Chapter Twenty-Seven
The following morning Warwick paid his biannual visit to his tailor. It was a regular appointment to keep his wardrobe in good condition and up to date. In nearly ten years, he hadn’t changed the date nor what he purchased.
“Two new coats for you, Your Grace,” the man asked soon after he’d walked in.
“Yes, Mr. Weston, as usual. And three shirts this time. My valet was bemoaning the state of my linen recently,” the duke said, without even a glance at the man as he looked through a table covered in different fabrics.
“Can I interest you in a waistcoat or two, as well? I have some very fine—”
“No, no. My waistcoats are perfectly serviceable, thank you.” He was fingering a particularly fine blue wool. It was nearly the same color as the dress Miss Rowan had made for M
