“But this is not a town house,” Dora protested as she emerged from her sister’s embrace. “It is a mansion.” And Stanbrook House was somewhere on this square too. Then that must also be a mansion. There was no other type of edifice on the square. The enormity of what was about to happen in her life was beginning to dawn more fully on her—though, of course, the carriage in which she had traveled had been a harbinger.
“Dora, my love.” Agnes was squeezing her hands almost painfully, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears. “Oh, how happy I am for you.”
“Well.” Dora, a bit embarrassed, spoke briskly. “I am rather elderly to be marrying for the first time, am I not? But better late than never, as the saying goes. I hope you are not annoyed with me, Flavian.”
“Annoyed?” He tipped his head to one side and laughed softly. “Certainly I am. Let me show you how much.”
And then she was enfolded in his arms and feeling considerably flustered.
“I recall one famous occasion last year,” he said, “when George and I escorted you and Agnes home from M-Middlebury and I let him forge ahead with you because I w-wanted to propose to Agnes but did not want to be overheard—and a good thing too, as it turned out. I made a thorough m-mess of it and she let me know it. However, some good came of that afternoon, for what I was really doing, of course, was allowing George to become better acquainted with you. I foresaw this day though I do not suppose people would believe me if I said so, would they?”
“No.” Agnes and Dora spoke together and Flavian raised that mocking eyebrow of his.
“In all seriousness I am happy for you, Dora,” he said, “and absolutely delighted for George. Come upstairs and have some tea. Agnes has been pacing from her chair to the window all afternoon, and just watching her has made me thirsty.”
“You are well, are you, Agnes?” Dora asked as each of them took one of his arms.
“I am indeed.” Agnes patted a hand over her abdomen, and Dora could see more of a swelling there than had been apparent at Easter. “Oh, Dora, we are going to have such a delightful time preparing for your wedding.”
“I need to go shopping,” Dora told her.
“Well, of course you do,” Agnes agreed.
And shop they did during the coming days, though in a manner and on a scale far surpassing Dora’s expectations. She had known, of course, that she would need new clothes, including an outfit suitable for her wedding to a duke in a fashionable church before half the fashionable world. She was soon made to understand, however, the naïveté of her expectation that one quick trip to the shops for the purchase of ready-made garments would suffice. The future Duchess of Stanbrook, it seemed, must first choose patterns and fabrics and trimmings and a fashionable dressmaker who would measure her and make them up exclusively for her. And all that, of course, meant many hours of browsing and many more hours of standing upon a pedestal in her shift while she was measured and pinned and poked. And then, when the garments were ready and she expected the ordeal to be at an end, she had to go through the whole process again while the dressmaker made note of all the minor alterations that needed to be made. Any feeble protestation Dora might make that a certain garment was “good enough” was soundly ignored. Only perfection would do for a dressmaker chosen to make the garments of the future Duchess of Stanbrook.
Dora was staggered by the number of new clothes of every description and for every imaginable occasion she needed—dresses for walking, for riding in the carriage, for morning wear, for afternoon tea, for riding, gowns for dinner, for formal evening wear, for balls. And each garment needed its own exclusive accessories—hats, gloves, reticules, shoes, slippers, fans, parasols, shawls, ribbons and bows, shifts and petticoats . . . the list went on.
There was an undeniable pleasure about seeing herself outfitted in such splendor, of course, but the expense! The modest savings she had acquired through hard work and careful management during the past nine years dwindled at an alarming rate. But she would not panic. If absolutely necessary, she would accept a loan from Flavian, though she had flatly refused a money gift from him when he had tried to press it upon her with the argument that she surely must have a birthday sometime. Her funds would be replenished as soon as her cottage sold and she would be able to repay him. And after her marriage she would not need money of her own, though her carefully cultivated independence of spirit did not like the prospect of being wholly dependent upon a man, wealthy though he undoubtedly was. She would have to accustom herself to that aspect of marriage.
And then, just before Dora felt that she must indeed apply to her brother-in-law for a loan, a letter of congratulation from her father’s wife brought with it a bank draft from her father for a considerable sum to help her with the wedding expenses. From him she would accept a gift, she decided, with deep gratitude.
All the members of the Survivors’ Club who were still in town following Lady Barclay’s wedding called at Arnott House within a day or two of Dora’s arrival to express unqualified delight at the news of her betrothal. She was begged to call them all by their first names since she was soon to be one of their number. Soon she was on terms of familiarity with all her betrothed’s closest friends—but not with him. It was an amusing fact, but really she could not quite imagine herself ever calling him George. It would seem far too presumptuous.
Each of the ladies of the group—Samantha, Lady Harper; Chloe, Duchess of Worthingham, whom Dora met now for the first time; and Gwen, Lady Trentham—accompanied Dora and Agnes on at least one of their shopping excursions, and each was free with advice and opinions on her proposed purchases. Dora found herself enjoying their company immensely and realizing that in all the years since her youth she had never really had any close friends.