautiful.
The gown would cling softly to her figure without appearing improper, and the warm colour would complement her brown hair and eyes perfectly.
“Oh,” Harriet breathed. “That is lovely.”
Joan nodded eagerly. “Very elegant.”
Penelope grinned wickedly. “The duke shall stare scandalously.”
Charlotte nearly dropped dead on the spot.
“Penelope,” she hissed.
Elizabeth looked entirely pleased with herself. “Victor will adore it upon his fiancée.”
Charlotte’s face burned immediately. There it was again. That dangerous flutter low in her stomach whenever Victor was mentioned.
Worse still, Charlotte could suddenly picture his reaction with alarming clarity. She imagined those green eyes slowly travelling over the gown, imagined the heated intensity that sometimes entered his gaze when he looked at her too long.
Good heavens.
Her pulse betrayed her instantly.
“You are blushing,” Irene observed.
“I am overheated; it is warm in here amongst all this fabric,” she said.
“You always claim that,” Joan said suspiciously.
Charlotte focused desperately on the gown instead of her increasingly dangerous thoughts.
Victor would likely say something outrageous and improper the moment he saw her in it.
He would smirk in that maddening way of his and lean too close and somehow make her entirely forget how to form coherent sentences.
The truly humiliating part was that she now anticipated such moments.
“You must try it on,” Elizabeth insisted.
Before Charlotte could protest further, she was swept away by seamstresses toward the fitting rooms while her sisters called encouragement after her.
Inside the dressing chamber, Charlotte allowed herself one long exhale. This arrangement with Victor was becoming perilous indeed.
Because somewhere between arguments, kisses, false engagements, and impossible generosity, the Duke of Mulford has begun occupying far too much space in my thoughts.
* * *
The next evening, Charlotte had her head in a book as she made her way to her room and nearly walked directly into Elizabeth in the corridor.
The dowager duchess stood outside her chambers in a rich plum evening gown trimmed with lace, looking immensely pleased with herself. Hannah fussed beside her with a shawl while Elizabeth tapped her fan impatiently against her wrist.
“There you are, dear,” Elizabeth declared brightly. “It is time for dinner.”
Charlotte blinked in confusion. “Are you not taking dinner in your room this evening as usual, Your Grace?”
“No.” Elizabeth smiled mysteriously. “Tonight is a formal dinner. I had Cook arrange it.”
Charlotte opened her mouth to reply just as footsteps approached down the corridor.
Victor appeared moments later, dressed in black evening clothes that fit him far too well for her comfort.
His dark waistcoat sharpened the breadth of his shoulders while the snowy white cravat at his throat somehow only made him appear more wicked.
Charlotte immediately regretted looking at him.
Victor glanced between them. “Grandmother, I was informed you intended to dine in the formal room tonight.”
“We are,” Elizabeth replied happily. “You, me, and Charlotte.”