“Yes,” Victoria agreed, doing her best to hide her very English mortification. Still, what Madame Claudette proclaimed was exactly what she required.
She’d always worn such plain clothes it had never occurred to her to dress in a way that might be exciting for whoever was taking her clothes off to strip off silks and lace.
After all, ladies usually allowed their lady’s maids to take off her clothes.
But Chase seemed to enjoy disrobing her himself, as if he was receiving a present every time.
Yes, this idea seemed very appealing, indeed. She’d never understand how he’d come to desire her in the weeks since their wedding. But she loved that he did. And she loved the way he worshipped her body.
Every night. And day. And morning, too.
“Yes, that’s exactly what I require,” she agreed, trying to remain in sorts.
Since her marriage started, she’d begun to do things she’d never imagined. And she knew it wasn’t because of a man, per se. It was because of the freedoms he’d given her.
Chase was responsible for giving her freedom, but it was the fact she could not make choices of her own that was empowering her to do and try things she’d been excluded from before.
She let out a sigh of happiness.
“Amour,” the modiste all but trilled. “It is wonderful to see a newlywed so happy in their marriage, so in love.”
“Love,” she yelped. “I’m not in love with my husband.”
And then she clapped her hand over her mouth, realizing that she had just said something quite shocking.
The modiste laughed. “If you say so, Duchesse, but the look on your face tells me something entirely different. You are a woman who is most lucky to have such a handsome man, who is a man with such a wonderful reputation for pleasure. And, of course, you are lucky because you are in love.”
Catharine looked at her agape. “In love,” she repeated, folding her hands together. “My goodness.”
“I am not, and I never shall be,” Victoria declared. “I am far too practical a person for such silly romance. I have too many things to accomplish to fall in love.”
“Hah,” Madame Claudette said. “Romance is not silly.” Catharine nodded as if she was an ancient sage. “Romance is the stuff of great art, and one should always—”
“Catharine, this is not fiction,” Victoria pointed out.
“Thank goodness! The romances so many men write these days, it always ends poorly.” Catharine grinned. “But you and Chase like each other too well for that.”
“I think the pink is your color,” Victoria blurted, determined to end this deeply troubling line of conversation.
She did not have time for love. She would not be distracted from her purpose. Pleasure was fine. Love? Love would surely be a disaster.
Catharine humphed and grabbed a piece of the pink silk. She held it up to her face. And grimaced. “This should make me look like a pink pig ready to go to market.”
“But pink is a favorite color of debutantes,” Victoria sang, trying not to laugh.
“So is white, so is yellow, so is mint green,” Catharine listed firmly, “So is…”
She smiled at her sister. “You pick, Catharine. Whatever you please.”
“Truly?” Catharine asked, surprised.
Victoria nodded. She was lucky enough that her husband gave her so many choices. She certainly wasn’t about to start taking them away from her sister. “Choose,” she said firmly.
Catharine beamed. “All right. I will.”
She didn’t know why, exactly, but this moment was one of the happiest of her life. And she was very glad she’d married Chase. For none of these possibilities would have been even considered without his help that night.