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“Mother, you are not only ridiculous and misguided, but you have never been more wrong in your entire life.”
His mother’s face took on an expression of pity. She shook her head and clucked her tongue.
“You were a fool for askingthat girlfor her hand in marriage,” she said.
Andrew snorted.
“I beg to differ,” he said bitterly. “But, of course, you have set a wonderful example in how to choose the right spouse.”
“I am quite sure that is not true, dear,” she said. Her eyes looked almost sad, but her tone was mocking, further angering Andrew. “That woman will bring you nothing but unhappiness. Mark my words.”
Andrew met his mother’s gaze firmly and set his jaw.
“Even if that were true, that is my problem and mine alone,” he said. “That is none of your business, and it is not your place to judge. You will start treating my future wife with the respect she deserves.”
The dowager laughed dryly and shook her head.
“I will never acceptthat girlas my daughter-in-law,” she said. “And that’s final.”
Chapter Twenty-two
“Which color will you choose, Sister?” Sybil asked Rowena. She was practically vibrating with excitement as she sat in the carriage with her mother and elder sisters. It was taking them to visit the studio of a renowned modiste on Bond Street.
The viscountess laughed, and it was a genuine, happy sound.
“Well, white, of course,” she answered for Rowena, giggling at Sybil’s question.
Rowena looked up just in time to see her mother wink playfully at Sybil, who screwed up her face and narrowed her eyes, but a smile showed beneath her pretend pout.
“I know it will be white, Mama. I was asking Rowena which shade of white she prefers.”
Rowena couldn’t help smiling. It had been too long since she had seen her mother looking so carefree, and just as long since she could look at Sybil without the pressure of finding a match weighing on her. For those reasons alone, Rowena was able to allow herself to relax and enjoy herself, at least for the moment. She could endure anything, so long as it meant that her loved ones were happy and well.
“I am not sure,” she said, answering her younger sister’s question. “That is part of the fun of having you all with me, so you can help me pick the one that is just right.”
That was apparently the answer Sybil sought. She squealed with delight.
“We will pick you the best wedding dress in all of London,” she assured Rowena.
When they reached the modiste’s shop, the viscountess, Nancy, and Sybil buzzed with excited chatter as they entered. Even Rowena found herself swept up in it. There were only two weeks until her wedding, and she wanted to enjoy this outing with her mother and sisters. After all, it would be the only time she would ever buy a wedding dress for herself.
While the viscountess and Sybil went for their dress fittings, Nancy took Rowena’s hand and pulled her through the shop, straight to the section displaying fabrics in all the various shades of white and cream. She held one up, a cream-colored silk fabric, and grinned at Rowena.
“Oh, Sister,” she said, tugging Rowena closer, “look at this one. It is just perfect for you.”
The modiste, accompanied by Sybil, then approached Nancy and Rowena, smiling. She studied the fabric Nancy was holding and surveyed Rowena.
“It certainly does suit your complexion, miss” she said. “Would you like to look at some more? Or shall I take your measurements now?”
Rowena looked at Nancy and Sybil, who wore identical expressions of dreamy delight as they visually compared the material to their sister’s skin. Nancy nodded eagerly, taking Rowena’s hand and squeezing it firmly.
“I suppose it is decided,” Rowena said with a laugh. “I am ready to be measured.”
The modiste measured and cut several yards of the material and folded it deftly over her arm. Then, she led Rowena to a private alcove at the back of the shop, where an assistant waited to note down Rowena’s measurements. The modiste laid the chosen fabric aside, whipped out her tape measure and began, while Rowena stood still on a small platform.
While modiste went to work on Rowena’s fitting, she wrapped bits of the fabric around Rowena’s body, pinning it in certain places, making sketches in a small book as the measurements were noted in a ledger by the assistant. Rowena admired the skill and passion with which the woman worked. It was clear why she was one of the best modistes in Town.
When she was finished, she closed her book and stepped back. She gave Rowena a soft smile and helped her down from the stool.
