Page 34 of Duchess Needed
“And?”
“And I do not know him well enough yet to say more than that.”
Anna studied her for a moment longer, then seemed to decide this was as much as she was going to extract, and moved on.“Well. That is something, at least. Better than I feared when you first told me about the arrangement. I am glad that you are well, sister.”
Phoebe smiled, wide and genuine, pleased warmth flooding through her chest. “Thank you, Anna. That means a lot to me.”
“Of course.” Anna refilled both their cups. “Now. You mentioned in your letter that you wished to buy new dresses. Where should we go?”
The modiste's shop was a narrow, well-lit place on a street Phoebe had walked past many times without ever entering. It had always looked so distinguished, with an elite clientele that served as a sign of prestige. Phoebe would have preferred to go elsewhere but since the duke had taken the initiative to make an appointment on her behalf, she could hardly refuse.
Before she left the estate, she had been given a heavy coin purse by her husband and all he had said was,
“Spend it as you desire.”
What was inside appeared more than enough for a few years worth of dresses, and Phoebe felt as nervous as she was eager to get a few nice things for her sister too.
The woman herself – Madame Fournier, came forward from behind a bolt of silk when they entered, and her expression went through a few changes upon Phoebe brief introduction. It was almost embarrassing, having to refer to herself as the duchess of Montford, without feeling as though she was bragging, but rather than shame, she felt unworthy of the title.
“Your Grace.” A woman exclaimed with a quick, elegant bow. “We are very honoured to have you in our humble establishment.”
Phoebe had been the daughter of a viscount – then a sister of one – her entire life and had never once received that particular tone. The discomfort came from being unsure of whether the woman’s glee was genuine or fabricated.
Madame Fournier was efficient and extremely opinionated – evident in the very clear ideas about what a Duchess of Montford ought to be wearing. She brought bolt after bolt of fabrics – deep jewel tones, embroidered silks, a ludicrously elaborate evening gown with a bodice that involved what appeared to be an entire garden's worth of beadwork – and spoke about them with the cheerful authority of someone whose opinion could not be ignored.
Phoebe looked at the prices written in the small cards on each bolt and struggled to keep her expression neutral at the absurdity of it all.
“This one,” Anna exclaimed firmly, holding up a length of deep green silk against Phoebe's shoulder. “Look. It is exactly right.”
“Anna, it is –” Phoebe glanced at the card and said a prayer to the heavens. “Quite expensive.”
“You are a duchess.”
“I am very aware of that.”
“Then perhaps, it is time to start dressing like one.”
“Your sister is absolutely right, Your Grace. In that fabric, with any style, you would be the belle of the ball,” Madame Fournier promised, her thick French accent audibly noticeable.
She continued on about the history of the fabric and why it was suitable for the duchess’s skin, while Phoebe studied the green silk, recalling the colour of her husband’s eyes suddenly. Then she shifted her focus to a second one – a deep blue, which Madame Fournier said would be magnificent for an evening event – and thought of the event she was expected to make an appearance at soon.
With a deep sigh, she resigned to her fate and bought both.
Anna had also gotten a dress, a soft pink colour that Phoebe knew would make her ethereal, and although her husband’s money had paid for it then, she resolved to continue to do what she could to provide for her sister.
After they left the shop, Anna kissed her on the cheek and declared the morning an unmitigated success and Phoebe hugged her tightly as she whispered,
“I love you. I will see you soon.”
Anna smiled sweetly and echoed the sentiment and the warmth of her embrace lingered with Phoebe as she watched her sister climb into a carriage that rolled out of sight moments later.
With the day’s main event over, Phoebe put her cloak over her head and made her way through the streets, cutting through one of her least used routes in a bid to avoid suspicion as headed to her destination. It only took her slightly longer time than expected to arrive at the newspaper house, slipping through the back door stealthily as she made her way to Mr Lambert’s office.
He was without company this time, and he beckoned her over with a wave of his hand.
“Miss Danvers! Just who I wanted to see! I was concerned the affairs you had mentioned would prove to be a hindrance to your work.
Phoebe shook her head and retrieved the papers she had stashed in the pockets she had sewn into the inner lining of her cloak.
