“If I may give you some advice, Lady Beatrice,” Alice suggested over her shoulder.
“Please do,” Beatrice insisted.
“I do not know what your relationship is with His Grace, nor is it my business,” Alice replied, “but from now on, instead of trying to argue with him, perhaps try to follow his instructions. From what I have seen of him, his demanding nature has always led to the best of conclusions, even if you cannot see it at the time.”
CHAPTER TEN
“Come in.”
A rush of enjoyment flowed through Algernon’s veins as he heard Beatrice’s sweet, soft voice through her bedroom door. His grip on the knob tightened at the sound—as did his groin—but he ignored it and opened the door, waving the modiste in first. Last time he went into Beatrice’s room she had been laying on her bed, and although she was not positioned in any sort of sultry way and was fully clothed, the very fact that he had seen her so relaxed had felt oddly intimate.
To Algernon’s relief—and chagrin—he did not find her so today, but rather, she sat at the small table by the fireplace darning?—
“Are those my socks?” Algernon asked, pointing to the fabric in Beatrice’s hands.
Beatrice cheeks turned almost as pink as the gown she wore, and she quickly put the sock and darning needle atop the table.
“It needed to be done,” she stated, her tone defensive as she stood, “and I wanted something to do, so I when I found your valet trying to mend them, I relieved him of the task.”
Algernon groaned as he pinched the bridge of his nose.
“I thought I told you no more chores?” he scolded testily. “You do not need to do such things anymore!”
“Iliketo do them!” Beatrice retorted, her voice rising to meeting his.
“Ahem!” the modiste, Mademoiselle Jeanette coughed, interrupting the start of their bickering.
Algernon threw an annoyed glance down at the woman, who smiled sweetly.
“If I may interrupt?” Mademoiselle Jeanette asked.
“Please do,” Algernon retorted, casting another dry glance at Beatrice. She gave him an equally exhausted look.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Beatrice,” Mademoiselle Jeanette said, curtseying toward Beatrice. “I am Mademoiselle Jeanette, and your…”
Jeanette looked toward Algernon for the proper term, but he floundered. What was he to Beatrice? Her owner? Her pimp? God, he hated the sound of both.
“Companion,” Jeanette went on when his silence had stretched into a minute, “has hired me to take your specific measurements and help you design a few more dresses.”
“What for?” Beatrice asked.
Her gaze flicked up to his, sending the strange scurrying sensation through his veins yet again.
“As you probably saw from your wardrobe, I only had a few dresses made with a guess at measurements,” Algernon explained. “You need ones that fit you properly if you are going to catch Henry’s eye. Consider it your next lesson.”
Beatrice frowned at him, and for a moment, he said and did nothing. He supposed, after the sudden and intense way he had kissed her the last time they were together, she had every right to look at him indignantly. Especially once he realized that it had been her very first kiss.
“We must stick to our plan, Beatrice,” Algernon stated calmly, letting the heat of her glare sink into him.
Slowly, Beatrice’s frown melted into a look of resignation, and she sighed softly.
“You are right,” she agreed then turned her attention to the modiste.
“Mademoiselle Jeanette, it is a pleasure to meet you,” Beatrice said politely, curtseying toward the young woman before her.
“Oh! A curtsey for me?” Jeanette exclaimed, giggling as she quickly helped Beatrice rise back up. “How very sweet, my dear, but not necessary. Come, come, let us get started.”
Algernon took a seat and watched as Jeanette began taking measurements. There were several times that the modiste attempted to ask Beatrice personal questions, but each time he saw Beatrice begin to blush, he reminded the woman that she was there to do a job, not gossip. It earned him a few cursory glances from Beatrice, but if she minded his intervention, she did not say so.