A Hand for the Duke

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

“Lord Ayres, what a pleasant surprise.” Tina’s mother could be heard greeting the gentleman.

“Good afternoon, Baroness,” the man said. There was a pause as Tina supposed, the gentleman bowed to the lady. “You did say for me to visit this afternoon?” he asked as if he was reminding Lady Norman of this.

“I did?” Tina’s mother asked.

“Yes, unless I got the date wrong from your letter, but I’m almost positive you had said today,” he said with a little laugh.

“You received a letter from me? But I never…” she gasped. “I confess I wrote a note, but then I didn’t mean to send it. I, er, I was going to revise it and change the date before I did so. It must have accidentally gotten mixed in with the invitations I sent out for this afternoon. I do so apologize, my lord.”

“Oh, no worries, no worries at all.” There was a pause. “It looks like you’re having quite a lovely gathering.”

Tina continued to measure Miss Sheffield even as she heard the man come closer. “Your Grace, how lovely to see you again. Lady Sorell, Lady Blakemore, Mrs. Aldridge. Goodness, what excellent company!” The man gave a little laugh. “But I seem to be interrupting something that looks distinctly feminine.”

“Yes, it is.” Lady Norman sounded flustered. “I do beg your pardon, Lord Ayres, that letter should never have been posted!”

“Not at all, not at all. And what have we here?”

Tina stood up from where she’d been bending over her sketchbook, making note of Miss Sheffield’s measurements. The gentleman was arrayed in the finest coat of bottle green with tan breeches and Hessians that shone so brilliantly you could almost see your reflection in them. His waistcoat was tan with lovely green, and gold embroidery and his neckcloth was a confection that must have taken him at least an hour to create. He was, in short, the best-dressed gentleman Tina had ever seen.

He also had intensely green eyes and, although his face was beginning to show his age—which had to be somewhere in his forties—he was still a very handsome man with light brown hair only lightly sprinkled with gray. His eyes creased with the smile that spread across his face.

“Miss Sheffield, that blue material will look absolutely stunning on you,” he said. He then turned and took a glance at the drawing Tina had made of the dress she would produce with the material now draped over Miss Sheffield’s shoulder.

“Ah, excellent, excellent,” he nodded. “I like the line, but to be most flattering to the lady, you might want to raise the décolletage just a touch.” He picked up her pencil that had been laying on top of the sketchbook and made a few adjustments. “You see, while it is a little higher—”

“You gave it a scooping shape,” Tina said, looking at how he’d adjusted the sketch.

“Yes. That way it will be more flattering to her lovely figure,” he said, giving her a smile.

“Yes, I see. It doesn’t need to be quite so low since it has that pretty shape.”

“Exactly! Although I do like the underskirt showing there. That’s a very nice touch, Miss…”

“Rowan. Tina Rowan, my lord.” Tina dipped into a curtsy.

“Tina is opening a new modiste shop,” Lady Norman said. She’d been hovering in the background, but now moved forward.

Tina paused as she looked at her mother. She looked oddly pale but had bright spots of color on her cheeks. If Tina didn’t know better, she’d think the woman was nervous or scared, but why would she be afraid of this gentleman? He seemed perfectly nice, and he certainly had an excellent eye for fashion.

“Is she? And you are helping her get started with this little gathering?” he asked, turning to Lady Norman.

“Yes. She lives in the little village near Norman Abbey. She made this dress for me, and I just knew she had to come to London,” Lady Norman said as if it had been her idea that Tina try to start a business for the ton.

Lord Ayres paused and inspected Lady Norman’s dress. “Yes. Yes, I can see a great deal of potential.”

“Potential, my lord?” Tina asked, stepping forward and looking over the dress her mother was wearing.

“Yes. It’s quite fashionable, but maybe not quite right for its wearer?” He stood back and placed a hand to his chin as he thought about it.

Tina took a closer look herself, and then it hit her. She grabbed a box of pins she’d kept on the gaming table and pinched together the back of Lady Norman’s dress, pinning to hold it so that the shoulders of the dress sat closer to the lady’s neck. “And then perhaps letting out the skirt just a touch to create more flow.”

“Yes! Brilliant! That’s exactly it! That will make it flatter her more and stand out as an exceptional gown,” he said, standing back and nodding his approval.

Tina had never really thought too much about using clothing to emphasize the better features of a lady’s figure, but even doing something so simple as what she’d just done with Lady Norman’s dress did just that—and it made all the difference! The dress was no longer hanging on the woman, but actually doing something to make her look more beautiful.

Tina turned to the gentleman. “Thank you, my lord.” She put true gratitude into her words, and clearly he heard it for he nodded his head graciously before taking Lady Norman’s arm and walking with her to the door.

What an incredible man! He had a knowledge of fashion better than many women and dressed himself to advantage as well. Tina could hardly take her eyes off him even as her mother saw him out.

“Miss Rowan, when you are ready,” Miss Sheffield said quietly, startling Tina out of her reverie.

“Oh, I do beg your pardon!” Tina said, returning to her customer.

“He is quite magnificent, isn’t he?” Miss Sheffield giggled.

“He is! And his knowledge and understanding of clothing is impressive,” Tina agreed. 

~March 24~The Duke of Warwick shuffled the papers on his desk around, but he couldn’t find what he was looking for. He rearranged everything into neat piles, one for each of his six estates, but it still wasn’t there. Finally, he gave up.

“Martin, where is that report from Hanley?”

His secretary looked up from his own desk to Warwick’s right. It was an odd situation, sharing a study with his secretary. At his country estate, Martin had his own room just off of the duke’s study, but here in town there simply wasn’t the space. Luckily, it was a good-sized room they shared.

Martin stood, grabbing a piece of paper from the corner of his desk. “It’s here.” He handed it over.

“Hadn’t you just given this to me?”

“Yes, but then I took it back.”

Warwick looked up at his secretary. He could never tell when the man was fooling with him or when he was being serious. His high, sharp cheekbones and laughing blue eyes always gave the impression of good humor, even when he was serious.

He’d known Martin nearly his entire life—Martin’s father had been secretary to Warwick’s father. They’d grown up together, even sharing a tutor, although when Warwick had gone to Eton and then Oxford, Martin had continued studying under his father and had eventually gone to a smaller university.

“Yes,” Martin said as if reading Warwick’s mind. “I gave it to you, then took it back just so you would have to ask me for it again.”

Warwick frowned at him.

Martin laughed. “I needed it in order to complete the budget you asked for,” he admitted, sitting back down at his desk.

“Ah. Thank you.” Warwick gave a little laugh and a shake of his head. He looked through the report once more, looking for particular indicators that would guide him in his planning for the following year.

The two men lapsed into silence as they both returned to their work until a knock interrupted them.

“Come!” Warwick called out.

His sister, Margaret, slipped into the room, opening the door just wide enough to allow her through.

Warwick gave her a welcoming smile. “What are you up to today?”

“I just… Do you have a minute?” she asked, approaching his desk. “Good afternoon, Martin,” she said, pausing by his secretary’s desk.

The man had risen to his feet. “Good afternoon, Lady Margaret,” he said with a small bow.

“I don’t mean to interrupt your work…” she began. Warwick noticed that her pale blue eyes looked unusually shiny as if there were tears in them threatening to fall.

“You know I will always make time for you. Is there something wrong?” Warwick said, standing up and moving toward the sofa near the fireplace and indicating his sister join him there. The heat of the fire was a little warm for him, but he was certain his sister would be glad of it. He sat at the farther end of the sofa, allowing his sister to take the side closer to the heat.

She folded her hands in her lap. “It’s just…” She paused, blinking rapidly but keeping her gaze fixed on the dark blue carpet at their feet.

“Margaret, whatever it is, you know you can talk to me,” he said gently.

She took in a breath and said, “I think I’d like to return to Warwick.”

“What? But you’re here to make your debut. I’ve already sent in your name to the Lord Chamberlain to be invited to the next drawing room held by the queen. And you only have two more years to find a husband,” he said, confused by her sudden change of heart. They’d discussed this a number of times over the past few months, and finally, he’d gotten Margaret to agree to enter society.

He was still furious at his father for stipulating in his will that Margaret be married by the age of twenty or else forfeit her dowry. The crafty man had even accounted for all the ways Warwick himself could have averted this with the threat that if he even tried, all of the family’s estates but the one property entailed to the dukedom would go to his second cousin and heir. It would leave Warwick with almost no income. He would be, essentially, a duke in name only.

No, Margaret truly had no choice but to make her entrance into society and do her best to find herself a husband. Warwick was determined she would marry no one she didn’t truly care for, ergo the need for her to start looking sooner rather than later. He swore to do everything he could to help her, including escorting her to every social occasion. It was going to be awkward, and a tad unconventional, but for his sister he would do absolutely anything.

“But you haven’t yet received the invitation to the queen’s drawing room, have you?” she asked.

“Well, no, it’s not actually been announced yet, but I imagine it can’t be too far off. And you’ve already made great headway on planning your ball, haven’t you?” he asked.

“Yes,” she hedged. “Cousin Sonora has been a wonderful help in guiding me with that.”

“Then? What’s the problem?”

“I just… I don’t know… I just don’t feel ready, that’s all,” she said to the carpet, now not meeting his eyes and beginning to wring her hands as well.

Warwick placed one of his hands over both of hers, stilling their movement. Her worried gaze flicked up to meet his. She had beautiful, expressive eyes. When he was younger, he’d always wished his had been the same color as hers rather than the dull brown that his eyes were. They did both inherit their mother’s rich brown hair though, complete with its silly curls that looked beautiful on Margaret but ridiculous on himself. He knew carefully tousled curls were all the rage for men; he just didn’t think it made him look as serious and imposing as a duke should be. His father had always bemoaned his curls as well, saying that Robert would have to work even harder to look somber, so as to be taken seriously when he became duke. He’d done his best.

“Why this sudden bout of nerves?” Warwick asked. “Has something happened? Has someone said something?”

“I met with Cousin Sonora’s modiste today,” Margaret said in a near whisper.

“Yes?” Warwick prompted his sister when she fell silent again. “And is she going to make you a beautiful gown for the ball? I suppose you need one for your court appearance as well?”

Margaret shook her head. “Florence had to ask her to leave.”

Florence was Margaret’s maid. “That was very bold of her. Why did she do this?”

“She… she…” Margaret started to blink rapidly.

“You can tell me, Margaret,” Warwick said, trying to sound as encouraging as possible while not allowing the sudden fury that had ignited in his chest to show through his words.

“She said that it would be difficult to dress me seeing as how I was so skinny. She said she would need to pad the bosom, and I might have problems managing the panniers of my court gown. Oh, and she thought I should wear the same gown to my ball as I did to court! Panniers, Warwick! To a ball!”

He shook his head. “I’m an ignorant fool, my sweet. What are panniers?”

“They’re the frame that holds a lady’s dress out to either side. They were fashionable fifty years ago. Mrs. DuBois thinks they’re still worn at court.”

“Oh! That! Good God, no! I mean, I don’t know what ladies wear to court, but they certainly don’t wear, what are they? Panniers to a ball,” he said, thinking about this. He’d had to be presented to the king after his father died and he’d taken over his duties as duke, but that wasn’t the same thing as a young lady’s court presentation.

“Feathers,” Martin added. “Ostrich feathers, I believe it is.”

“What is ostrich feathers?” Warwick asked.

“What women have to wear to court,” Margaret answered for him. “They have to wear them in their hair. Cousin Sonora says the queen is very particular about what one wears, but no one, absolutely no one, wears her court dress anywhere else but at court. Even I know that!” Margaret said becoming more forceful. Warwick took this as a good sign.

“It’s been nearly thirty years since Cousin Sonora made her debut. Clearly, this modiste didn’t know what she was talking about,” Warwick agreed.

“Not to mention that you aren’t skinny,” Martin added.

“What? No! Of course she isn’t,” Warwick agreed immediately. “You say Florence threw the woman out?”

“Yes. I was so surprised at her nerve, but after the mantua-maker had gone on for a good five minutes or more about my atrocious figure, Florence got up and apologized before saying she was afraid the lady would have to leave. Can you believe it? She told her to leave!”

“Good for her. Martin, have we given this woman a raise recently?” Warwick said, turning around to address his secretary.

“I don’t know, but I’ll be certain that she receives one,” he answered making a note on a piece of paper off one side of his desk.

“I fully support giving Florence more money. She is truly a gem. But I still wish to return to Warwick. I… I don’t think I could face coming out now. And who would want to marry a scrawny young woman such as myself? Maybe in another year I can put on some weight or, or exercise more, or—” Margaret began to flounder as her eyes filled once more with tears.