Page 15 of Taken by the Icy Duke (Marriage Deals #3)

Chapter Fifteen

D iana stirred at the first gray light of dawn, luxuriating in the enduring pleasure of the previous night.

She reached across the bed, hoping to find Gilbert beside her, but her questing hand met only rumpled sheets. Disappointment twisted in her chest, surprising her with its intensity. She had not anticipated that she would care quite so much about his absence so soon.

Her gaze fell to the faintly indented pillow where his head had rested hours before. She closed her eyes briefly, the hazy memory of their quiet journey from the drawing room to her chambers slipping into focus.

After the fire in the drawing room had burned low, they had lingered, hesitant to allow the moment between them to end. Gilbert had reached for her hand, his grip tentative.

“Shall I see you to your room?” he had asked softly.

“Yes,” Diana had replied, her own voice barely above a whisper.

The corridors had been dim, and their footsteps were muffled by the thick carpets. When they reached her door, she had hesitated, her fingers brushing the latch. For a moment, she had been unsure whether to invite him inside or bid him goodnight. But Gilbert, as though sensing her uncertainty, had leaned close, his breath warm against her temple.

“If you wish it, Diana,” he had murmured.

Her response had been a simple nod, and she had stepped aside to let him in. The quiet intimacy that followed—how he had held her as they slipped beneath the covers, his arm drawing her close, and their bodies fitting together as if it were the most natural thing in the world—had surprised her with its ease. They had fallen asleep that way, the warmth of his breath against her hair lulling her into a peace she had not thought possible.

As she slipped from beneath the covers and drew on her robe, she smiled to herself as she replayed the nostalgic moment. She crossed over to the window, gazing down onto the empty street below. Rivenhall House remained quiet in the early hours, and only the faint clatter of a distant milk cart met her ears. And yet, the disappointment she felt lingered over her like a cloud.

A soft knock at the door drew her attention. Ruth entered with a polite curtsy, a parcel balanced carefully in her hands.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” the maid greeted. “A parcel has just arrived for you along with a note from His Grace.”

“Thank you, Ruth,” she replied, accepting the neatly sealed envelope and the sizable wrapped bundle. She waited until Ruth stepped back before untying the ribbon. Inside, she found a rich, dark-blue evening gown, the sumptuous fabric gleaming in the early light. Slipping her fingers over the layers, Diana marveled at the embroidery tracing its neckline and sleeves; subtle, refined, and undeniably elegant.

Her gaze then dropped to the letter. Gilbert’s strong script stood out in bold relief:

My dear Diana,

Forgive my early departure—estate matters demanded my attention.

I have arranged for you to visit Madame Beaulieu at midday to discuss your broader wardrobe needs.

This gown, however, is for tonight.

I shall be honored to escort you to the theatre at eight.

—G

A soft smile lit up her eyes. She carefully re-folded the note, pressing it to her chest as she savored the dual pangs of relief and anticipation. The memory of the previous night’s intimacy continued to flicker through her thoughts, warming her cheeks.

“Shall I bring the hip bath now, Your Grace?” Ruth asked gently, drawing Diana’s attention back to the present. The maid’s discreet glance took in the gown with quiet approval.

“Yes, please,” Diana replied, setting the bundle aside. “Then, if you would, help me prepare a response to His Grace. He should know I received his generous gift.”

Ruth curtsied once more. “Of course, Your Grace.”

When she departed, Diana picked up the evening gown, letting the smooth fabric slide through her fingers. She imagined how it would catch the lamplight in the theatre box, how she might look, seated beside Gilbert for all to see. The notion both thrilled and unsettled her. It was, after all, part of their plan: to present the Duke and Duchess of Rivenhall in all the confidence and unity their station demanded. However, a part of her hoped the evening would be more than a mere show for the ton.

Her reflection in the looking glass revealed a faint flush on her cheeks. She recalled the gentleness of Gilbert’s touch and the hushed intensity of his voice when he spoke her name. The possibility that he might be as attentive tonight, in public as well as in private, made her heart flutter a little faster.

She carefully draped the gown over a nearby chair. Then, noticing a smaller velvet box tucked amongst the tissue, she opened it to discover a pair of dazzling sapphire earrings and a matching pendant; simple yet unmistakably regal.

He thinks of every detail.

Between the dress, the jewels, and her upcoming visit to Madame Beaulieu, Gilbert was evidently determined to ensure she looked every bit the Duchess of Rivenhall.

Moments later, another knock sounded. Ruth reappeared, this time with a slightly flustered expression.

“Your Grace. Lady Alison has called upon you. She insists it is urgent.”

Diana’s brows rose in a mixture of curiosity and surprise. “So early? Very well, show her in. It would not be the first time my sister and I readied ourselves in the morning.”

Moments later, Alison swept into the room, her cheeks pink from the brisk morning air. Her gaze fell immediately on Diana, still in her dressing gown, and then to the dark-blue gown draped over the chair.

“Diana, forgive the intrusion, but I simply could not wait,” Alison said, her voice bright with excitement. “I had to see how you are settling into life as a duchess.”

Diana smiled wryly, gesturing for Ruth to continue her preparations as she turned her attention to Alison.

“As you can see, it is still quite early in the day for duchessing. Though I did receive this,” she added, nodding toward the gown.

“That is stunning. Did Gilbert choose it?” Alison stepped closer, feeling the rich fabric, and admiring the accompanying jewels.

“He did,” Diana replied, a faint blush rising to her cheeks. “It seems he intends for us to make quite the impression at the theatre tonight.”

“Diana,” Alison said with a teasing grin, “you have already made quite the impression… on him, it seems.”

It is a new world, Alison,” Diana shook her head, her smile softening. “I am learning how to navigate it, one gown and one gesture at a time.”

“And how do you feel about it all?” Alison pressed gently.

“Unsure,” Diana admitted after a pause. “But there are small, precious moments when it feels as though this might not just be an arrangement. Last night… and this morning…” She glanced toward the letter and gown. “It feels as though we are finding our way.”

Alison nodded thoughtfully. “Then hold on to that, Diana. It sounds like you have been given something many in your position never have: a chance.”

She turned toward the bellpull just as Ruth returned with word that the servants were preparing her bathwater and setting up the portable tub in the adjoining room.

Ruth returned to help Diana dress, and Alison sat by the window, her chatter filling the room with its familiar warmth. But Diana’s thoughts remained on Gilbert: his note, his choices, his steady presence. She resolved to meet him tonight, not as a woman uncertain of her place, but as a true duchess, ready to stand by his side so they could face the world together.

For the second time, she dared to believe that their union could be more than duty, more than necessity. Perhaps, it could grow into something real.

Diana stepped down from the carriage into the bright midday sun, smoothing the front of her day dress as she cast a glance at the tidy facade before her.

Overhead, a modest sign read Madame Beaulieu: Modiste de la Cour , and despite the unassuming exterior, she could sense the promise of finely crafted garments awaiting within.

Stepping inside, she found herself instantly greeted by a waft of lavender sachets and the rustle of silk. Bolts of luxurious fabrics in every hue crowded shelves and tables, while prim and efficient assistants hurried by with pins and measuring tapes in hand.

A petite woman with keen blue eyes and impeccably coiffed hair approached, sweeping a graceful curtsy. “Your Grace,” she murmured with reverent warmth. “Welcome to my establishment. I am Madame Beaulieu. It is my great pleasure to serve you.”

Diana inclined her head politely, only now realizing how much her new title still took her by surprise. “Thank you, Madame,” she replied softly. “I look forward to discussing the particulars of a new wardrobe.”

“Of course,” Madame Beaulieu responded, leading Diana deeper into the shop.

They passed tall mirrors framed in gilt, plush chairs draped in patterned shawls, and mannequins clad in unfinished gowns awaiting final touches. Assistants scurried about, their expressions briefly turning to awe once they became aware of Diana’s presence. A few customers discreetly peered from behind muslin curtains, no doubt curious to see the new Duchess of Rivenhall.

Madame Beaulieu led her to a private fitting area at the back of the shop; a cozy alcove shielded by a brocade screen. Soft lamplight glowed from a crystal chandelier overhead, illuminating the large mirror and raised platform in the center.

“Please, Your Grace,” she invited, directing Diana to step onto the low dais. “If you do not mind, we shall begin by assessing measurements and discussing designs, that we may best flatter your figure and suit your station.”

The modiste’s assistants fluttered about in a well-choreographed flurry. One carefully removed Diana’s pelisse, while another held a tape measure, waiting for Madame Beaulieu’s signal. Diana felt a hint of self-consciousness prickle the back of her neck.

When Alison and I prepared for the Season, we had only our family’s modest purse and a small local dressmaker, and we carefully considered every yard of cloth and every penny spent.

Now, the vastness of available silks and embellishments seemed almost overwhelming.

Madame Beaulieu, noticing her hesitation, offered a reassuring smile.

“Do you have any preferences, Your Grace? Certain colors or styles that you favor?” she asked, speaking gently but confidently. “We can follow the modern silhouettes, or something a trifle more traditional; whatever best aligns with your tastes.”

Diana considered the question. Her mind darted back to the modest gowns she had often worn, to how she and Alison would pore over fashion plates they could scarcely afford to copy. Yet she now bore the title of duchess, with all the expectation and freedom the designation entailed.

Clearing her throat, she lifted her chin. “I…should like designs of simple elegance,” she ventured. “Fabrics that move well and do not overwhelm. Subdued embroidery, perhaps, rather than gaudy ornamentation.”

Madame Beaulieu’s eyes gleamed with approval.

“An excellent choice. Understated grace can speak volumes more than excessive trimmings. I believe a few gowns in refined tints—soft greens, dusky roses, perhaps even a gentle gold, would flatter your complexion quite well. Of course, we may also craft some bolder pieces for grand events, should you wish to be noticed.”

Diana managed a faint smile, feeling her cheeks redden. “I appreciate your expertise, Madame. I do wish to uphold my duties as the Duchess of Rivenhall, yet not appear too brazen in my style.”

With that, measuring tapes unfurled and pins appeared from nowhere. The assistants fussed around Diana’s shoulders, waist, and hips with practiced efficiency.

Now and then, Madame Beaulieu posed questions about Diana’s usual activities, the types of events she might attend, and her favorite shades. Each inquiry reminded Diana of how different her life had become in such a short span of time. At last, the modiste stepped back, consulting her notes.

“Very good, Your Grace. I already envision at least three gowns that would suit your figure magnificently, along with matching accessories. Shall we also consider a riding habit and one or two morning dresses? I suspect you will soon be quite busy on the social rounds.”

Diana exhaled a quiet laugh. “You are most thorough, Madame. Yes, a riding habit might be useful. And I suppose more than one morning dress is in order.”

Between estate matters and the demands of London society, I shall need a wardrobe that surpasses anything I have ever owned.

Although the prospect was daunting, a small thrill erupted in her stomach at the prospect of embracing her role.

Madame Beaulieu tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Then we are in agreement. My assistants will draw up preliminary sketches for you to review. Once you select your favorites, we can begin the actual fittings.”

Diana gave a grateful nod. “Thank you, Madame. I look forward to seeing what you devise. I confess having so many choices is quite new to me.”

“Never fear, Your Grace,” Madame Beaulieu assured, gathering her measuring tapes. “We shall navigate these choices together, and soon you will have a wardrobe worthy of any ball, salon, or dinner. A duchess must command attention wherever she goes.”

The modiste’s confidence buoyed Diana’s spirits, and she found herself smiling genuinely.

“Then I place myself in your capable hands,” she said, stepping down from the dais with the aid of an assistant’s guiding arm.

Though I once scrimped and saved for a single Season’s gowns, now I am on the receiving end of a full suite of fashions. How quickly the world can change.

Gathering her gloves and reticule, she prepared to depart. Madame Beaulieu curtsied deeply, promising to send along sketches within the next two days.

Stepping out into the bright afternoon, Diana drew a fortifying breath, letting the bustle of London remind her of all that lay ahead. As her carriage rolled away from the modiste’s shop, she pressed a hand lightly against her heart.

For all the uncertainties swirling in her life, at least she could now face the ton in style, secure in the knowledge that she would do so as the Duchess of Rivenhall, with new gowns fit for every occasion.