Page 6 of Her Passionate Duke

Linnet didn’t know what to say. She had always considered betrothals binding, morally if not legally. And any woman who broke a known betrothal would find her reputation ruined, unless there was an outstandingly good reason to do so. Lord Brandon’s lack of correspondence would not constitute such a reason, in the eyes of the ton.

“I think that it would be a grave injustice to Lord Brandon if you were to consider someone else as a suitor. And think of your reputation!”

Lady Caroline shrugged as if to say she was past caring.

“If Lord Brandon wants to marry me, then he needs to be here, in London. Not wandering across Italy studying to be an artist, a profession which is likely to leave us penniless.”

“Is Monsieur Fournier wealthy? Is that why you are considering this?”

“I assume that he is. He certainly dresses like a man of wealth — though probably everyone in Paris dresses like that. I think that even the beggars must wear pearls and silk.”

“I doubt it! I sometimes wonder if we don’t romanticise Paris a little, just because we’ve never been there.”

“You don’t have to disagree with every statement I make, just because I’ve made a decision that you are unhappy about.” Lady Caroline shoved her plate away crossly, and folded her arms over her chest. “I’m going to see Monsieur Fournier again before he leaves, and that’s just something you’ll have to accept.”

“Does your father know?” Linnet asked.

“I don’t think he’ll mind. Mother will convince him. After all, Monsieur Fournier may not be of the nobility, but he is, I believe, considerably wealthier than Lord Brandon. Even his name sounds richer.”

They left for Bond Street fashionably after midday, taking a basket with them, packed with enough biscuits to keep them from suffering hunger should the afternoon drag on. Along the way Lady Caroline called on her maid to explain some of her favourite methods for dyeing garments, which Lady Caroline had been secretly learning, being quite fascinated by what could be achieved, and by the time they reached their destination Linnet had begun to feel that they had put their argument behind them. They stepped down from their carriage, their maids accompanying them, and the footman stepping down also, to wait at the door to the modiste’s. The coachman took the carriage off, assuring them that he would return two hours later.

They continued to talk quietly as they walked among the rows of silks, satins, organdie, broadcloth, and stiff brocades. Mrs. Garlock, the modiste, stood at the back of the shop in a perfectly cut and styled grey linen dress, and a delicate shawl, winsomely smiling. Linnet thought that she looked uncommonly pretty for a woman in her mid-fifties. Her hair was the colour of her dress and she had only the slightest soft wrinkles under her eyes.

Their maids had taken themselves quietly into one corner of the shop, leaving their mistresses to talk privately.

“Annie discovered a lot of this just through simple trial-and-error,” said Lady Caroline, running her hands over the smooth skirts of a blue silk gown, which was set on a mannequin to demonstrate the style. “You need to choose different methods of dyeing depending on the fabric. Silk needs to be treated differently from wool, and so on. The more I learn, the more amazed I am at the colours of the exotic imported fabrics.”

“That’s fascinating,” said Linnet. “And not the sort of thing that would ever interest a man. Sometimes I don’t know what I would do if I didn’t have women as friends to talk to. Mind you, most of the women that we know wouldn’t care either, when I think about it. All they care for is the finished product, and how pretty a gown it will make, not how that fabric was created.”

“Men are boring,” said Lady Caroline. “All they ever want to talk about is war, and fox hunting, and the incredible sculptures they saw when they toured Florence or Athens.” She sighed in annoyance. “If I ever do get married, I’ll make sure to surround myself with other women who can keep me entertained. Otherwise marriage is likely to be deathly dull.”

“You’ll want to have at least one friend with whom you can talk about whatever your soul delights in,” said Mrs. Garlock. Both girls looked over at her in surprise. “I couldn’t help but overhear, ladies – and let me advise you, marriage can be very satisfying up to a point, but it’s bound to be disappointing when we expect our husbands to fulfil our every need.”

“Imagine if you were to marry Lord Theodore, as your mother keeps hoping you will,” whispered Lady Caroline, and both girls tittered. “Do you think you could make it through breakfast without falling asleep?”

“Oh, probably not,” said Linnet. “I would fall over into my soup the first time he tried to explain how to make white paint without using lead or oil. ‘You’ll need two quarts of skimmed milk’,” she added in a dry, monotonous whine. “‘The skimmed milk is absolutely essential to making the paint properly.’”

“I have a hunch that this is a conversation you’ve had before,” said Lady Caroline, laughing.

“Only twice, thankfully. Lord Theodore is a man with an encyclopaedic collection of knowledge in his head – most of which he will personally never have a reason to use, but which he believes is utterly essential to life.”

“How did you manage to stay awake?”

“Only by God’s grace.”

By now Linnet was in such good spirits that she had nearly forgotten the humiliations of the previous night, so it came as a slight shock when the door opened and the Duchess of Grantsham strode into the room, dressed in an elegant green gown and wearing a magnificent diamond necklace. Mrs Garlock immediately fluttered forward to greet her, but the Duchess waved her aside. Linnet blanched and began looking around for a gown, or a draped bolt of fabric, to hide herself behind. But it was too late - the Duchess of Grantsham was already gliding toward them, beaming.

“Well, this is a surprise,” she said. “I have just finished a meeting with the Duke of Portford, in which I tried to explain why so many of our roads need to be widened — for safety, if nothing else — and then, as I was nearby, I thought I would stop in here, to see if my new gown was ready – I could wait for its delivery, but really, I find myself anxious to see it. And lo, there you were!”

“Here I am,” said Linnet mildly.

“I don’t think that we ever had the chance to thank you properly for dinner last night,” said Lady Caroline. “I told Monsieur Fournier that I don’t think the King of France eats so well.”

To one side, Linnet saw her maid, and Lady Caroline’s, with their heads close together, and whispering – she wondered what they spoke about. They seemed to be giggling, and for a moment, Linnet wished that her life could be that simple, that she could giggle in corners, rather than conversing with Duchesses.

“Probably not,” returned the Duchess of Grantsham. “the King must always be worried about plots and usurpers, and the possibility of poison in the food — whereas we had the luxury of being perfectly safe. And safety is the most underappreciated form of privilege.”

She was addressing herself to Lady Caroline, but her eyes kept drifting back to Linnet with a slight smirk which made Linnet wonder how much the Duke had told her about the conversation he had overheard last night, if he’d told her at all. Out of the corner of her eye, Linnet saw Mrs Garlock slip into the back room of the shop, and then return, bearing a large, carefully wrapped parcel. Perhaps the Duchess’ new gown would distract her from this conversation?