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CHAPTER SIX

M argaret’s second morning as the Duchess of Windermoor brought with it noticeable changes from the first. Changes which she was most appreciative of.

She woke to find a maid in her room, waiting for her command. “Good morning,” the young maid said. “How did we sleep, Your Grace?”

“Wonderfully,” Margaret said, meaning it. She smiled as she rose, pleased to see that her conversation with Mr. Jeffries had the desired effect. “I do nae think I have ever slept so well.”

“That is good to hear, Your Grace. Shall you be requiring a bath before you break your fast?”

“That sounds perfect.” Margaret climbed from her bed and was led down the hallway to a washroom where a tub was already filled with steaming hot water.

She sank into the tub with a moan, feeling her muscles relax.

And as she bathed, the young maid brought in two more girls to scrub her clean and wash her hair.

Margaret wasn’t used to such luxury as this, for even though her father was a respected laird, this went above and beyond anything she had experienced growing up.

Nonetheless, she wasn’t about to complain either. Truly, I cuid get used to this…

With her dressing gown wrapped around her moist body, she floated back to her bedroom, expecting to pick an outfit and then break her fast. Only, when she entered her bedroom, she found it to be a hive of activity beyond anything she could have predicted.

“There she is!” In the centre of the room, waiting for her, it seemed, was a middle-aged woman dressed in loud colors; the outfit itself was a multi-layered pelisse with a broad muslin collar and adorned with frills.

She clapped her hands together to see Margaret arrive, at which point she swept forward and took the bewildered duchess by the hands, pulling her into the room.

“They said you would be back shortly. But you know how these things go, dear. An hour? Five? What is time when you have the world waiting on your beck and call?”

“Ah… excuse me?” Margaret blinked.

There were another five women in the room, none of whom Margaret recognized, and none of whom she guessed to be members of the staff.

They paid her little attention, however, setting up what looked to be transportable wardrobes filled with linens, fabric swatches, sewing supplies, and mirrors.

One lady even had a stool that she was centering in the room. What on earth is going on?

“You’re confused,” the brightly dressed woman said. “Which tells me one of two things. I will not say the first, as I am not one to insult a duchess. Thus, I can only assume that you had no idea I was coming.”

Margaret looked at her flatly. “That’s a clever trick.”

“Trick?”

“Insulting me without voicing the insult. Very clever.”

Surprisingly, the woman’s eyes brightened with amusement. “Oh, she is different. I was told that she was.” Clapping her hands together, her smile grew. “Which means that we are going to have some fun, yes?”

“I still da nae ken what ye are fixing!” Margaret cried with frustration. She did not mind the insult, as there was something about this woman that she could not help but be drawn to. But she also did not appreciate being kept in the dark.

“Of course, of course.” The woman took a step back and held out her hands. “My name is Miss Pinpoint, and I am here to –”

“Pinpoint?” Margaret cut her off. “The famous modiste?”

“Ah, so she has heard of me. Wonderful, for that will save us some time.”

Although she was less confused now, that did not mean that Margaret was still not struggling to make sense of what was going on.

She had heard the name Miss Pinpoint before.

What lady haesnae? A famous modiste known for her daring fashion choices and pushing of the boundaries of what was considered acceptable.

She was the type who most young ladies would kill to be dressed by, surely booked ahead for months, and not one to simply drop everything and attend to her personally. Or so she had thought.

“Me husband… His Grace sent for ye?”

“He did,” she said. “And at such short notice, was it anyone else, I certainly would not have been able to attend. But he is a duke, and he was rather insistent. Also…” She smirked as she looked Margaret up and down.

“He told me that his wife was a true beauty, and that I should be I begging to dress her. Not the other way around.” She laughed and shook her head. “Isn’t love grand?’

Margaret had no idea what to say.

Never mind that the duke had done this for her, paying she could only imagine how much to have this woman come here and fix her a new wardrobe.

That in itself was surprising, as the man had given no indication that he cared at all for such things, and until this moment, Margaret might have assumed he had not thought of her once since she last saw him.

But that he had said such kind things of her also…

were they just words? Or did he mean them?

Margaret could not help but remember their last interaction, how he had wrapped his hand around her waist, held her close, whispered in her ear in a way that seemed purposefully designed to undo her.

Oh yes, she had felt a tingling sensation in her thighs, which she could guess well enough the meaning of.

Only she had not been able to say if the duke had felt it too.

It seemed that now, she had her answer.

“Come, come.” Miss Pinpoint clapped her hands together again and pulled Margaret into the room. “Time is of the essence, and we have wasted too much!”

The next two hours went by in a flurry of activity.

Miss Pinpoint told of how she was instructed to build an entire new wardrobe for Margaret, enough garments to last the entire Season.

She did not, however, seem to care much for Margaret’s opinion on fashion or what she thought suited her best. She was little more than a mannequin there to be dressed.

Which, truthfully, was fine by Margaret.

Colors were chosen, those that looked best against her skin. Then, more colors were selected to play off those. Fabrics were plucked. Designs were sketched and fussed over. And Margaret was made to stand on the stool in the middle of the room as she was treated like little more than a pin cushion.

“I do not do things in half measures,” Miss Pinpoint explained. “My style is boldness. Audacity. When you walk into a room, I want heads to turn! More than that, I want everyone to know without question who it was that dressed you.” She giggled. “Not that they would have trouble guessing.”

It was all so chaotic. But Margaret did not mind.

She only wondered why the duke had done this and what his goal was.

He had made it seem as if Margaret was an imposition, and he had told her himself that when the Season was done with, she would be free to leave.

Why waste all this time and effort on me if I am to be a shadow in this manor? Unless I misread my husband entirely?

It was two hours after she began that she was able to find her answer.

Still on the stool in the middle of the room, Margaret wore a light shift only, her arms spread as her measurements were taken and then retaken.

She was trying to catch sight of one of the other women who was sketching a design across the room, which was why she did not see the duke appear in the room.

“This looks like fun,” he said simply.

Her eyes widened, and she spun about, very nearly falling from the stool.

Only too aware of how she was dressed – how little she had on – she instinctively moved to cover herself, her cheeks flushing because the duke did not look away from her or give any indication he meant to.

In fact, he smirked to see her discomfort.

“Your Grace!” Miss Pinpoint swept toward him. “An honor…”

“It is all mine.” The duke took the modiste’s hand and gave the back of it a kiss. “And thank you again for agreeing to see my wife at such short notice.”

“Think nothing of it.”

He glanced over Miss Pinpoint’s shoulder and caught Margaret looking at him. His eyes flashed with mischief, likely because of how awkwardly Margaret was behaving. “Might I have a few moments alone with my wife?”

“Yes, yes,” Miss. Pinpoint agreed. “We will not be needing her for at least another…” She looked back into the room, clicking her tongue. “Ten minutes or so. If that suits?”

“More than enough, thank you.”

Miss Pinpoint was quick to shuffle the women from the room, chasing them out like a sheep herder would their flock. Within a minute of the duke’s arrival, Margaret and he were alone in the bedroom, and the change in atmosphere was noticeable.

She was still on the stool, still covering herself, facing away from him with modesty. She could feel his eyes on her, and she could sense the smile on his lips. Again, that sense that he enjoys seeing me undone. But why?

“How is everything?” he asked her, walking into the room. “I trust Miss Pinpoint is taking care of you?”

“She is,” Margaret said awkwardly. “Although her arrival was unexpected. For many reasons…”

“Oh?”

Margaret considered what to say. She had been antagonistic toward the duke thus far and did not want to set a precedent. But she also did not want to come across as meek and controllable, as if she was happy to be walked all over.

“When we last spoke, the implication ye left with me was that this marriage was…” She considered further. “To be a convenience. That come the end of the Season, I would be free to return to Scotland.”

“That is right.”

“Which is why I am surprised,” she continued. “Seeing as ye expect to hide me in your home as if I dae nae exist –”

“I never said that,” he cut her off.

She spun around without thinking, nearly losing her balance again. Hands still covering herself, her eyes widened at him. “It was implied in what ye told me! How else was I supposed to take it?”