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"Is that acceptable?" she asked the Frenchwoman when she stared at Lavinia's latest selection with her mouth pressed into a thin line.

"People who come to my shop, do not do so for the sake of playing it safe," she replied and walked away to bring more fabric.

"What does that mean?" she asked.

The woman stopped in her tracks and then turned around slowly, "Anyone can give you the pastels and the forgettable dresses. I prefer a challenge."

The dowager scoffed, "Do not encourage her. You shall only give thetonmore reason to call her wild and unsuitable."

Lavinia had never met a challenge that she didn't want to face head on. Her stubborn streak was the sole reason she had caught the Duke's attention and was now well on her way to becoming his Duchess, so she was long past seeing it as a flaw.

She should want to please the dowager if she wanted any sort of peace in her future marriage. Being seen as unsuitable by the woman would not do at all.

But Victor hadn't chosen one a fragile flower, he had chosen her, knowing exactly who she was. Well, the dowager duchess was just going to have to try harder to get rid of her if she didn't think she passed muster.

"I would like to revise all my choices."

The shop went eerily quiet and her aunt bent to whisper furiously into her ear, "What do you think you are doing, young lady?"

"Giving that judgmental woman something to be appalled about," she whispered back, brown eyes bright and excited.

Lady Hartfield only let out a sigh and shook her head at the girl.

"Pardon?" the Frenchwoman asked.

"Do you have fabric in bolder colors? A navy blue perhaps?"

The woman's eyebrows went up, "I do. I also have a light shade of red that will be most excellent for you. Would you like to go through my latest catalog?"

The dowager spluttered, mouth dropping open in shock, "What do you think you're doing, girl?"

"You did say it was an advance on my pin money," Lavinia responded breezily, already headed deeper into the shop with the assistants in tow.

Her aunt, not wanting to be caught alone with the fuming dowager duchess hurried after her.

Neither of the shop's occupants saw a smile tug at the dowager's mouth a moment later.

Lavinia and Lady Hartfield arrived back at their house hours later, exhausted but satisfied. The Madame had promised that her clothes would be made a priority and would be ready in a week.

She had been able to leave the shop with a light yellow dress that appeared almost gold and trimmed with lace and hand beaded. It had been made for a lady whose family had had to flee the country hastily and adjusted to fit her.

"She detests me," Lavinia wailed as they stepped into the house.

"Who is that?" Lord Hartfield, who had just stepped out of his study, asked.

"The dowager duchess of Wyld," Lady Hartfield replied, "we had a very eventful day."

His gaze zeroed on the package in the footman's hand, "what is that? Did you go for some shopping?"

"Some light shopping," the older woman shrugged, "and then we ran into the duchess who all but insisted we join her in a more upscale establishment."

"She detests me," Lavinia reiterated.

"I do not believe the Duchess likes anyone in particular, except her late husband. She tolerates the rest of us," her uncle said.

"Go on up to your room and rest, my dear, you must be exhausted," her aunt said, "And do not worry yourself about the duchess. If she cannot see that you love the Duke and the pair of you are happy together, then she must be blind."

She tried not to wince at her aunt's words, instead, she pasted on a smile and hurried up the stairs before the Hartfield's could see through the strained smile.