Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

" W elcome, Your Grace," Lucy greeted, her voice overly bright and cheerful, "We've been expecting you."

Modesty inclined her head in a curt nod, her gaze sweeping over Lucy for a fleeting moment before landing on the grounds beyond. "I suppose seeing as you're married to my son, the duke, I ought to refer to you as Your Grace from now on?" she asked with a chuckle. And without giving a moment's rest, she added, "The journey was… acceptable."

Lucy offered her arm, a gesture Modesty ignored as she walked past her towards the entrance and her heart sank. Inside, a fire crackled merrily in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the opulent drawing room. A young maid hurried forward, her hands laden with a silver tray bearing a steaming teapot and delicate porcelain cups.

"May I offer you some tea, Your Grace?" Lucy inquired as the maid set the tray down on a low table.

Modesty sniffed the air disdainfully. "Chamomile again," she declared, her voice laced with disapproval. "Too common. Perhaps a Darjeeling would be more appropriate."

The young maid, clearly flustered, curtseyed and hurried out to rectify the mistake. Lucy watched her go, a tight smile plastered on her face. Modesty's disapproval, though subtly delivered, was unmistakable.

Taking a seat across from the dowager duchess, Lucy tried to make conversation. "I trust your journey was uneventful?" she ventured.

"Uneventful," Modesty repeated, her eyes darting down to Lucy's gown. "Though perhaps a bit dusty. One would expect the roads leading to a duke's estate to be kept in better condition."

Lucy fought back a frown. "The recent rains have been quite heavy," she offered mildly.

"Indeed," Modesty continued, her voice dripping with condescension. "Being a duchess requires a great deal more than simply existing. One must learn to act, to speak, and yes, even to dress befitting of one's station."

Lucy's heart sank. This was not the warm welcome she had hoped for. Modesty's comment, though seemingly innocuous, was a clear critique of her riding attire. It was the first of many subtle jabs Lucy would receive that afternoon.

Through gritted teeth, Lucy attempted to maintain a pleasant demeanor. The conversation, however, remained strained. Modesty spoke of court politics and societal expectations, subjects that felt distant and irrelevant to Lucy.

After what felt like an eternity, a knock on the door brought a welcome interruption. It was the duke, his brow furrowed in concern as he noticed the strained atmosphere in the room.

"Mother," he greeted, his voice laced with a hint of tension. "I trust your journey was pleasant?"

Modesty offered him a tight smile. "Pleasant enough, although one would think the Duke of Northwick would ensure the roads are properly maintained."

Duncan's jaw clenched briefly. "We shall get to it soon, Mother."

His sentence was interrupted by Modesty's raised hand. "Enough about the weather, Duncan," she said, her voice sharp. "What I truly find concerning is… your wife's… attire."

"And what about it?"

"It is most concerning. It is so dull and cheap, nothing befitting of her status. And?—

"I will not tolerate you speaking down on my wife, Mother. I will let you know that."

"But, Duncan, I am only stating the fact. She is?—"

"Mother, enough!" Duncan said with an exasperated sigh.

Lucy felt a flush creep up her neck as she became the subject of scrutiny.

"But, Duncan?—"

"You forget your place, Mother. I have made my decision. And her attire is entirely appropriate for a ride through the country."

"Appropriate for a ride, perhaps," Modesty retorted, "but hardly suitable for a duchess. A woman in her position must learn to dress the part, wouldn't you agree, Lucy?" Her eyes gleamed with a malicious glint.

Lucy, determined not to fall for her baiting, met her gaze head-on. "Indeed, Your Grace," she replied, her voice calm and resolute. "I understand the importance of proper attire for a woman of my position. Perhaps you could offer some guidance? I wouldn't want to make any further faux pas."

The challenge in her voice was subtle, but Modesty clearly recognized it. A flicker of surprise crossed her face, replaced by a haughty sniff.

"Guidance, you say? Very well then. A duchess must project an air of elegance and refinement at all times. Her wardrobe should reflect that – no more of these… utilitarian riding garments." She gestured dismissively towards Lucy's emerald gown, a clear dismissal of her taste.

"I see," Lucy said, a spark of defiance in her voice. She had grown tired of everyone turning their noses up at them. "Perhaps a visit to a seamstress is in order? One who specializes in the latest fashions for ladies of the court?"

A triumphant smile played on Modesty's lips. "An excellent suggestion, Duchess Lucy. There's a very talented woman in the village square. I believe a Mrs. Hawthorne?"

Duncan, who had been a silent observer until this point, cleared his throat. "Actually, Mother," he interjected, "since the duchess's sense of propriety is in question, perhaps you should accompany her, as you yourself are a woman of such fine tastes?"

The suggestion hung in the air. Lucy watched as a flicker of something akin to annoyance crossed Modesty's face. Clearly, she hadn't anticipated an outing that included both of them.

"Together?" Modesty echoed, her voice laced with disbelief. "I would rather gobble down on that awful tea her family so distastefully prefers."

"I can have that arranged, Mother." Duncan offered. His eyes held a boldness in them that both encouraged and frightened Lucy. Even the imperious Modesty stood no chance against the sternness of his face.

But however pleased she was at Modesty being cautioned, it did little to sway the feeling of discomfort she felt knowing that his mother would turn her displeasure on her once the duke was out of the way.

Duncan, however, didn't miss the shift in Lucy's composure. He knew all too well the lengths his mother could take in order to have her way in certain matters. Perhaps he had been too hasty to pair his mother and Lucy for a shopping trip. There was only one way to ensure chaos could not ensue.

"There is, however, the matter of the roads in my domain lacking maintenance," Duncan announced, eyeing Lucy's reaction. "I shall accompany you on your trip as a way to take stock of the issues myself."

Modesty protested the idea. "Isn't that a bit unconventional? Surely there are more pressing matters that require a duke's attention." But Lucy heaved a small sigh of relief. She was loath to spend a moment alone with her mother-in-law.

Duncan's jaw tightened slightly, but his voice remained steady. "Your antics tire me mother, and my patience has grown thin." Then he added as an afterthought, "Besides, perhaps you could offer some much-needed guidance to Mrs. Hawthorne as well."

The dowager duchess's lips pursed in a thin line. She clearly wasn't thrilled with the idea, but she couldn't find a valid reason to object. With a sigh of resignation, she conceded.

"Very well then. A visit to the seamstress it is. But I must warn you, Lucy, Mrs. Hawthorne's taste can be a bit rustic at times."

Lucy offered a gracious smile, the challenge in her eyes still lingering. "I'm sure I can manage, Your Grace. After all, a duchess must be adaptable, wouldn't you agree?"

The following morning dawned bright and clear. The carriage rattled through the cobbled streets of the village square, drawing curious glances from the townspeople. Lucy, adorned in a simple traveling dress, felt a tremor of excitement course through her. This wasn't just a shopping trip; it was a subtle battleground, a test of wills between her and the formidable dowager duchess.

The shop itself was a quaint affair, its windows adorned with mannequins draped in an assortment of colorful fabrics. A tiny bell chimed as they entered, and a plump woman with a warm smile emerged from the back room.

"Welcome, welcome!" she boomed, her voice as bright as the floral print dress she wore. "The Duchess of Northwick! And the dowager duchess as well, what a pleasure!"

Modesty offered a curt nod, her gaze already scanning the racks of clothing with disdain. Lucy, however, couldn't help but be charmed by Mrs. Hawthorne's infectious enthusiasm.

"Now then, Duchess Lucy," Mrs. Hawthorne chirped, her eyes twinkling. "Tell me all about the kind of gowns you envision for yourself. Something elegant for court functions? Perhaps a riding ensemble that's both practical and stylish?"

Lucy glanced at Duncan, his piercing gaze offering her some comfort. "I trust your judgment, Mrs. Hawthorne," she said, deciding to take the lead. "Perhaps something that reflects my own style, but also adheres to the expectations of my position."

Mrs. Hawthorne clapped her hands together in delight. "Exactly! Now, let's see what treasures we can find…"

The next hour flew by in a dizzying display of fabric and lace. Mrs. Hawthorne unveiled gown after gown, each one more breathtaking than the last. Lucy's gaze lingered on a sapphire dress. The dress struck a perfect balance between elegance and practicality. It flowed into a slight train, graceful for a grand entrance but wouldn't snag on a saddle.

As she held the dress up to herself, she caught a glimpse of Modesty's reflection in the mirror. The dowager duchess's lips were pressed into a thin line.

Lucy knew that disapproving look all too well. It was a silent judgment, a clear message that the sapphire dress, while lovely, wasn't quite "Duchess material" in Modesty's eyes. Undeterred, Lucy turned towards Mrs. Hawthorne, a playful glint in her eyes.

"This one is quite beautiful, wouldn't you agree, Mrs. Hawthorne?" she asked, her voice dripping with feigned innocence.

The seamstress beamed. "Absolutely, Duchess! The color compliments your complexion perfectly. And the fabric, oh my, it's the finest silk! Perfect for a lady of your stature."

Modesty cleared her throat, the sound sharp and dismissive. "While the color is passable," she drawled, "the style seems a tad simplistic, wouldn't you say? A duchess requires a certain level of grandeur in her attire."

Lucy felt a flicker of annoyance, but she maintained her composure. "Perhaps, Dowager Duchess," she countered politely. "But I also believe a duchess needs an outfit she can feel comfortable and confident in. This dress strikes a balance between elegance and practicality, which I find quite appealing."

Mrs. Hawthorne, sensing the subtle tension in the air, chimed in with a solution. "Of course, Duchess Lucy! We could always add a touch of grandeur! Perhaps a beautiful jeweled brooch or a detachable train for more formal occasions?"

Lucy's eyes lit up. "That's a wonderful idea, Mrs. Hawthorne! It allows for versatility, which is something I truly appreciate."

Modesty, however, wasn't finished yet. Her gaze drifted to a rack adorned with a gown of emerald green velvet, the fabric stiff and heavy. "Now, this is more like it," she declared, her voice dripping with approval. "A rich color, a luxurious fabric… a true statement piece for a duchess."

Lucy turned to the emerald monstrosity, her heart sinking. It looked like something a dragon might wear to a ball, cumbersome and far from practical. "It is quite… striking," she managed, her voice devoid of enthusiasm.

"Striking?" Modesty scoffed. "It's magnificent! A gown like that would surely turn heads at any court function."

Duncan, who had been watching the exchange silently until now, finally spoke up. "Mother," he said, his voice low and firm, "Lucy can choose whatever gown she feels comfortable in. I'm sure Mrs. Hawthorne can alter anything to suit her needs."

Modesty's lips pursed into a thin line, but before she could retort, Lucy noticed a particular dress hanging at the back of the shop. It was a simple yet stunning creation, crafted from pale lavender silk that shimmered like moonlight.

But the thought of the dowager duchess's disapproving sniff was enough to send a shiver down Lucy's spine. She wouldn't dare wear anything that might bring down the formidable woman's wrath. With a defeated sigh, Lucy turned away from the alluring lavender dress, her heart heavy with disappointment.

"Here, try this," Modesty suggested from the few she favored.

Lucy eyed the dress suspiciously. The fabric, a luxurious blue silk, flowed from a fitted bodice into a skirt that cascaded down like a waterfall. It was undeniably elegant. But a shiver ran down Lucy's spine. The icy blue felt a touch… severe, entirely different from the kind of dresses she loved.

"A most intriguing shade, Dowager Duchess," Mrs. Hawthorne purred, hurrying towards the gown. "A perfect choice for the new duchess when she shows herself to society for the first time."

Lucy felt a pang of apprehension. While she admired the gown's cut, she couldn't help but worry the icy blue might wash her out entirely. As Mrs. Hawthorne held the dress for the dowager duchess's inspection, Lucy stole a glance at Duncan. His brow furrowed slightly as if he sensed her growing unease.

"What do you think, Lucy?" Duncan asked, breaking his silence.

Lucy hesitated, caught between the dowager duchess's suggestion and her own desires. "It's…certainly stunning," she admitted, her voice lacking conviction.

"It's marvelous, that's what it is." Modesty declared triumphantly.

Lucy managed a weak smile. The dress was indeed beautiful, but it did little to offset the gnawing feeling at the pit of her stomach. The dress would hardly look natural on her frame. It was a far cry from her usual attire, and although now a duchess, she knew the dress would only sate Modesty's antics but for a little while.

"If I might impose on you, Your Grace, I would like to retire for the day," Lucy asked, turning to Duncan. "I fear being away from our home for so long might put me under the weather."

Modesty seemed to be enjoying herself and was reluctant to leave, "Perhaps the duchess is overwhelmed by the countless dashing dresses on display?"

Lucy strained to contain her distaste for the dowager duchess's rude remark. Duncan, on the other hand, gave her a nod of approval.

"If you'll excuse me, Your Grace," Lucy said, excusing herself and returning to their carriage stationed outside without waiting to see the look of disapproval on Modesty's face who soon followed along.

Meanwhile, Duncan, who had earlier noticed Lucy admiring the lavender dress, without a word, approached Mrs. Hawthorne and discreetly purchased it.