The Duchess Deal (Girl Meets Duke #1)(59)

“You seem to know something about books,” he said to Alexandra. “Perhaps you could be so good as to lend me your expertise.”

“Surely you don’t need my help.”

“I think I do. You see, I need to purchase some books for a pair of young girls, and I’ve absolutely no idea where to start. What do you think of these?” He showed her the collection he’d amassed, leaning close.

“Oh.” Every bit of Alexandra froze. Even her eyelashes. After several moments, she seemed to recall she was meant to examine his books. “They’re all fairy stories.”

“That seemed the logical place to begin for girls. Which ones do you recommend?”

“Er . . . I don’t know.”

“Well, which were your favorites?”

Alexandra still hadn’t blinked. “I . . . I couldn’t say I . . .”

Emma’s face burned with second-hand embarrassment. Poor Alex.

At length, Alexandra finished her sentence in a whisper. “. . . had any.”

“Well, then.” The gentleman didn’t miss a beat, but continued on as if Alexandra had said something fascinating. Or something at all. “I suppose that means I’ll just have to buy them all, doesn’t it? Don’t know why I didn’t think of it. Thank you, Miss . . .”

“Mount.” A long pause. “Batten. Mountbatten.”

“Miss Mountbatten, I am indebted to you for your kind assistance.” A dashing smile, a gallant bow, and he was gone.

Penny waited all of three seconds before pouncing on poor, flustered Alex. “Why didn’t you talk to him?”

“I didn’t know what to say. When I was a girl, I wanted to read about pirates. I never cared about fairy stories.”

“Well, let me tell you, a great many of them start just that way.” Penny cast a wistful look after the gentleman. “You might have at least asked his name. That could have been the beginning of a romance.”

“A tragic one,” said Nicola. “He’s no doubt a shameless rake.”

“Yes, let’s tell ourselves that,” Emma said.

“Oh, no!” Alex moaned, heedless of their romantic musings. “I can’t believe it. Look.” She held up the book in her hands for their view.

“A Compendium of Stories for Obedient Girls?” Emma read aloud. “Well that sounds dreadful.”

“It is dreadful. The gentleman must have confused my book for one of his. He’s stuck me with fairy stories, and he’s walked away with Messier’s Catalogue of Star Clusters and Nebulae. It could take me months to find another used copy. I can’t afford it new.”

“And that is why you ought to have asked his name,” Penny said.

Emma intervened. “Be gentle with her. Any one of us would have panicked. Including me, and I’m married to an intimidating fellow myself.”

An intimidating, unfeeling, insulting beast of a fellow, to put a finer point on it. She was still smarting after the way he’d rejected the wardrobe. Well, it was what she deserved for putting her heart into it. Someday she might learn to stop throwing that fragile organ under men’s feet.

To distract herself, she flipped through the Parisian fashion magazine in her hand. An idea flitted through her mind, and her fingers stilled halfway through the magazine. Perhaps there were other ways she could use her skills. Duchesses didn’t engage in trade, but charitable causes? Now that was a different matter. Perhaps she could help others like Miss Palmer. Women who, for one reason or another, found themselves in need of a fresh start.

Women who might appreciate her efforts, unlike a certain ungrateful duke.

“Wienerbr?d.”

This non sequitur came from Nicola.

“Your pet names for the duke,” she said, leafing through a cookery book. “Add it to the list. It’s a Viennese pastry. Wienerbr?d.”

Emma burst into laughter. Oh, how she’d needed that today. “Thank you, Nicola. That’s perfection.”

That pet name was so thoroughly absurd and humiliating, her husband just might deserve it.



The Strand was a crush of carts and carriages. By the time Emma made her way home from the bookshop, dusk had fallen. She unbuttoned her pelisse as she moved down the corridor, planning to flop onto the bed for a sleep before dinner. She’d been fatigued of late.

Upon entering her bedchamber, however, she stopped in place, surprised by a glimpse of scarlet peeking out from behind her bed hangings.

Setting aside her bonnet and gloves, she walked to the bed as a pilgrim approaches an altar. Her heart began to pound.

There, laid out across the quilted coverlet, was a gown of the finest material she’d ever touched. She fingered the edge of the fabric wonderingly. Ruby-red silk gauze layered over an ivory satin, conspiring to create a rich, shimmering blush. The cut was a daring Continental silhouette, with cap sleeves that settled just beneath the shoulder and a neckline positioned to skim the bosom. No spangles, no lace. The only adornments were tasteful, exquisitely embroidered flowers and vines decorating the hem, sleeves, and décolletage.

The gown resembled a rose abloom in the midst of a garden.

Once she drew her gaze from the gown, she noticed the rest of an ensemble lay nearby: heeled slippers with rosettes, flouncy tulle petticoats, satin evening gloves, an embroidered chemise, and a fashionable divorce corset. And it didn’t end there. Her dressing table was laden, too. Stockings, garters, jeweled combs for her hair . . .