Page 18 of Married to the Icy Duke (Duke Wars #3)

I t was the best-kept secret in London that Madame Blanc was no more French than she was Queen of England. However, French modistes were all the rage, and Madame Blanc had, at the very least, actually been to Paris.

She was a popular modiste for a very good reason and had the courtesy to speak French fluently and never let her carefully constructed accent slip. Charlotte had never attended Madame Blanc’s shop; however, due to Gabriel’s constant complaints that the woman was a fraud.

It seemed that Isaac and his sister had no such compulsions. Nor did Thalia.

“Your Grace!” she gasped, hurrying across the plush carpet with outstretched arms, heading straight for Thalia. “What a delight to see you again! And your dear—’ow you say—sister-in-law, Lady Charlotte!”

“It’s good to see you too, Madame,” Thalia said, smiling. “We are a little early for our appointment, and we … ah, we brought a few extra guests.”

She gestured to where Isaac and Sybella stood behind her, the former stone-faced and looking extremely unhappy. Tommy was here too, safe in the arms of his nurse.

To her credit, Madame did not falter.

“Of course, it is no trouble, none at all! What a sweet little boy.”

“Master Thomas Cecil,” Isaac said brusquely.

“We shall bring him sweetmeats and perhaps some milk,” Madame suggested, waving an elegant hand towards one of her black-gowned assistants. “For now, we shall all sit here and discuss what you would like, Your Grace.”

This was aimed towards Thalia.

They were in the ‘receiving room’ of the modiste, a plush, velvet-lined room with thick carpets that muffled all sounds.

The walls were heavy with thick wallpaper, and gilt-framed pictures of gowns and fashion plates were set tastefully here and there.

A few mannequins stood in the corners of the room, draped in the latest fabrics, arranged in the latest styles.

Perfume hung in the air, rich and heady.

“We are here for a wedding dress,” Thalia said bluntly.

Madame’s eyes widened a fraction. Her gaze flashed briefly between Isaac and Charlotte, and Charlotte knew that she must have read the announcement of their engagement in the Gazette.

It is official now, she thought, heart thumping. This is why Thalia waited to start making preparations until after the announcement was made. She wanted to be sure he wouldn’t back out at the last moment.

Of course, there was still time for the duke to back out of the betrothal. He didn’t strike her as the type of man who would balk at jilting a woman if it was necessary.

But then, what did she know about him? How could she know what sort of man he was?

Madame Blanc launched into a stream of congratulations, shifting seamlessly to a promotion of the latest style of wedding gowns in Paris and Italy.

As if moving on some unspoken signal, a handful of black-gowned assistants came silently out of the wings, offering magazines containing sketches of the latest styles.

Out of the corner of her eye, Charlotte saw an assistant offer a cup of tea to Mary and a small bowl of candied fruits to Tommy. He accepted them with delight.

Isaac grunted when a woman tried to present him with a magazine.

“It’s not my concern what she wears,” he responded shortly, looking at no one in particular. “I’ve no eye for fashion. She can wear what she likes. Order what you like, Charlotte, and put it on my account.”

“Are … Are you sure?” Charlotte managed, her voice sounding very thin and a little weak, bouncing off the endless carpets and velvet drapes. “Some of these fabrics and styles are extremely expensive. And when you consider the extras that are needed for a wedding, well …”

“Do you think I cannot afford it?” Isaac interrupted, glancing at her for the first time. His gaze seemed to seize her, drawing her in so that she could not look away. “I will not have the ton saying that I cannot afford to clothe my bride. Buy what you like.”

Charlotte swallowed, nodding. When she glanced up at Madame, the woman’s eyes were alight with glee. No doubt she smelled a fine sale on the horizon. She was probably right.

“In that case,” Madame continued, “I shall make my own recommendation. You may take it if you like, but I can assure you …”

“I don’t want what is fashionable ,” Isaac suddenly said, rising to his feet. “By that, I mean I don’t want her to wear what everybody else is wearing. I want her to look different. Special.”

There was a faint silence after this. Charlotte stared at him, brow furrowed.

Is this a compliment, or an insult?

The only one who seemed to understand Isaac’s meaning was Madame. She broke into a slow smile, glancing between them with wonder, as if seeing something she hadn’t spotted before.

“Say no more,” she responded quietly. “I can assure you, your Grace, and you, Lady Charlotte, that everyone will be talking about your wedding gown. And for the right reasons . Now, may I suggest …”

Charlotte sat back against the plush sofa, a little breathless.

What was she to make of that interaction? Isaac had not come down to breakfast. the first time she had seen him since last night was when they all climbed into the carriage together to head to the modiste.

The memory of his lips against hers, firm and warm and soft, had worked its way into her dreams. She could still recall how hot his body had felt against hers, as if he were burning up from the inside.

It was a decided counterpoint to the coolness of his fingers, brushing against the side of her neck and chin.

She could feel the pressure of his fingertips even now and shivered.

He kissed me. He kissed me . What does it mean? Why did he do it? I know that men have … have urges . Perhaps I was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time?

But no, that made little sense. They had just had the strangest conversation, half argument, half … well, half something else. And then he had come closer and closer, and Charlotte had wanted him closer. Then he kissed her, and it seemed as though the world had dropped out from underneath her feet.

When Sybella interrupted them, Charlotte felt the most unkind rush of dislike towards the woman. The interruption wasn’t deliberate, to be sure. Even if it were deliberate, she was no doubt concerned with Charlotte’s reputation.

What’s left of it, at least.

She was not sure what to make of Isaac’s silence. He hadn’t mentioned the kiss—not that they had had opportunity—and had barely even addressed her at all. He seemed to be ignoring her existence entirely.

Was that unreasonable? After all, she was the one who had insisted that their marriage should be cold and bloodless, with no touch at all.

And he agreed, she reminded herself. He agreed at once, without thinking twice.

There was something unsatisfactory about this. He had agreed easily. But that was what she had wanted, wasn’t it?

If he truly does not desire me at all, why did he kiss me?

Charlotte gave herself a little shake, realizing that Madame was addressing her directly, and now stared at her expectantly, waiting for a reply.

“I beg your pardon?” she managed.

Madame smiled, entirely unconcerned. “What do you think of this style, my lady?”

She gestured to a mannequin, and Charlotte rose to inspect it further, resolutely putting all thoughts of Isaac and his incomprehensible ways aside.

It was a very fine dress, nowhere near as flouncy and showy as she had expected.

It was a dull burgundy color, which she did not much like, but the cut of the gown was remarkably shapely.

The neckline dipped around the collarbone, skimming the tops of the shoulders.

The bodice rippled with sequins, almost like fish scales, and tightened around the waist only to flare out again in layers of silk and petticoats.

“It’s beautiful,” Charlotte admitted. “Do you have it in other colors?”

“Of course. What is your favorite color, my lady?”

She thought for a moment. “I rather like blue. An almost greenish shade, if you understand what I mean?”

Behind her, Tommy appeared to be wriggling around. When Charlotte turned, she saw that he was trying to get off Mary’s knee.

“Let him cover here,” she said. “He wants to see the dress.”

Mary nodded and released him. Tommy came trundling over to where Charlotte stood, beaming up at her. She crouched beside him, impulsively placing a kiss on his cheek.

“Isn’t it pretty?” she whispered.

He nodded eagerly, reaching out to touch the material. Suddenly nervous, Charlotte grabbed his hand, aware that his fingers must be sticky after those candied fruits.

“No need to be concerned, my lady,” Madame interjected quietly. “We are very good at cleaning fabric here.”

Smiling gratefully up at her, Charlotte released Tommy’s hand, letting him touch the fabric.

“We’re going to get this fabric in blue,” Charlotte whispered. “Do you like blue?”

He paused, pushing out his lip, considering. A shake of the head.

“Hm. Well, how about another color? How about green?”

His eyes lit up, and he nodded.

Charlotte glanced up at Madame and smiled. “Could I try on this gown in green, if you please?”

Madame’s eyes flashed with amusement.

“At once, your ladyship.”

Isaac was not enjoying himself.

Sybella had suggested that he leave the wedding dress shopping to the ladies, but could not stop thinking about what Charlotte had said to him the previous night, regarding the time he spent with Tommy.

“No, not if you have time to spare. You must make time. This is important, Isaac.”

She was right; that was the rub of the matter.

He knew, in a begrudging sort of way, that he was not making his time with Tommy a priority.

Of course, there were other duties which demanded his time, but if he were honest with himself—and lying to oneself was always a waste of time—Isaac knew that he often looked for excuses to avoid seeing Tommy.