Her Sort of Scoundrel (Wanton Widows Club Book 2) by Christy Carlyle

Author:Christy Carlyle [Carlyle, Christy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gilded Heart Publishing
Published: 2023-04-05T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 6

Fiona watched as Miss Forbes lifted her hand to stroke the bolts of colorful fabric and then pulled back.

“Go ahead,” Fiona urged her. “You’ll want gowns that feel good against your skin.”

The young lady looked back at Granford as if seeking his approval.

“Lady Fiona is right,” he agreed, gesturing toward the colorful array set out on the department store counter. “Take your time and choose fabrics you truly like.”

“You’ll advise me as to color and style?” she asked Fiona.

“Of course. Choose some of these and we’ll have them sent to my modiste. She’s brilliant, and when we meet with her, she’ll offer a book of designs, or even come up with something unique if you prefer.”

Miss Forbes nibbled her lower lip thoughtfully. “I don’t know if I wish to be entirely unique.”

“But you already are,” Fiona told her gently. “Each of us is in our own way. It’s alright if you wish to follow the fashion of the day, but don’t be afraid to be yourself either.”

Miss Forbes smiled and dared to reach out, dancing her fingers over bolts of silk and velvet. “I like the greens and blues. Even that amber shade. I suppose they remind me of the forest at Longwood.” She side-eyed Granford, almost shyly. “But I read in a magazine that pastels are quite the thing.”

“They may not be by next year.” Granford offered Fiona a questioning look as if verifying that such a supposition was likely.

Fiona smiled in agreement. “Granford’s correct. Fashions change, and who knows. Perhaps you’ll start a trend with your teal and amber and moss green.”

“Goodness, look at those gloves.” Miss Forbes pointed toward a display that included day wear gloves and the longer, elbow-length sort that she’d need for the umpteen balls she’d no doubt be attending next year.

“This was a good idea,” Granford told Fiona when Miss Forbes stepped over to examine the array of gloves.

“I thought it would give her a little taste of everything, and modiste shops can become close quarters if they’re busy. Other ladies observing and judging isn’t what she needs right now.”

“Your intuition is always correct,” he told her.

Fiona thought the assessment far too complimentary. “You don’t have to pretend I’m perfect because you’re afraid I’ll go back to being angry.”

He laughed, that deep, rumbling chuckle that never failed to make her want to smile too.

“What if I simply think the world of you and want to express it?”

From any other man, she’d consider the sentiment to be akin to simpering, but there was an earnestness in his tone that made her throat dry.

“Name one of my flaws,” she commanded.

He chuckled again and tipped his head, examining her as if looking for some physical detail he might critique. Yet every spot he focused on—her lips, her eyes, her chin, her hair—she could perceive nothing but appreciation in his gaze.

“You’re stubborn,” he finally said.

“Undeniably true.” Heaven knew she’d tenaciously longed for him despite every reasonable argument against her feelings. “There, now, that wasn’t so hard.”

“I think it’s only fair you offer up a critique of my character in turn.

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