Duke of Lust (Sinful Dukes #3)

Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

A nnabelle’s gave a yelp of horrified surprise, jumping back from him as though he had transformed into some terrible beast.

“Despite your innocence, your imagination is perhaps more sordid than mine has ever been, Lady Annabel,” he teased her. “I meant only that you will be attending an array of evening entertainments at my side, in order to broaden your male acquaintance. One way or another, I shall find you a suitable husband before the season is out. Are we agreed?”

“Well…yes… thank you, but why must you always tease me?” Annabelle said crossly, ever more stirred up and confused about how to act in Frederick’s presence.

She did not know whether she more wanted to stick out her tongue at him, slap him or hug him out of gratitude. Maybe all of them.

“Because you make it so easy,” Frederick said thoughtfully, considering her question seriously. “I suppose I also…like teasing you.”

That fierce interest glinted once more in Frederick’s blue eyes as he contemplated both Annabelle and his answer to her question. She continued to blush deeply. There was something like a powerful hunger in his gaze and at that moment she sensed she was in danger of becoming its object, just as that other woman had been yesterday in his bedroom.

“I must sleep now,” she said with a squeak in her voice and was relieved that Frederick did not attempt to halt her flight from the room.

Frederick was already in the breakfast room again the next morning when Annabelle came downstairs, folding his newspaper and giving her his full attention and a brilliant, if somewhat forced, smile as soon as she entered the room.

“Have there been any letters this morning?” Annabelle asked politely after exchanging the usual morning greetings and taking her seat with a carefully controlled dignity that belied the tumult of her emotions.

Their exchange in the drawing room the previous evening echoed in her head even more loudly in Frederick’s presence than it had done upstairs as she dressed with Myrtle. His offer had been a peculiar one and she still did not know exactly how to take it, or how to interpret it the words – and touches – they had exchanged.

“Not this morning,” Frederick answered her question, shaking his head.

“Oh,” Annabelle said, slightly surprised. “I thought I saw a messenger leaving from the window of my room while I was dressing.”

Frederick shook his head again and grinned.

“There have been no messages received today at Heartwick Hall. I do admit, however, that I did dispatch a message to London first thing this morning. If you are to find a husband this season, you must be suitably educated and attired. We should have a visitor this afternoon who can help with this.”

“A visitor?” Annabelle asked with a smile, unable to hide her automatic excitement, even though she knew Frederick was likely to be teasing her a little with his deliberately intriguing turn of phrase. “Who is coming to call? Is it anyone I know?”

“Perhaps you might… Do you know Madame Deveaux?”

“The modiste ? Of course. I mean, I know of her. She is the finest dressmaker in London. Stephen and Mother say she is too French and I have never had a dress from her, but her gowns are quite wonderful on other ladies. But why is she coming here?”

Frederick laughed at this question.

“Why, she’s coming to dress you, of course, Annabelle. I am not in the market for new French gowns myself, and nor is Duchess Sarah.”

“Me?” Annabelle questioned, both shocked and pleased. “But Stephen…”

“Stephen isn’t here,” Frederick interrupted her. “I am, and I know Madame Deveaux well. She will make you gowns that are as modest and becoming as you wish. If you are to set out on a quest for a husband, I believe you will be best equipped to do so with a new wardrobe.”

For a few moments, it felt as though the sun shone in Annabelle’s heart and she even clapped her hands like a child at the thought of such fun. A new gown from Madame Deveaux! A whole new wardrobe from Madame Deveaux! Frederick was smiling with her, seeming equally happy at the prospect. Then Annabelle remembered herself. She was not a child, after all.

“But it’s too much, Frederick,” she said with a sigh. “Far too much.”

“No, it isn’t,” he stated firmly. “I have more money than I need and I like making you presents just as much as I like teasing you, Annabelle. If you let me do the first, perhaps I will learn to restrain myself from the second.”

Despite her best efforts, she could not help returning the smile that accompanied these humorous words. They made her feel warm inside and slightly achy, as though she actually wanted him to make her gifts and tease her but could not ask.

“I have also given Myrtle the day off and she has already departed to visit her niece,” Annabelle pointed out. “Surely I would need a lady’s maid to help me if I am ordering new clothes. I am not very good at describing fit and fabric and so on, Frederick. I might get everything wrong without Myrtle.”

“You have me,” he said. “However my experience has been acquired, I promise that you will find me a more than competent in all necessary respects. No woman has ever complained about a dress I have had made for her.”

“Oh,” Annabelle responded, these reassurances provoking both further warmth in her belly and dismay at the thought that Frederick had likely commissioned Madame Deveaux to make dresses for many of his paramours.

“So, you see, there are no real objections to be made,” said her breakfast companion finally. “It is all settled.”

“Then, I can only thank you,” she said haltingly at last. “I did not expect anything like this when you said you would help me.”

Frederick grinned at her, and pushed a plate of fresh lemon cake across the table towards her.

“Do not overthink matters,” he said. “Just enjoy.”

Was that his personal motto in life, Annabelle wondered?

“This must be the young lady you mentioned, Your Grace?” said the Frenchwoman, looking Annabelle up and down critically as though she was a prize heifer at the fair, both with the lorgnettes that hung from her neck and without.

At first, Annabelle felt very English, clumsy and frumpily dressed under the eye of this elegant continental lady of around fifty years, whose figure would have been the envy of any women twenty years her junior. Then, she realized that the modiste’s expression was one of interest and satisfaction, not negative judgement of any sort, and she relaxed a little.

“Yes, this is Lady Annabelle Elkins, a good family friend who is staying with us for some time,” Frederick introduced her. “Annabelle's brother is Lord Emberly and her father is the Duke of Colborne.”

“A good family,” nodded Madame Deveaux, with a knowing smile. “But very conservative, non ? I see that much even in the lines of your dress, Lady Annabelle.”

“I suppose they are,” Annabelle admitted with a sigh. “My brother is generous with my clothing allowance but I have only ever had dresses from my mother’s dressmaker, Mrs. Fenchurch.”

“A very good dressmaker, at least for the older lady,” said Madame Deveaux understandingly. “Your present dress is of excellent quality. Mrs. Fenchurch uses only the best fabrics and her workers are all highly skilled, but none of them have ever been to Paris.”

Frederick’s mouth quirked in a little smile.

“I think that that is exactly what Annabelle needs, clothes that look like they could have come from Paris. Am I right, Annabelle?”

Annabelle imagined herself walking along the Mall in an elegant Parisian walking dress and jacket of the latest cut. In her fantasy, other young ladies looked at her enviously and young men asked their sisters who she was… It felt like an impossible daydream but Madame Deveaux was here in front of her now with bags full of plates, samples and color swatches.

“Yes, I would like that,” she said very quietly, making Frederick laugh again and turn his teasing blue eyes to her in fun.

“I assure you, Madame Deveaux, Lady Annabelle is far more enthusiastic about this venture than she might seem at the present moment.”

“I know she is, Your Grace,” said the modiste , somewhat reprovingly. “I can see it in her eyes.”

She smiled kindly at the younger woman and picked up her bags. Madame Deveaux seemed to somehow instinctively understand people and treat them as equals without seeming to violate the code of respect for rank. Annabelle decided that she liked her, whatever her past connections with Frederick may have been.

“Come, let us go to your dressing room and begin our work,” said the dressmaker.

At these words, Annabelle halted and looked uncertainly between Frederick and the Frenchwoman.

“Madame Deveaux can hardly measure you up and drape you in samples in the drawing room, can she?” snorted Frederick at Annabelle’s hesitation and then chuckled. “Witmore might come in.”

“I will follow you, Lady Annabelle,” Madame Deveaux said, ignoring Frederick’s jibes. “We will do your fittings however you wish.”

Annabelle nodded and walked upstairs at the Frenchwoman’s side, Frederick a little behind them and humming a tune to himself lightly under his breath.

To Annabelle’s consternation, he followed them into her bedroom and through to the dressing room door. Now she did feel some panic about what she was getting herself into.

Was Frederick actually expecting to stay in the room with her while she undressed? He was an utter rake after all, but she had no reasons to think he really had designs on her, his sister’s best friend whom he had known since childhood.

Luckily, Madame Deveaux soon took control of the situation.

“Now, Your Grace, you will stay here in the bedroom and look through my bag of plates and samples to make some first suggestions for your young friend. We can trust your eye, I know. Meanwhile, I shall go with Lady Annabelle into the dressing room and take the necessary measurements.”

To Annabelle’s relief, Frederick nodded as though this was what he had been expecting all along. Presumably it was. It was only her own naivety that had suggested anything else.

“I was thinking soft colors, like springtime,” he said, opening the bag. “Bluebell and hyacinth, like Annabelle’s eyes, and light greens and yellows. Simple clean lines too, and not too much heavy fabric. People must see Annabelle’s body as well as her gowns. Presently, she sometimes looks a prisoner inside them.”

“I agree,” the modiste nodded with amusement, even as Annabelle made a sound of indignation at this characterization of her present mode of dress.

Ushering Annabelle in front of her, Madame Deveaux closed the dressing room door behind them and took out her measuring tapes and notebook while Annabelle stripped down to her petticoats.

“Take off all but your stockings and stays and put this on,” the older woman instructed.

She handed Annabelle a pale dressing gown of the finest oyster-colored silk while she herself had donned an apron with many pockets.

“Mrs. Fenchurch always measures over my petticoats,” noted Annabelle uncertainly.

“Mrs. Fenchurch is likely under instruction from your mother not to make your gowns too form-fitting or to draw too much attention to your body’s curves,” the Frenchwoman smiled. “But if you are hunting for a husband, I think your dress requirements are a little different this season, non ?”

“Frederick told you that?” said Annabelle with self-conscious dismay but the Frenchwoman demurred.

“No, but the duke did tell me that you wished to make a strong statement this season. There is usually only one reason why a young lady should have such a wish and I have been around long enough to know it, Lady Annabelle. Your friend did not betray your confidence.”

“Oh. I must sound very foolish to you, wanting to dress up like an elegant Parisian lady and find a husband when I am really only short and chubby and English.”

Madame Deveaux tutted and frowned at this assertion, her back turned slightly to allow Annabelle the chance to undress further with some modesty.

“Nonsense. In well-fitting clothes, any woman can be elegant and many can be beautiful. You, for example, I believe could be very lovely. Your skin is perfect and your face is appealing. As for your figure, your bosom would be the envy of half of London, if they only saw more of it. Your future husband will be a very lucky man.”

Although she did not believe them, the compliments sounded sincere and made Annabelle blush with pleasure. No one had ever complemented her breasts before and she had certainly never considered anyone else envying them. In fact, she spent half of her life trying to hide them entirely or at least cover them and hold them immobile.

Once she was in the thin dressing gown, Madame Deveaux set to work taking speedy and efficient measurements and scribbling notes deftly as she moved up, down and around Annabelle’s body.

“May I see your stays?” she asked Annabelle, putting her pencil back into an apron pocket and gesturing towards the opening of the dressing gown.

Annabelle unfastened the dressing gown and showed the robust garment underneath to the modiste .

“As I thought,” the woman murmured. “Are all your stays in this style?”

Again Annabelle nodded. She had worn the same style of underwear ever since her body had first developed and no one had ever suggested she should do otherwise.

“Then, we shall have some new ones made. Your present stays are those of a young girl, constructed to hide and minimize what cannot and should not be hidden in an adult woman. You shall have more appropriate undergarments that lift and support your bosom comfortably.”

She scribbled another note on her pad as Annabelle tied up the robe again, her eyes bright with wonder. She had never had a proper conversation about underwear before. Her breasts had always seemed so large that Annabelle had assumed she was doomed to wear the plain and matronly stays provided by her mother for ever.

“Now, let us begin to look at some ideas for dresses,” said the dressmaker brightly, stepping to the door and walking back through to the bedroom, evidently expecting Annabelle to simply follow.

Annabelle, however, hung back nervously in the dressing room. She had assumed that she would dress fully again before they rejoined Frederick but apparently she had been naive once more.

Both Frederick and Madame Deveaux seemed to expect her to walk around in only her stays, stockings and the thin shimmer of a cover from the silk robe, bound only with a loose belt. Annabelle was not sure that she dared.