The Luck of the Bride (The Cavensham Heiresses #3)(36)
The door chimes rang, warning another society paragon would witness her humiliation.
The young lady identified as Lady Miranda by the shopkeeper scoffed aloud, “She’s one of those women. Pitiful souls who dredge their ugly business before everyone in London.”
“Miranda, hush,” her mother scolded.
The young woman drew her attention to her mother. “Why? You think the same thing.”
Her sister reached out and placed her hand on Miranda’s arm. “Listen to Mother, Mandy,” she hissed.
Lady Miranda narrowed her gaze. “What is the matter with both of—”
“March, darling, there you are.” The Duchess of Langham stood beside her and surveyed the group.
As if in an awkward dance, all four ladies, including the seamstress, curtseyed deeply. Murmurs of “Your Grace” rang through the shop. When they raised their heads, the women’s cheeks bore a scarlet color as if subjected to a sweltering summer day.
The duchess nodded her head slightly, then turned her full attention to Mignon. “Wrap those up for me. Have them delivered to Langham Hall within the hour. Miss Lawson and I are late for tea with the duke.”
The duchess wrapped March’s arm around hers and escorted her from the shop.
A chorus of “Your Grace” followed them both outside, but the duchess didn’t spare a look back. Outside the shop, a Langham footman stood beside the black-lacquered carriage. He opened the door at first sight of the duchess. With an innate grace, she took the forward-facing seat, and March sat opposite.
“As soon as Pitts informed me you had gone on a little shopping excursion, I raced to find you.” The duchess made short work of taking off her gloves. She reached across the narrow space between and took March’s hands in her own. “Darling, only the ugliest society vultures shop at this hour. Next time, just inform me you wish to purchase a new dress, and we’ll have Mignon come to you for anything you need.”
A fierce heat burned her cheeks, and she gently shook her head. “I wasn’t shopping for a dress, just some trim. I have a few old gowns I’m altering for myself. With the upcoming ball, you and the duke have graciously offered to host for us, I can’t ask for more from you. I can’t tell you how much your generosity means to me and my family.”
The duchess’s brow wrinkled in consternation. “Darling, didn’t you order more gowns when Mignon came to the house last week?”
March shook her head slightly. “There’s no need. I’ll make do with my grandmother’s old gowns. My mother’s dresses are too short and quite snug for my figure.” She quickly gazed outside the window. This was almost worse than having to face Michael in his study and beg him not to embarrass her in front of Faith and Hart. To say the discussion was uncomfortable was a mild understatement. What little money March possessed, she needed to save every shilling for the estate and the upcoming year.
The burning sensation of tears demanded every ounce of her concentration. Would she ever be free from this constant worry over money?
The duchess squeezed her hands. “Didn’t McCalpin tell you that I was sponsoring you and your sisters this season? That means I’m paying for your new wardrobes.”
March shook her head. She didn’t trust her voice as unruly shame threatened to overtake her.
“You have nothing to worry about. I’ll take care of everything.” The duchess patted her arm, then leaned back against the velvet squab. With a tilt of her head, she studied March. “Darling, I think we should consider a primrose or gold for a couple of your gowns. With your coloring, you’d look magnificent.”
The duchess smiled in such a sweet, sincere manner it reminded March of her own mother when they had gone shopping for her gown to make her entrance into society. It was one of her happiest memories and permanently engraved on March’s heart. Today, it brought little comfort.
“Thank you, Your Grace.” She swallowed the pain those sweet memories inevitably brought. “Perhaps you should concentrate your efforts on my sisters. My needs are simple—”
The duchess narrowed her eyes in apparent confusion. “This is my gift to you and your sisters. The duke and I want to do this for your family. Your father and my husband’s brother were great friends. It’s our honor to help you.” Her voice gentled as her gaze fell to March’s face. “McCalpin is taking care of everything else, but the duke and I wanted to show you how much we enjoy you and your family.”
March pressed her eyes shut to stop the flood of tears with little success.
“Your family’s guardian has done a poor job of informing you what was happening,” the duchess chided with a smile. She pressed a crisp handkerchief into March’s hand.
“No, he’s been everything gracious to my family ever since he first came to visit us at Lawson Court.” March studied the elegant cloth, which was too fine to ruin. She quickly swiped the tears from her eyes with her own gloves. “You see, I was injured and without any concern for himself, he brought me back to the house and stayed with me when our housekeeper cleaned and stitched my wound.”
She was rambling, but didn’t care. Michael’s mother needed to know what her son had done for her and her family.
“He didn’t even care that I bled all over his coat. And then, when he discovered we didn’t have any food…” She cleared her throat and straightened her shoulders in an attempt to get her unruly emotions under control. “No, Your Grace. Lord McCalpin is one of the most generous and honorable men I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.”