Page 8 of Duke of Emeralds (Dukes of Decadence #2)

T he bell above the door of Mr. Jameson’s shop chimed softly as Hester stepped inside, her arms laden with a carefully wrapped package. Mr. Jameson looked up from his ledger, his eyes lighting up as he saw her.

“Ah, Lady Hester,” he said, rising from his chair and hurrying over to relieve her of her burden. “I was beginning to wonder if you had forgotten about me.”

Hester laughed, a light, musical sound that echoed through the shop. “As if I could ever forget you, Mr. Jameson. You are far too important to me.”

Mr. Jameson beamed at her words, his cheeks puffing out with pride.

He carefully set the package down on the counter and began to unwrap it, his fingers deftly working at the knots.

Hester watched him, her heart feeling slightly anxious.

She had spent countless hours on these tapestries, pouring her soul into every stitch.

She only hoped they would be well received.

As the last of the wrapping fell away, Mr. Jameson let out a low whistle of appreciation. “Oh, just when I think your talent has hit its limit, you create something even more beautiful, My Lady,” he said, his eyes scanning over the intricate designs.

Hester felt a blush creep up her cheeks at his praise. “I try my best, Mr. Jameson,” she said, her fingers nervously twisting together.

Mr. Jameson began to sort through the tapestries, his brow furrowing slightly as he counted them. “Oh, there are only three?” he asked, looking up at her with a hint of disappointment in his eyes.

Hester’s heart sank slightly. “All I could squeeze in, I’m afraid,” she said with a sigh. This was the smallest order she had brought in in a while, and she couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt.

Mr. Jameson nodded understandingly, his expression softening.

“The demand for your work has increased greatly, My Lady,” he said, his fingers tracing the edge of one of the tapestries.

“The Duchess of Eldenham herself has placed an order. She wanted five of these, in three large and two medium sizes. I’ll have to give her all three now, and she’ll have to wait for the rest.”

Hester’s eyes widened in surprise. The Duchess of Eldenham was one of the most influential women in society. To have her work sought after by such a prominent figure was both thrilling and daunting.

“And the Countess of Whitsbury will simply have to remain on the waiting list a little longer,” Mr. Jameson continued, shaking his head slightly.

As glad as she was to see her work being loved, Hester wished she could meet the demand. “I wish I could do more, Mr. Jameson. I truly do.”

Mr. Jameson smiled gently at her. “God knows you try your best, My Lady,” he said, his eyes filled with sincerity. “I have never seen such talent before. I can’t thread a needle to save my life, and yet you create these with seemingly no effort. I thank you.”

“ I should thank you,” Hester chuckled. “You help me distribute them.”

“Well then, I cannot wait to see what you create next. And the market cannot wait to take it off our hands,” Mr. Jameson said, his eyes gleaming with the anticipation of a seasoned businessman.

Hester smiled, her heart swelling. “I shall certainly make more.”

A knot suddenly tightened her stomach. The responsibilities of her new title as Duchess loomed over her, casting a shadow on her passion. Would she still have time for her art? The thought was almost too painful to bear.

She inwardly promised herself to find a way. She couldn’t give up on the one thing she loved, the one thing that brought her solace and joy. Not to mention the charity that relied on the proceeds from her work.

With a deep breath, she stepped out of the shop, her mind whirling with thoughts and worries.

“What are the odds?” a familiar voice drawled.

Hester turned to see Thomas standing there, his tall frame towering over her, his sharp blue eyes gleaming with amusement. Her heart skipped a beat, and she felt a flush creep up her cheeks.

“That I’d come out shopping?” she lied.

His gaze traveled over her, almost as if in search of something. And then she realized, she wasn’t holding anything to support her little lie. “I… I didn’t find what I was looking for,” she quickly excused, her cheeks warming with embarrassment.

Something akin to amusement came over his features, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. She could see the laughter in his eyes, the way the corners of his mouth twitched as if he was trying to suppress a smile.

“Wait… Why am I obligated to explain my reason to you for being out here right now?” She suddenly grew defensive, her chin lifting slightly, her eyes narrowing.

“Did I ask for any explanations, Hester?” he returned, that air of amusement still about him.

And she blinked owlishly. He never did ask for an explanation, she realized, her cheeks warming even more with embarrassment. She’d been the one rambling all along.

How do I always manage to make a fool of myself before this man? she thought.

“Are ye returning home?” he asked.

Hester nodded. Thomas offered her his arm, his eyes never leaving hers. “Come. Let me walk ye,” he said.

She had half a mind to refuse, but something in his eyes made her decide against it.

She placed her hand on his elbow, her fingers trembling slightly.

She was immediately aware of how strong his arm was beneath her touch, the muscles taut and firm.

As she neared him, she inhaled his scent, a mixture of sandalwood and citrus that was uniquely him.

“I’ve put in for a special license for us,” he suddenly said as they began to walk, his eyes focused on the path ahead.

“A marriage license?” she quirked a surprised brow.

“What other one do we need, Hester?” he chuckled.

“But is there truly a need for one?” she asked, her heart pounding in her chest. “We are not in a rush, are we?” she added, almost nervously.

“I am not the most patient of gentlemen, Hester,” he replied, his eyes never leaving the path ahead.

“Clearly,” she said, her lips curling into a small smile despite her nervousness.

“What is that supposed to mean now?” he asked, his brow furrowing slightly as he looked down at her.

“That you are not the most patient of gentlemen,” she shrugged, her eyes meeting his.

He laughed, the sound rich and hearty, sending warmth all through her. Delightful warmth, she was shocked to realize, and she felt the color in her cheeks only intensify.

“I do not see the point in wasting any more time,” he sobered, his eyes meeting hers once more.

He appeared in thought for a moment before he added, “Although I must beg your pardon that I did not ask for your opinion beforehand.”

He looked quite contrite.

“Oh, you need not apologize.” Hester dismissed it.

“Are ye certain ye’re fine with this? With a marriage devoid of love?” he asked.

Hester held his gaze. “I am,” she replied.

“It’s precisely what I want, and it is a practical arrangement between two adults.

” She forced a smile that felt brittle at the edges.

“You need an English duchess to ease your entry into society, and I require a way to escape spinsterhood. We both get what we need without complications.”

He nodded. “Very well.”

But inside, she felt the most nervous she’d felt since he made the offer. It felt all too real now. I am truly getting married.

The wedding preparations were underway, and Hester found herself in the midst of a whirlwind of activity. She was out shopping with Anna and Nancy. Fiona, unfortunately, was suffering from the discomfort of being with child and had sent her regrets that she couldn’t make it.

“You’re getting married, Hester. Of course, you need only the best in your trousseau,” Anna insisted, her eyes scanning the night rail catalogues with a critical eye.

Hester felt a blush creep up her cheeks as she looked through the designs. “But don’t you think that is a little too scandalous, Anna?” she said, her fingers nervously tracing the intricate patterns. “I don’t think I need something so elaborate,” she added.

“And what makes you think that these night rails are for you, Hester dear?” Anna asked with a sly grin.

Hester blinked, her brow furrowing slightly in confusion. “But… wouldn’t I be the one wearing them?” she asked.

Nancy let out an impish little snicker, her eyes dancing with amusement. Hester couldn’t help but wonder why they were all regarding her so strangely.

“You may be the one wearing them, but they’re not precisely for you, dear,” Anna said, giving Hester’s hand an encouraging little pat.

“Oh, the night rails are always for the man, My Lady. Always…” the modiste blurted, her cheeks flushing slightly as she spoke.

And Hester felt herself blush as realization hit her, her fingers flying to her cheeks. “Oh!”

“She finally understands now. After centuries!” Nancy laughed.

Hester gave her friend a look, her lips pressing together in a thin line. “Nancy,” she warned.

“What?” Nancy laughed again, her eyes sparkling with mirth. “Just take the night rails as your defense strategy against the werewolf. That should get him too weak at the knees to eat you, Hester,” she added, her laughter echoing through the room.

“Or maybe not,” Anna teased, exchanging a sly, almost knowing glance with Nancy. The modiste let out a little titter.

“I hear he was seen prowling out last night too,” Nancy carried on, giggling.

“My, that sounds more like a rake than a wolf then, Nancy,” Anna laughed.

And at this, Hester had to join in the mirth at her expense. This eased her nervousness somewhat.

“Now, where were we?” Anna asked, her eyes resuming their perusal of the catalogues as they sobered.

“Do you have any drawings of those corseted ones I ordered last week, Madame?” she asked the modiste, who was only too eager to bring out more pictures.

“Oh, these are even more scandalous, Anna,” Hester gasped, her eyes widening as she took in the designs.

“That’s the entire purpose,” Anna winked. The modiste and Nancy shared another titter, their eyes never leaving the catalogues.

“I am not wearing them,” Hester said, her chin lifting.

“Very well. Whatever you say, my dear,” Anna sighed in ostensible acquiescence, setting aside the new pictures.

But as the modiste gathered the drawings, Hester saw Anna whisper something to the woman.