Read Online Trapping a Duchess by Michele Bekemeyer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Michele Bekemeyer
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“What's done is done. From this point on, Sophie, you are on your own. I will not be intervening.”
Her expression turned dubious. Simon, not intervening ? Ha !
“I promise,” he said, placing his hand over his heart and patting, as if there were actually something there.
A tiny, shriveled thing, if he even owns that much . Keeping the thought to herself, she rose. “I shall hold you to that, brother. If you will both excuse me, I have plans.” She pressed a dutiful kiss to her mother's cheek.
“Be back in plenty of time to dress for the evening.”
“I will.”
She entered the hall and pulled on her cream colored pelisse. The ride to Bond Street took nearly a half-hour, but she arrived to the shop in plenty of time. Alex was still in the middle of her fitting with her modiste. Sophie barely got in a greeting before Alex launched into a lengthy and irritated, albeit furiously whispered, litany on dealing with autocratic men.
“This is exactly the problem with men of their ilk,” she finished, stamping her foot to express her annoyance. “They think they know everything!”
“Miss, if you weel please hold steel,” Madame Dupont said in a thick French accent, wielding the pin in her hand as if it were a weapon designed to control unruly children.
“Apologies,” Alex muttered with an aggrieved sigh.
Sophie chuckled. Alex was never good at keeping her body still when her emotions were engaged. By the looks of it, engaged was an understatement.
“So, Simon gave no indication during your waltz that your brother planned to put in an appearance?” Sophie asked, pretending the magazine she was flipping through was more interesting than her question. When no response came, she looked up.
Alex shook her head, her brown eyes earnest. “He didn't mention Andrew at all, except to say he was glad of his return .”
Giving up all pretense of casualness, Sophie snapped the magazine shut and set it aside. “I just wish this would all blow over.”
“Me, too.” Alex sighed, her shoulders slumping. “I miss your carefree smile.”
“Posture,” Madame Dumont reminded with a huff. Alex immediately straightened, but not without first shooting Madame a look that implied exactly what she could do with her posture .
“Simon is behaving as if it is his own happiness hanging in the balance. And mama seems to think I should be licking your brother's boots.”
“I don't quite think that is necessary.”
“Tell them, not me. They were like rabid dogs at breakfast.”
Alexandra chuckled, then heaved a sigh. “I imagine my brother would say the same thing about me.”
“Why is that?” she asked, surprised. Alex and Andrew never argued.
“Because I spent my morning giving him an earful over his deceitful behavior. I do not appreciate him saying he had no plans to attend the ball when, in fact, he had very specific plans. I understand his need to be tight-lipped on occasion, but I will not tolerate out and out subterfuge.”
Sophie refrained from telling her that she would have disliked the deceit even more had she been informed of the carriage ride that followed. The conversation had gone better than she thought, however, apart from him revealing his intent to select a bride. Why the idea bothered her was not something she cared to examine in the light of day.
“ Fini ,” Madame Dumont said, setting her needle-weapon aside.
“What do you think, Sophie? Will it suit?”
“I think it's gorgeous.”
Madame gave them both a triumphant smile. “I weel have it ready by week's end.” At Alex’s nod, the woman left.
Sophie waited until Alex slipped behind the dressing screen to ask, “So, did your brother say anything about what happened?”
“Only that your conversation went better than he thought,” her disembodied voice answered. Sophie supposed she should be thankful he felt that way. Alex popped her head around the corner, curiosity writ on her face. “Why do you ask?”
Sophie shrugged.
Her expression turned dubious. Simon, not intervening ? Ha !
“I promise,” he said, placing his hand over his heart and patting, as if there were actually something there.
A tiny, shriveled thing, if he even owns that much . Keeping the thought to herself, she rose. “I shall hold you to that, brother. If you will both excuse me, I have plans.” She pressed a dutiful kiss to her mother's cheek.
“Be back in plenty of time to dress for the evening.”
“I will.”
She entered the hall and pulled on her cream colored pelisse. The ride to Bond Street took nearly a half-hour, but she arrived to the shop in plenty of time. Alex was still in the middle of her fitting with her modiste. Sophie barely got in a greeting before Alex launched into a lengthy and irritated, albeit furiously whispered, litany on dealing with autocratic men.
“This is exactly the problem with men of their ilk,” she finished, stamping her foot to express her annoyance. “They think they know everything!”
“Miss, if you weel please hold steel,” Madame Dupont said in a thick French accent, wielding the pin in her hand as if it were a weapon designed to control unruly children.
“Apologies,” Alex muttered with an aggrieved sigh.
Sophie chuckled. Alex was never good at keeping her body still when her emotions were engaged. By the looks of it, engaged was an understatement.
“So, Simon gave no indication during your waltz that your brother planned to put in an appearance?” Sophie asked, pretending the magazine she was flipping through was more interesting than her question. When no response came, she looked up.
Alex shook her head, her brown eyes earnest. “He didn't mention Andrew at all, except to say he was glad of his return .”
Giving up all pretense of casualness, Sophie snapped the magazine shut and set it aside. “I just wish this would all blow over.”
“Me, too.” Alex sighed, her shoulders slumping. “I miss your carefree smile.”
“Posture,” Madame Dumont reminded with a huff. Alex immediately straightened, but not without first shooting Madame a look that implied exactly what she could do with her posture .
“Simon is behaving as if it is his own happiness hanging in the balance. And mama seems to think I should be licking your brother's boots.”
“I don't quite think that is necessary.”
“Tell them, not me. They were like rabid dogs at breakfast.”
Alexandra chuckled, then heaved a sigh. “I imagine my brother would say the same thing about me.”
“Why is that?” she asked, surprised. Alex and Andrew never argued.
“Because I spent my morning giving him an earful over his deceitful behavior. I do not appreciate him saying he had no plans to attend the ball when, in fact, he had very specific plans. I understand his need to be tight-lipped on occasion, but I will not tolerate out and out subterfuge.”
Sophie refrained from telling her that she would have disliked the deceit even more had she been informed of the carriage ride that followed. The conversation had gone better than she thought, however, apart from him revealing his intent to select a bride. Why the idea bothered her was not something she cared to examine in the light of day.
“ Fini ,” Madame Dumont said, setting her needle-weapon aside.
“What do you think, Sophie? Will it suit?”
“I think it's gorgeous.”
Madame gave them both a triumphant smile. “I weel have it ready by week's end.” At Alex’s nod, the woman left.
Sophie waited until Alex slipped behind the dressing screen to ask, “So, did your brother say anything about what happened?”
“Only that your conversation went better than he thought,” her disembodied voice answered. Sophie supposed she should be thankful he felt that way. Alex popped her head around the corner, curiosity writ on her face. “Why do you ask?”
Sophie shrugged.
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