Page 41 of The Duke’s Matchmaker

Setting aside the note for a moment—it made her more nervous than the box itself had—she picked up the gown and walked over to the looking glass, holding it up in front of herself.

It was beautiful. And she would be beautiful in it; there was no doubting that. Her eyes seemed to shine. The gown was a masterpiece, the sleeves made of a sheer fabric, the bodice embroidered with lavender thread that was difficult to see against the blue and just added a subtle hint of richness and complexity. It was more beautiful than anything Dorothy owned.

I have to wear it to the Sanford Ball. She didn’t need any note to tell her what this gown was intended for, and besides, she wanted to wear it. The beauty of it had set her heart racing. It was all she could do not to put it on right now. As a matter of fact, maybe she ought to do that, just to see if it fit…

“Lady Dorothy?”

It was her lady’s maid, Hattie. She stood in the doorway, hands gripped together in obvious nervousness. Dorothy beckoned her inside.

Hattie slipped in and closed the door. Dorothy was very fond of the girl. One of the benefits of being on your own as she was had turned out to be having the authority to make your own decisions about the hiring of staff, and Dorothy had taken the opportunity to select a maid who was new to this kind of work. Hattie was very young, not yet out of her teens, and she seemed constantly fearful that she might do something wrong, but Dorothy liked the idea of helping her to achieve her potential. And in the meantime, she was discovering what it might feel like to be an elder sister instead of always a younger one. She enjoyed it immensely.

“Hattie, come and sit down,” she said. “What do you think of this gown?” She held it up.

“So that’s what was in the box?” Hattie asked. “We’ve all been wondering, Lady Dorothy. All the maids are talking about it. We have been ever since it arrived.”

Ah. Dorothy hadn’t thought of this. There was information to be had that she hadn’t yet sought. “When did this arrive, Hattie?”

“A few hours ago, while you were in town.”

“And who delivered it? Do you know?”

“I didn’t see him, but it was a man,” Hattie said. “They’re saying he was a messenger. Nobody knew him to look at. He must have been sent by someone else. I wonder who.”

“Yes,” Dorothy murmured. “I wonder.”

She looked back at the note, which lay amid the wrappings on the bed behind her. It was time to find out exactly what was going on here. She picked it up and opened it.

The message was simple. Saw this and thought of you - N

Her breath caught.

How had she failed to think of it? She hadn’t even guessed that it might come from him.

Nathaniel. That was who N had to be. That was the only person it could be.

He was the only person who was looking forward to her presence at the Sanford Ball. He was the only person she could be certain she was going to spend time with there. It made sense that he was thinking about seeing her. But this…why would he have done this? Why would it matter to him what I wear to the ball?

“Who is it from, my lady?” Hattie asked, pressing her hands together as if unsure she should be asking questions at all.

“It’s all right, Hattie,” Dorothy assured her. “It’s a gift from the Duke of Henshaw. Though I don’t know why he sent it. He doesn’t say. Only that it reminded him of me.”

“It…well, it does match your eyes,” Hattie ventured. “Perhaps that’s why it made him think of you.”

“Yes, that makes sense,” Dorothy agreed. “But the part I can’t understand is why he would send it, even if it did put me in his mind. It can’t be that every time he sees a gown that matches a lady’s eyes, he sends it to her.”

“No,” Hattie agreed. “I’m sure that isn’t it. But the two of you are⁠—”

“We aren’t courting, Hattie. There’s nothing between us.”

Hattie was quiet for a moment. “I was going to say that you’re friends,” she said. “He considers you a friend. Maybe that’s the reason he wanted to give you a gift.”

Dorothy considered that. “It’s still an odd thing,” she said. “For a gentleman to give a lady a gift like this when all that exists between them is friendship…it’s odd. Don’t you think so?”

“Yes,” Hattie said. “But I don’t understand that much about these things, my lady. I’ve never befriended a gentleman.”

“Nor have I, really,” Dorothy admitted. “All my friends are ladies.”

“Maybe this is the way a duke behaves.”