Page 20 of The Duke’s Indecent Scandal (Indecent Dukes #1)
Chapter Nineteen
T iffany
Despite what Lady Tremaine had said about blues and greens and Tiffany’s coloring, Tiffany’s mother seemed determined that everything about her wedding should be yellow, cream, and gold. As the Duchess of Clarence had been thrilled at the idea of such ‘bright’ spring colors, Tiffany could hardly gainsay her mother.
Not that she would have dared, anyway.
Arriving at Bruton Street, she went into the dressmakers with the two mothers, already resigned to wearing whatever her own mother might choose for her. Lady Tremaine and Lady Louisa were there waiting for them so they could choose the fabric for Lady Louisa’s gown as well.
Luckily for Louisa, she looked rather well in multiple shades of yellow.
“Madame Allard will be with you momentarily,” the modiste’s assistant said after greeting their little crowd.
“Ooh, mama, what about this one?” Louisa asked, tapping her finger against one of the bolts of fabric on display. It was a gauzy pastel yellow, decorated with embroidery. Immediately, Lady Tremaine and Tiffany’s mother converged on her, cooing over how pretty she would look.
“Have you thought about what color you would like to wear?” The Duchess of Clarence nearly made Tiffany jump out of her skin. She had not realized the petite woman was beside her. The older woman moved very quietly when she wanted to, not drawing attention to herself, despite the brightness of her pink and green striped dress with the panels of ruffles in the same fabric going down either side of her skirt.
“White, I presume,” she said with a bit of trepidation. It was hard enough not to spill anything on a gown with color on it; white was going to be a particular trial.
“Ah, yes, the queen did set a bit of a fashion, did she not?” The duchess shook her head, leaning in to whisper to Tiffany as if revealing a dire secret. “I must confess, I miss the days when one could be more colorful at their wedding ceremony.”
Tiffany could not help but laugh, because she rather thought the duchess would be happy if all the fashions tended toward bright colors. Unfortunately, her laughter drew her mother’s attention back to her, away from Lady Louisa. She felt the sharp glare, the hint of a downturned lip, like a cut against her amusement.
Too loud. Too boisterous. Too something.
Whatever it was, she knew she would hear the lecture later.
Thankfully, her mother did not have the opportunity to begin such a lecture now, as the curtain to the back of the shop was pulled back, and Madame Allard escorted a beautiful woman with mahogany brown hair and startlingly light amber eyes out from the room there. Now, there was a woman who looked well in yellow. She was older than Tiffany, perhaps in her late twenties, and had an enviable amount of confidence in her stance. Her dress was a deep, rich yellow, like the leaves in the fall, trimmed with black. A large yellow topaz pin set in gold decorated her hat, holding a length of shimmering yellow ribbon in place against the black headpiece.
The woman’s golden gaze swept around the room, taking in all of them, and she gave the mothers a deferential nod. Tiffany’s mother barely nodded back, though Gregory’s mother smiled and nodded at her. Lady Tremaine’s acknowledgment fell somewhere in between the two.
“ Merci , Baroness,” Madame Allard said, escorting the woman to the door. “The gown will be ready for you in three days.”
“Perfect. Thank you, Madame Allard.” The baroness had a throaty voice, the kind that Tiffany had always wanted. Just hearing her made Tiffany feel positively squeaky.
Louisa sidled up to Tiffany’s side, surprising her by leaning in to whisper in Tiffany’s ear as the baroness went out the door.
“Did you hear? She was the Duke of Grafton’s mistress, but now that he is looking for a bride, they have parted ways. They say she is looking for a new lover and that instead of properly searching for a wife, he’s been glaring at any man who dares speak to her.” Lady Louisa sounded thrilled, and she was not looking at Tiffany, thankfully, because Tiffany did not know how to respond.
She’d overheard gossip at several of the events she’d been to this Season, but she’d never had any come to her to share gossip. Responding to gossip was certainly not a conversational skill her mother had ever tested her on.
“The duke is friends with your brother, is he not?” Louisa turned to look at Tiffany now, an eager expression on her face. “Do you know if it is true that Grafton is in love with her?”
“I… do not know.” It was the truth. “Sebastian would not talk about his friend’s mistress with me.”
“Oh.” Louisa sighed with disappointment.
“Louisa, come here and speak with Madame.” Lady Tremaine called her daughter over to where Madame Allard had now joined the mothers, leaving Tiffany alone.
Her chest felt strangely tight again. It was true—Sebastian would not talk about his friend’s mistresses with her. It would be wildly inappropriate. Though Tiffany understood that gentlemen had mistresses, women they sought love and pleasure from outside of their marriages, no one was supposed to actually speak of such things to a debutante.
Which meant if Gregory had a recent mistress or if he had one right now, Sebastian would not tell her.
Her stomach flipped over before she remembered that Lady Louisa likely would take great pleasure in telling Tiffany if Gregory currently had a mistress. She had not been gossiping with Tiffany to be friendly; she had been doing so because she hoped Tiffany knew something.
The hard knot in Tiffany’s stomach relaxed a bit.
Why the idea bothered her, she could not say. Plenty of gentlemen had mistresses. It was a way of life for their set. And Gregory was a rake. She could hardly expect to keep him to herself.
Putting her hand on her stomach, she breathed through the unhappiness that swirled in her belly, a technique she’d perfected over the years. Pushing down the emotions, she took one deep breath after another until she was calm again, the uneasiness in her center squashed into insignificance.
“Tiffany, stop daydreaming and come here,” her mother called out, beckoning to her as Lady Tremaine and Lady Louisa went into the backroom with Madame Allard, carrying the fabric that Louisa had picked. Her mother held up a creamy bolt of fabric. “I want to see how this would look on you.”
“Yes, mother.” Tiffany sighed inwardly and dutifully moved across the room to let her mother hold the fabric up to her. Beside her mother, the Duchess of Clarence frowned.
“That might work,” Tiffany’s mother said.
“It is nice,” the Duchess of Clarence agreed, though her tone of voice did not entirely match her words. “Perhaps something whiter instead of cream?”
“Perhaps.” Tiffany’s mother bristled, looking down her nose at Gregory’s mother. “I have been dressing my daughter her entire life. I think a cream will be best.”
Thus began the most uncomfortable half hour of Tiffany’s life as her mother and Gregory’s mother disagreed again and again. The worst part was hoping that Gregory’s mother would win. Despite her own clear preference for reds and rusts and oranges and yellows, the Duchess of Clarence suggested blues, greens, and purples for Tiffany.
Her own mother dug in her heels on all of them, in the politest manner possible.
By the time Lady Tremaine and Lady Louisa emerged from the back room, the duchesses were glaring at each other and speaking through gritted teeth. Tiffany had no idea what to do and was reduced to silently wringing her hands. To take her mother’s side was to alienate her future mother-in-law; to take the Duchess of Clarence’s side was to betray her mother.
“I will get her the blue as a gift,” the Duchess of Clarence said, lifting her chin up. “It need not be part of her trousseau.”
“Well.” Tiffany’s mother seemed at a loss for words as she was outmaneuvered by her fellow duchess.
“Thank you,” Tiffany said quietly to the duchess, hoping to break some of the tension. “That is very thoughtful of you.”
“Oh, yes, that is a beautiful blue,” Lady Tremaine said, coming forward to inspect the bolt the Duchess of Clarence had chosen. “It will be lovely on you, Tiffany. Such a wonderful gift, Marguerite.”
“Then that is what I will do,” the duchess said, shooting a look of challenge at Tiffany’s mother, who had suddenly become very interested in the array of bronze fabrics beside her. She missed the look entirely, though Lady Tremaine caught it and appeared confused.
There was no explanation, however, as Tiffany was hustled into the back room along with the two mothers. She was rather disappointed that Lady Tremaine and Lady Louisa opted to go to the milliner next door rather than staying for her fitting. Of course, it would have been a very tight squeeze to have all the women in the back room, but she had hoped that Lady Tremaine might lend the Duchess of Clarence some support.
Up on the pedestal, fabrics were draped and hung around Tiffany. As usual, Madame Allard and Tiffany’s mother carried on the discussion. Despite what Tiffany’s mother had said to Lady Tremaine previously, the fabrics that she was having the assistant fetch for Tiffany’s trousseau were all her usual colors and shades.
“Mother,” Tiffany said hesitantly after the fifth dress had been added to the tally. “You said I could have some blues and greens, too.” The blue bolt the Duchess of Clarence had chosen was stunning, but Tiffany had seen another that she hoped to look at…
The duchess’ insistence on a blue and Lady Tremaine’s comments had given her unusual courage.
“Do not be greedy, Tiffany,” her mother said sharply. Beside her, the Duchess of Clarence stirred. Her mother sighed, putting her fingers to her temple as if signaling yet another megrim. “I suppose we can add one or two… yes, one of each. One green and one blue.”
It was more than Tiffany could have hoped for.
“Come, Bridgit,” Tiffany’s mother said, gesturing at the assistant. “I will show you the ones I want.”
Bridgit drew back the curtain for her and Tiffany’s mother to return to the front just as the shop’s door opened, and Lady Tremaine and Lady Louisa returned, followed by Lady Astrid and a maid.
“Susan! You must come next door; they have the perfect hat for you, but I saw Lady Greywood eyeing it. You must come at once.”
“Oh, well…” Tiffany’s mother halted. “We are still working on Tiffany’s trousseau…” But from her voice, it was clear she wanted to go see the hat Lady Tremaine was so excited about.
“You must be almost finished. Duchess Clarence can help her. Would you mind, Marguerite?” Lady Tremaine asked.
“I would be delighted,” Gregory’s mother replied, jumping to her feet from where she’d been sitting and coming forward. “Having no daughter of my own, I am thoroughly enjoying assisting Tiffany.”
“Well… she still needs to try on her gown for the engagement ball tonight…” Tiffany’s mother was hedging, obviously not wanting to leave the modistes before their trip had finished.
“If Lady Greywood purchases the hat, you will be devastated when you see her wearing it, I promise you.” Lady Tremaine shook her head.
“I am happy to assist as well,” Lady Astrid said. “As Tiffany and I will be duchesses together, I should like to get to know her better. Do go on, Duchess Bolton. I am sure you do not want to miss this hat. It truly is quite splendid.”
There was something sardonic to the way she said the words, and it was a clear order… yet Tiffany’s mother did not protest. Instead, she allowed Lady Tremaine and her daughter to usher her out of the modiste, though she did not seem entirely happy about it.
“My goodness,” Lady Astrid said, walking into the backroom after pointing her maid to a seat in the front. She frowned as she looked at the fabrics around them. “What is all this?”
“My trousseau,” Tiffany said with a sigh. She gestured at the cream-colored bolt that had been set off to the side. “And my wedding gown.”
“Absolutely not.” Lady Astrid turned to Madame Allard, hands on her hips. “I am shocked you allowed this. You assured me that you never allow a woman to purchase a gown that will not flatter her. Did you do all of Lady Tiffany’s gowns for this Season?”
The modiste had a slight look of panic on her face as she waved her hands in front of her.
“Lady Astrid… I could not deny a duchess. Duchess Bolton was very specific in her requirements for Lady Tiffany’s gowns.”
Her frown deepening, Lady Astrid stepped forward and tugged at the fabric draped over Tiffany’s form and took her first good look at her undergarments.
“What is that?”
“I was wondering that as well,” Gregory’s mother admitted.
“The Duchess of Bolton was very specific—” Madame Allard started to say tremulously before Lady Astrid whirled around and pinned her with a look.
“I am now going to be very specific because Lady Tiffany is going to be the Duchess of Clarence, and if you do not do exactly as I say, you are going to experience the displeasure of three duchesses, not one.”
The flurry of activity that Lady Astrid’s barking orders propelled was a rush of fabrics, ribbons, and obsequious compliments from Madame Allard. The fabrics Tiffany’s mother had picked out were discarded, including the cream for Tiffany’s wedding gown. There was no hemming and hawing by Lady Astrid.
She asked Tiffany a single question.
“You need a signature color. Blue or green?”
“Blue,” Tiffany replied faintly.
And that was enough. Within ten minutes, all the fabrics Tiffany’s mother had chosen had been replaced at Lady Astrid’s direction, with the Duchess of Clarence’s rather gleeful encouragement. New bolts were chosen, new designs picked out of a book, and new undergarments ordered.
Tiffany was unsure, nervy over her mother’s likely reaction, but she knew that she was tired of yellow. She was tired of orange. She liked blue. She wanted blue. And by the time her mother saw the gowns, she would hopefully already be in Clarence House.
So, when Lady Astrid picked out an icy blue, so light in hue it was nearly white, for her wedding gown, Tiffany nodded.
Her heart was pounding near out of her chest, but things moved so quickly—including trying on her engagement ball gown and the demands Lady Astrid made for changes to it—she did not have time to grow fearful or change her mind.
Neither did she have time to consider the implications of Madame Allard’s words until after they’d left the shop.
Her mother had given the modiste particular direction on how to dress Tiffany. The style, the colors… and the modiste had not denied Lady Astrid’s accusation that Tiffany’s gowns had not been flattering on her. Yet they had been created to her mother’s strict specifications.
Which begged the question… had her mother purposefully chosen the styles and colors to be unflattering on her?
If she had, why had she done that to her own daughter?
And did Tiffany really want to know the answer?