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He looked back at Eleanor. “Do you wish to search?”
She sucked in a deep breath and held it, trying to keep the ripple of appreciation at bay. He’d deferred to her. And she liked it.
“No, I trust Mrs. Doyle has searched well enough, but what are we going to do about my sister’s gown?” She motioned to the blue silk and looked to Mrs. Doyle. “That is a similar cut to Demeter’s, is it not?”
“I am afraid not, my lady.”
Eleanor grimaced. She knew about as much of dresses as Oliver she suspected. When she came to be fitted, she simply put herself in the hands of the modiste and let her declare whatever would suit her best.
“This one, though,” Oliver gestured to another dress in a pale peach tone, “is similar.”
“Itis, my lord.” Mrs. Doyle’s expression warmed with admiration.
“Can it be adjusted for Lady Demeter?”
“Well...”
“I am certain Lady Demeter would want a gown from no one else and think how grateful the duke shall be that you have gone to such efforts, Mrs. Doyle.” He stepped closer to the modiste, and Eleanor bunched a fist as Mrs. Doyle’s cheeks grew rosy.
“This dress was intended for another, but I am certain...” She pursed her lips. “Yes, I think we have time if we work through the night. It can be adjusted so Lady Demeter has something beautiful to wear on the day.”
As they left the building, Eleanor leaned toward Oliver. “Sometimes you need not flirt your way to success, you know.”
He chuckled, the sound making her feel oddly warm inside. “Well, that sounds a mightily dull way to exist.”
∞∞∞
“How is it you knew what Demeter’s gown looked like anyway?” Eleanor asked as soon as they reached the carriage.
Oliver shrugged. “I listen.”
She frowned but apparently had no response for him.
“At least the problem is solved.”
Eleanor shook her head vigorously. “Demeter might not have been the sort to dream of a wedding day, but she will be heartbroken her gown has gone missing. She adored it. I would still rather find the original one.” She cocked her head. “It is odd, is it not, that my sister’s gown was taken but nothing else of value?”
“Maybe the thief did not know what they were doing.”
“Yet they decided to fight to remove that gown and risk being caught.”
“Easier to secrete a dress on one’s person than a whole dressmaker’s dummy,” Oliver concluded. “So they were trying to behave with some caution at least.”
She spared a brief look at his hand as Oliver offered it to aid her into the carriage and ignored it, stepping up so swiftly, she missed the step and tumbled forward. He threw out an arm and bundled her into his chest before she toppled into the opening and slammed her face on the vehicle floor.
Swiftly, Eleanor straightened and extracted herself from his grasp but not before Oliver had a full awareness of soft curves that teased a part of him he shouldn’t be aware of. Only men who intended to marry should even be thinking of one of the Duke of Daventry’s daughters in such a manner and he had more desire to host a week-long country party with his mother than to ever enter into matrimony.
Cheeks glowing, she took the step again, this time allowing him to hand her into the carriage. She avoided his gaze and conducted herself with the aloof elegance one might expect of a high-ranking lady that made him smile. Eleanor was many things, but she was no typical high-ranking lady.
“I think Demeter’s gown was taken deliberately,” she declared as she sat and adjusted the cushion behind her.
Oliver climbed in and sat opposite her, leaning in. There was no escaping the fact Eleanor had a quick mind but there was something wholly fascinating about watching it work up close.
“Perhaps it was a mistake. They intended to steal a dress they could not pay for maybe?”
“It is well known my sister’s gown was being made there. As Mrs. Doyle said, lots of young ladies have come to her since Demeter commissioned a gown from her.”
“Being dressmaker to a duke’s daughter certainly brings with it an air of distinction.”
