Page 49 of To Have & To Hold

“It was easy, Your Grace,” the young girl blushed. “When one is beautiful to begin with, it takes nothing more than a little polish to make them shine.”

Emilia swallowed an unexpected lump in her throat, blinking fast against the tears that threatened to fall. It was the closest anyone had ever come to calling her beautiful, and though her heart couldn’t quite believe it, her face warmed at the sentiment.

“Let’s get you in yer dress,” Sophie leaned in a little closer and whispered. “His Grace is going to faint dead away.”

Emilia chuckled as she stood from her chair, letting the ties of her dressing gown fall open. She stood in front of the mirror while Sophie went to retrieve the ball gown. She absentmindedly ran her hands down her side and over the silk shift that covered her hips. She turned from side to side, her eyes closing briefly as she breathed in deeply.

Confidence shines brighter than beauty.

They were the same words her uncle had whispered into her ear as they entered every event during her first season. At first, she thought it was to encourage her, but she quickly learned that was simply his way of reminding her she needed the former to compensate for her severe lack of the latter. But in this moment, it was her lifeline.

She was a Duchess now. One that was about to walk into society for the first time on the arm of her husband—a man who possessed no flaws, physically or of character.

How would she ever survive this?

“Are you sure you do not want me to loosen your stays just a little bit, Your Grace?”

Emilia jumped in surprise at Sophie’s voice, but the young girl did not seem to notice as she pulled the dressing gown from Emilia’s shoulders. The fire in the room was blazing, but the cold air hit her bare arms with a start.

“You have such a beautiful figure, and the dress fits you like a glove,” Sophie continued, inspecting the ties of the torturous contraption in question. “It would be a shame if you were struggling to breathe unnecessarily.”

Emilia’s lips pursed. She wanted everything to be perfect, even down to the fall of her gown. She had instructed Sophie to pull the stays as tight as they could go, and then pull them just a little more before tying them off. It had only been a few minutes, and her ribs were already feeling bruised from the constant pressure. If she did not allow herself the ability to take in more air, she would be the one at risk of fainting dead away.

Emilia nodded reluctantly. “You may loosen them.”

Her body relaxed immediately, her lungs taking in a breath the moment the ties were undone.

“Is this better?” Sophie asked, securing them more loosely than before.

Emilia nodded in relief, moving to step into the gown that was waiting for her. She couldn’t contain the small gasp that escaped her lips as the silky velvet slid up over her shoulders.

She was still unsure how Madame Sorel had managed such an exquisite gown in such a short time, or what kind of magic she had woven into its seams that almost made her feel like a true duchess the moment the final button was clasped.

The gown was made of a deep, garnet velvet that reminded Emilia of spilled wine. It was a striking contrast against her fair skin and highlighted the color of her hair in a way that made it seem more like a statement instead of a blazing distraction.

The high waistline sat just below her bust, and the perfectly tailored skirt flowed gently over her figure before settling into smooth folds at her feet. The neckline was cut elegantly low in a square design, edged with gold embroidery. The delicate leaf-like design trailed up the hem, as well as the edges of the sheer overskirt that was the same deep red as the base of the gown. The sheer skirt split in the front, revealing the velvet underneath before sweeping back into a train.

Emilia twirled slowly in front of the mirror. Each layer caught the light differently, making the gown even more breathtaking when in motion. She could barely contain the smile that tugged at her lips as she took in her reflection.

Pride was a feeling better left buried, but she let it bloom just slightly on behalf of Sophie and Madam Sorel and the magic they had both performed.

“If I did not know myself,” Emilia said softly. “I would think I was a duchess.”

Sophie laughed as she tidied up the dressing table. Emilia took one last twirl in the mirror before giving a satisfied nod and turned towards the door.

“Oh, Your Grace!” Sophie called after her. “I forgot your necklace.”

Emilia’s hand fluttered to her neck, and her heart sank as her fingers brushed against the empty place where her heart-shaped locket used to lie. Even after two years, there were times she still expected to feel it there.

She turned her back so Sophie could fasten a golden necklace with red and yellow stones around her neck. She didn’t ask where the maid had found it, she was beginning to realize that everything she would ever need, and most of what she did not realize she needed, had already been supplied and put into place at Nathaniel’s direction. Hopefully, there would come a day when she felt more like his wife instead of another task on his long list of responsibilities to handle.

Emilia made her way down the hall to the front stairs and froze on the top step. It was a simple thing really, walking down a staircase. She had done it a thousand times before. Not in a dress as grand or heavy as this one, but her feet should have known the pattern well enough. Her hand gripped the banister, and she took in a deep breath as she forced one heeled slipper in front of the other.

The duke stood at the bottom of the staircase, half turned away from her as he leaned against the railing. His relaxed posture was a complete contrast to the flutter of nerves Emilia was feeling inside.

His glossy black hair shone in the candlelight; not a single strand dared stray from its meticulously chosen place. The jacket of his black evening dress was tailored to perfection, accentuating his broad shoulders in a way that felt as though it had been made to highlight his strength just as much as his station.

He adjusted the cuff of his already pristine jacket, turning to instruct a waiting footman to check on the carriage. His voice held such a natural air of confidence and authority without the harshness of being commanding.