Chapter Three

The Next Morning

Wolferton waited in the foyer in his three-tiered cape as the ladies descended the steps well-dressed in their pelisses and bonnets. The butler handed him his accessories and opened the door where footmen waited. Jaclyn had a look of unbridled anticipation on her face as she and Camille chatted. The tall servant opened the coach door and pulled down the step for them to enter.

Inside the regal coach, Camille was the first to say, “Jaclyn, you’ll find the Bond Street shops are where the elite spend their money. Radolf’s driver clears the way of all traffic because the aristocrats gawk at the coach and four. You’ll not know where to look. My brother is an expert on ladies’ fashions. The matrons of Almack’s seek his advice all the time.” She tilted her head toward her brother. “He acts as though he designed the clothes himself.”

“My dear sister, I wouldn’t like my ward to think I enjoy effeminate pursuits. However, I do appreciate a well-dressed, sophisticated lady. If they ask a question, I reply with honesty. Yes, you might say, I’m a connoisseur of all things female.” His smile lit the corners of his mouth. He turned to Jaclyn, gazed at the widened orbs. “You may not like my suggestions, and you are free to disregard them. However, as a man I appreciate a woman whose talents and form are not in blatant display. There is something to be said about modesty that does not flaunt a female’s physical charm but defines it in its subtleties—and I might add, leaves all to a healthy imagination.” His chuckle filled the coach.

“You must forgive my brother, Jaclyn. In his lexicon, he refers to us women as females to categorize us in some clinical laboratory form,” she chided. “So there are times I must call it to his attention since it does not define who we are.” Her smile to him held humor.

“Wolferton, I’m in awe of all of this, and I’d appreciate yours and Camille’s advice. Fashions in England are unfamiliar to me, although I’ve read the magazines we had available to us.” She lowered her bonneted head, and a whimsical feather fluttered and lent a delightful sight to him.

He reached for her gloved hands and held them. “Do not fear me, for I would not hurt you with harsh words. I do wish for any suitable bachelor to admire you from afar. I predict a brilliant future for you, and we will guide you in any way we can. Relax, Miss Jaclyn. We will soon be there. Enjoy the moment. It would make your father proud.”

Why had he attempted to perform the role of a guardian when it was all he could do to erase any untoward visions from his head? Bloody hell, Satan, be gone. She’s an innocent and deserved his protection.

In essence, he prepared her for marriage with another man. True, this was his duty, but it roiled his stomach at the thought of any man’s intimate advances to her untried body. Why did that fact bother him? Soon, they arrived at the modiste’s shop. He descended first. and the footmen assisted the ladies.

The proprietress greeted him. “Your Grace, what a surprise to see you here with your sister and a beautiful young lady.” She curtsied low. Two seamstresses joined her and nodded in silence.

“Good morning, madame. We are here to select gowns and the like for my ward, Miss Jaclyn Moreux.” He pointed to her who gave a short nod and broad smile. “You know my sister, Lady Hattersley.” He’d insisted she change her last name to the family’s, but she refused. So be it.

“Mon Dieu, Miss Moreux is a beauty. Please allow us to escort you to the private salon. I will join you in a moment.”

They entered the room. A servant came in with a pot of tea and petit fours followed by the modiste. “Are the ensembles for a particular event?” she asked.

Camille was first to speak. “Yes. She requires proper gowns, dresses, hunting ensembles, hats, gloves, and all the accessories for this season. She has come to us from Belgium.”

The proprietress motioned for the seamstresses to leave the room. “But of course, and how much time do we have before the event?”

Wolferton placed his accessories on a side table. “Thirty days for certain gowns and dresses. And every thirty days thereafter for another year.”

Jaclyn’s expression startled at the timeframe mentioned. She fidgeted her gloved fingers.

“The final event will be at our London Townhouse at season’s end. All the merriment begins now that she’s arrived.” The duke removed his gloves and handed them to an assistant.

“Your Grace, this is a heavy task with limited time. I’ve asked my ladies to prepare some fashions to show you, but did you and the lady have anything special in mind?”

In a graceful motion, Jaclyn sat on a satin tufted chair and waited for the opportunity to express her opinion, but Wolferton never asked her.

“We are here because I consider you the best modiste in London, perhaps even in England. The current fad of semi-nudity has no appeal for me. Tasteful necklines with a hint of exposed flesh for gowns in modesty’s sake will do, and short sleeves with matching long gloves, etc. I do not have to preach to you. You already know my tastes.” An arched eyebrow defined the last statement and all it implied.

“Your Grace, I’m grateful for all your suggestions with regard to modesty, but may I speak about some of my preferences? Please understand I’m not questioning the designs, but rather there are certain colors I dislike intensely. May I speak?” She held her breath and thought she would burst. Would he discipline her like an errant school girl?

Wolferton cocked his head toward her. “It would appear I’ve been remiss, Miss Moreux. Do please enlighten us about your color preferences.”

Jaclyn exhaled. “Yellow. I hate yellow. With my dark hair, it makes me look like a sunflower.” She spotted a bright yellow gown and went to the rack. Pulling the skirt near her face, she asked, “Camille, do you see what I mean?”

“Why, yes, I do. Certainly not your best color. Tell us what colors you prefer.” She smiled at her brother. “Unfortunately, my color choices have not always been the best.”

Emboldened, it appeared she took care not to offend the duke. “I prefer violet and lavender because of my eye color.” Again, she went to the rack of gowns. “See? I think it makes my eyes more pronounced. What say you, Your Grace?”

He surmised Jaclyn was scared to death of what he would say but felt a need to assert herself and would allow it for the time being.

“I agree it is a most suitable color for you, and you will have many gowns in it if you wish.”

Camille arose and went to the dress rack and looked at a blue satin outfit.

“That color would look lovely on you, Camille, but for me it makes me think of the Madonna’s cape, and I so want to escape convent colors. No religious offense intended, but I simply don’t care for anything blue.”

“Ahem.” Wolferton cleared his throat. “I cannot change the color of my eyes, Miss Moreux.”

“Sweet heaven. That’s not what I meant. Your eyes are the color of a blue grotto, Your Grace. If I had them, I would certainly wear a color to match.” She returned to the cushioned seat. “Oh, there’s one more color that is dreary. It’s brown…like a monk’s garb.”

“Madame, please show my ward ensembles in the colors she favors. I do, however, insist on the modesty aspect. Miss Moreux, are you now content?”

“Yes, Your Grace. Thank you. I cannot believe I’ve been so bold, but I need to feel free to choose at last and not to be chastised for my preferences.” She lowered her gaze to the floor and then raised her head. “At school we perused the latest fashion magazines from France and Italy. There were girls there who had dozens sent to them by the family.”

“Yes, I assume it best that you speak your mind. I will await you ladies in the reception room and amuse myself.”

After he departed, Jaclyn spoke in a whisper, grasped Camille’s gloved hands. “I meant no disrespect of His Grace. Please help me. I’ll not marry just anyone who asks. I’ve seen my father’s unhappiness in marriage to my mother. I seek fidelity. Is it too much to ask?”

“No, that is why you should choose carefully and not have your head turned by fancy words.”

Wolferton left the room for propriety’s sake and after a perusal of some jeweled hair combs and hand-painted fans removed his pocket watch, having spent a good half hour to allow for all of his ward’s measurements. He tapped on the dressing room door and when told to enter, he asked, “Camille, have we purchased all we need? If not, we can return another day. Miss Jaclyn might be fatigued.”

“I believe we can conclude our time here. We will need to visit the jeweler once we see the décolletage of the gowns. Or did you prefer we use some of the heirlooms?” She went to Jaclyn. “You deserve jewels of your own, and of course, they should be amethyst to match your eyes.”

“Oh, no, please I have more than enough…” Then she corrected herself, “I didn’t mean jewels, but you’ve already given me so much. On occasion, I would like to wear a special cross my father gave me ever so long ago.”

“A religious cross? Is it covered in gems?” he asked and engaged her eyes.

“No, Your Grace. It is genuine gold, though. It would please me, but if you believe it is not good enough for the occasion, I’ll carry it in my reticule for his blessing and protection. I do not wish to appear ungrateful or unsuitable.”

On the way to the carriage, on the sidewalk of the establishment, he heard his name called by a man, Lord Halifax, and much to his surprise, Wolferton’s former mistress.

Halifax stopped, his lady’s arm joined in his. “Fancy to see you here.” He addressed the duke’s sister. “Greetings, Lady Hattersley.” He introduced the duke to his lady, who held the eye of the duke much too long.

“We were acquainted,” she said and nodded, the bird on her tulle hat seemed to quiver.

“Yes. I’d forgotten,” Marguerite said with a smile that indicated the opposite.

“And the attractive lady is?” asked the gentleman.

“Miss Jaclyn Moreux, who now resides with me as my ward.” His abrupt stare would curdle any fresh-made cream.

Jaclyn nodded. “A pleasure to meet you, my Lord.”

Wolferton found the introduction of his innocent ward to a courtesan a total departure from polite societal protocol, but there was no choice than to make the best of it and leave.

He ushered Jaclyn in front of him. “Come now, ladies, we must go. Our carriage waits.” The footman removed the step-down for them to enter. The duke doffed his hat. “Good day.”

He seated himself opposite Jaclyn. She and Camille spoke with great excitement about the purchases made. The other footmen placed boxes on the luggage rack at the back of the coach. He hadn't seen his mistress for a decade, nor had he replaced her with anyone else. There was too much in their past to dwell further, nor did he want to remember. It no longer mattered.

A tug at his coat sleeve brought him back to the present. Camille asked, “Are you all right, Radolf? You seem so far away.”

“Yes, I suggest we forego luncheon. We’ve taken longer than expected. ” He took out his pocket watch. “It’s about ten minutes more to the house.” Wolferton once cared about Marguerite, but he could not allow infidelity. He inhaled with a deep breath, his mind tired, and his spirits diminished.