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Caroline nodded. Yesterday had been the Feast of the Innocents, and the day before had been the Feast of Saint John the Evangelist. As her thoughts skittered about inanely, Caroline realized she was procrastinating due to shock.

Ransacking her mind, she located her senses to finally say something that was …

not deplorable. “I have long wanted … to apologize for my actions.”

The duchess nodded, setting her rich red-brown curls to bouncing. “This conversation is overdue.” She turned and walked away to inspect the interior before coming to a stop by the door and glancing about to take it all in at once. “The shop is exactly as we imagined it as girls.”

“I thought of you often when I was preparing it for opening.”

Her Grace turned her head to gaze at her directly. “I have thought of you often, too. I was very pleased when I heard that Lord Saunton had taken responsibility for you and was financing our plans in my stead.”

Caroline inhaled in surprise. “You were? Why?”

“I never wished you ill. Your actions precluded us from continuing on together, and I will admit I was furious for a few weeks, but then my situation changed. What happened between us … it led me to the duke. If I had not caught you and Lord Saunton together, we would be unhappily married, but instead, I am married to a wonderful man whom I needed. Who needed me. Now we have a strong young boy we both adore.”

Caroline slumped as she listened to this declaration, tears stinging in threat. “It is so comforting to hear I did not ruin your life!”

The duchess frowned. “Ruined my life? No. Lord Saunton was the very worst of rakes until he met his wife. We would have had a disastrous marriage.”

Caroline swiped the tears from her lashes with a trembling hand. “I am so happy for you … truly … but … hearing that … why do I still feel guilt? It has been two years, and the shame has not worn off.”

Her Grace said nothing, contemplating the question until she sighed heavily.

“Lord Saunton informed me he had to release the guilt. That it was not about what I thought of him, but what he thought of himself. He had to make reparations to the women he had wronged to reach a point where he could trust himself.”

“I do not understand.”

“It is not my place to forgive you. Forgiveness must come from within. None of us are free of mistakes, so you will have to find a way to come to terms with what you did.”

“I do not know how!” cried Caroline, feeling desperate to be so close to resolution yet still not finding what she was seeking.

The duchess walked forward, stopping before Caroline to take up her hands and stare into her eyes. Caroline was enthralled by the warm gold and brown striations, unable to look away.

“Why did you do it?”

“I was so lonely. No man had ever paid attention to me before, and Lord Saunton was … charming and solicitous.”

“Be that as it may, what was the cost to your self-respect?”

Caroline shook her head. “Far beyond what I would be willing to pay if I were presented with similar circumstances in the future.”

“So you have considered your mistakes and learned from them?”

“I have.”

“And now I have assured you there was no lasting damage, and it all worked out for the best.”

“Which is gratifying to hear.”

“Then what do we do to restore your faith in yourself?”

“I suppose … speaking with you is the first step. I was initially angry when you told me Mr. Jackson had manipulated this meeting, but now … I needed to see you. To express my regret.”

Miss Annabel nodded. “When I heard how deeply concerned Mr. Jackson was for your happiness … He is a good man.”

Caroline bit her lip, thinking about what came next. What could she do to ease her guilt? She had taken pains not to repeat her past, and the duchess had said it had all turned out for the best—which was a balm to hear—but still … she needed to offer some token of her regret.

Nay! Not a token of my regret, but rather a token of my esteem—to demonstrate how much I value our shared past!

Despite her actions to the contrary, Caroline had always valued her connection to Miss Annabel and Mrs. Harris. She needed to express her love and appreciation for all they had done to secure her current success—for leading her to her dreams. For teaching her strength.

But how?

“Could I do something for you? Perhaps … make you something?” Her hand flew over her mouth at once, mortified. “I apologize. Of course, you are a duchess, and anything I create would be far too inferior!”

The duchess frowned, twin furrows appearing between her brows. “Do not disparage yourself. I would be honored to receive a gift from Chatternwell’s preeminent modiste.”

Modiste!

Until that very moment, Caroline had thought of herself as an audacious maid who had reinvented herself as a dressmaker in a small town.

Now she swelled with pride as she considered herself a fashionable modiste—offering one of her creations to a duchess of the realm.

Her mind raced with possibilities. Her Grace had seen that potential in her as a girl and had come to verify her welfare.

That revelation shifted Caroline’s very sense of self.

“I could”—Caroline glanced around, frantically searching for an idea fit for a duchess—until her eyes landed on the door of the coach out on the road—“present you with a very fine walking dress embroidered with the Halmesbury coat of arms!”

The duchess’s eyes widened before lighting with delight.

She turned to peer out the window at her husband.

Silence reigned for several seconds before she turned back, lashes glistening with unshed tears.

The duke, watching from his position outside, frowned in concern, straightening to peer pensively into the shop.

“That would be unique and highly valued.”

Tears of joy sprang into Caroline’s eyes, overcome by the dense emotion that filled the room. “I have worked on such a dress for months. I shall personally embroider it. It can be ready for you by tomorrow.”

“We are spending the night at Chatternwell House, so I shall speak with the duke about delaying our return until tomorrow afternoon.”

Her Grace returned to the door. The footman sprang forward to open it. Out on the road, she conferred with her husband in hushed tones, then returned to the shop.

“His Grace agrees. Shall I try the dress on? The footman will bring you a pillow from the carriage with the coat of arms to use as a template.”

“Yes. Thank you … Miss Annabel.”

The duchess grinned at the use of her name from their youth. “My pleasure … Caroline.”

Caroline led her into the back, where the gown hung.

Gazing at it, she felt a twinge of regret.

Only days ago, she had thought of marrying in it.

But it would now serve a greater purpose—as the key to unlock a future unmarred by guilt or shame.

A symbol of how far she had come, of her regrets, and a new beginning more profound than the opening of her shop.

“It is exquisite,” proclaimed the noblewoman, fingering the fabric.

“The finest velvet I could find. I bought it from the docks in London, directly from the merchant who shipped it in.”

Caroline took it down. The duchess removed her carriage dress, revealing an ivory linen gown beneath. She raised her arms and slipped into the walking dress. Buttoning it up, she moved before the mirror, posing at various angles.

“What do you think of the color? Do you think we suit—your dress and I?”

“You … are utterly beguiling in it. It is as if it was always intended for you.”

“And the coat of arms?”

“I shall embroider it with gilt floss on the back.”

“That will be striking against the Prussian blue. This is your finest work.”

Caroline examined the garment, draping it as she noted what alterations were needed.

“It is, and it is only fitting that I made it for you. I shall let the cuffs out for your longer arms and re-hem it because you are a little taller, but those appear to be the only adjustments required. If I work through the night, it shall be ready by early afternoon.”

“Perfect. That will allow us time to return to Avonmead before sunset.”

Caroline helped Her Grace remove the dress, and they returned to the front of the shop.

“Thank you for taking such trouble to come see me, Your Grace.”

“It sets my mind at ease to know you are succeeding. You have put a great deal of work into this.” Impulsively, the duchess embraced her. “I am so happy you found someone who appreciates you. Take care of him—and do not be too angry with him for interfering.”

Caroline nodded, but her thoughts were already elsewhere—on the dress. William could wait. For now.

She returned to the back as Annie entered from her errand, but Caroline paid her no mind, muttering about a deadline.

All she could think about was how she wanted every ounce of respect and love she felt for Miss Annabel to be reflected in her work.

The gratitude for all those years of encouragement.

The care she had received when she was lost and alone. The regret?—

Nay. I refuse to linger on the mistake.

Taking the gown to the window-lit table, she began to work.

Annie brought tea and set it on the table, but Caroline did not notice.

She worked until her eyes were dried-out husks, and her lids would no longer glide smoothly.

She moistened them with silver water and continued until her fingers bled from accumulated pinpricks.

Dabbing them to avoid staining the cloth, she labored on.

This was about restoring her self-worth—presenting a gift woven with the threads of her very soul. By remembering the good times, the wonderful moments shared with her truest friend, she found strength to keep going.

When the embroidery did not satisfy her, she unpicked the stitches and began again.

This would be perfection—worthy not just of a duchess, but of her oldest, most beloved friend. And so, as the minutes turned to hours, Caroline worked.

To her surprise, the more she toiled—snatching only brief naps—the better she felt. The black guilt that haunted her, the shadows of self-doubt, melted away.

Finally, as dawn broke over the hills of Chatternwell, she lifted her head. Laying the gown aside, she folded her arms on the table and, utterly spent, fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.