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“I suppose … speaking with you is the first step. I was initially angry when you told me Mr. Jackson had manipulated this meeting, but now … I needed to see you. To express my regret.”

Miss Annabel nodded. “When I heard how deeply concerned Mr. Jackson was for your happiness … He is a good man.”

Caroline bit her lip, thinking about what came next. What could she do to ease her guilt? She had taken pains not to repeat her past, and the duchess had said it had all turned out for the best—which was a balm to hear—but still … she needed to offer some token of her regret.

Nay! Not a token of my regret, but rather a token of my esteem—to demonstrate how much I value our shared past!

Despite her actions to the contrary, Caroline had always valued her connection to Miss Annabel and Mrs. Harris. She needed to express her love and appreciation for all they had done to secure her current success—for leading her to her dreams. For teaching her strength.

But how?

“Could I do something for you? Perhaps … make you something?” Her hand flew over her mouth at once, mortified. “I apologize. Of course, you are a duchess, and anything I create would be far too inferior!”

The duchess frowned, twin furrows appearing between her brows. “Do not disparage yourself. I would be honored to receive a gift from Chatternwell’s preeminent modiste.”

Modiste!

Until that very moment, Caroline had thought of herself as an audacious maid who had reinvented herself as a dressmaker in a small town. Now she swelled with pride as she considered herself a fashionable modiste—offering one of her creations to a duchess of the realm. Her mind raced with possibilities. Her Grace had seen that potential in her as a girl and had come to verify her welfare. That revelation shifted Caroline’s very sense of self.

“I could”—Caroline glanced around, frantically searching for an idea fit for a duchess—until her eyes landed on the door of the coach out on the road—“present you with a very fine walking dress embroidered with the Halmesbury coat of arms!”

The duchess’s eyes widened before lighting with delight. She turned to peer out the window at her husband. Silence reigned for several seconds before she turned back, lashes glistening with unshed tears. The duke, watching from his position outside, frowned in concern, straightening to peer pensively into the shop.

“That would be unique and highly valued.”

Tears of joy sprang into Caroline’s eyes, overcome by the dense emotion that filled the room. “I have worked on such a dress for months. I shall personally embroider it. It can be ready for you by tomorrow.”

“We are spending the night at Chatternwell House, so I shall speak with the duke about delaying our return until tomorrow afternoon.”

Her Grace returned to the door. The footman sprang forward to open it. Out on the road, she conferred with her husband in hushed tones, then returned to the shop.

“His Grace agrees. Shall I try the dress on? The footman will bring you a pillow from the carriage with the coat of arms to use as a template.”

“Yes. Thank you … Miss Annabel.”

The duchess grinned at the use of her name from their youth. “My pleasure … Caroline.”

Caroline led her into the back, where the gown hung. Gazing at it, she felt a twinge of regret. Only days ago, she had thought of marrying in it. But it would now serve a greater purpose—as the key to unlock a future unmarred by guilt or shame. A symbol of how far she had come, of her regrets, and a new beginning more profound than the opening of her shop.

“It is exquisite,” proclaimed the noblewoman, fingering the fabric.

“The finest velvet I could find. I bought it from the docks in London, directly from the merchant who shipped it in.”

Caroline took it down. The duchess removed her carriage dress, revealing an ivory linen gown beneath. She raised her arms and slipped into the walking dress. Buttoning it up, she moved before the mirror, posing at various angles.

“What do you think of the color? Do you think we suit—your dress and I?”

“You … are utterly beguiling in it. It is as if it was always intended for you.”

“And the coat of arms?”

“I shall embroider it with gilt floss on the back.”

“That will be striking against the Prussian blue. This is your finest work.”

Caroline examined the garment, draping it as she noted what alterations were needed. “It is, and it is only fitting that I made it for you. I shall let the cuffs out for your longer arms and re-hem it because you are a little taller, but those appear to be the only adjustments required. If I work through the night, it shall be ready by early afternoon.”

“Perfect. That will allow us time to return to Avonmead before sunset.”