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Isabel nodded. “Thank you. Thank you for rationalizing my thoughts back to me.”
Evie smiled. “He retreated to his estate and hid there immediately after the wedding. And he didn’t appear in high society for years after his wife’s demise. That must have fanned the flames of gossip until it grew like wildfire. Were he an active member of the ton, nobody would dare. But I will have Gabriel speak to your brothers so they are not worried to give you away.”
Isabel let out a chuckle. “I am not certain they will ever be calm about giving me away. But are you certain St. Clare will agree to speak to my brothers?”
Evie smirked. “I have ways of persuading him.”
Isabel smiled widely. “It sounds like a wonderful marriage.”
“It is.” Evie’s smile turned sour as she suddenly frowned and placed her hand on her abdomen. “Oh, lord, my stomach is extremely queasy today.”
Isabel reached out to Evie and placed her hand against her cool cheek. “Well, you are not feverish, but you look pale. Perhaps you should lie down. I shouldn’t have dragged you here—”
Evie smiled again. “Isabel. Breathe. I am quite well. I’ve just been rolling around London for the better part of the week, and I detest riding in carriages. Makes me nauseous. But this shall pass. I just need some ginger root—”
“Well, you heard her!” Madame Deville entered the room at that moment and immediately addressed her staff. “Go bring her ginger root!”
One of the seamstresses jumped to her feet and ran to the back of the shop.
“No need to worry. We take care of our guests,” Madame Deville said, her head raised proudly. “Would you accompany me to the pedestal?”
She gestured for Isabel to follow her, and the latter complied with a smile.
“What would you like to order today, Miss?” Madame asked as she surveyed Isabel from head to toe.
“Everything,” Evie answered from her seat. “Eight of everything. Day gowns, evening gowns, riding habits, unmentionables. Everything.”
“Eight?” Isabel craned her neck to look at Evie from behind the modiste.
“Yes. One for every day of the week and a spare.”
“What would I need all of that for? I have a few gowns already—”
“Dear.” Evie stood and walked toward her. “What you have is the clothing you prepared for spinsterhood. Now you’re a marchioness, and you have to look the part. Am I wrong?” She addressed the last question to the modiste.
“You are never wrong, Your Grace,” Madame answered with a curtsy.
“And more importantly,” Evie added with a smile. “We need a wedding gown!”
Isabel scrunched up her face. “Right, that.”
The modiste’s eyes lit up. “I shall take your measurements first, but do you know what design you prefer? Oh, I shall bring you some sketches. Marie! Go take the marchioness’s measurements while I look for the sketches!” She hurried out of the room.
Isabel shifted uncomfortably as Marie came toward her, preparing to take her measurements. She didn’t like being called the marchioness. She wasn’t one yet, and she didn’t know whether she’d get used to the title any time soon.
“See?” Evie directed her radiant smile toward Isabel. “No need to fret. Madame Deville will take care of everything. But I understand your uneasiness. The nerves must be knotting up your stomach.”
Isabel tried for a smile, but she was afraid she failed abominably. “They truly are.”
“I am sorry. I can’t presume to know how you feel.”
“Not everyone is so lucky as to marry the man they’ve been in love with for the past five years.”
“Do you have someone else in mind? Because it’s as easy as dragging one to Gretna Green.” Evie smiled slyly. “Do you know that my cousin Julie also had a marriage of convenience? She was mightily unhappy with it.”
Julie? Isabel frowned in thought. “Lady Clydesdale?”
Isabel knew Evie’s cousin. But Lady Clydesdale was a happy young woman, a loving mother, and absolutely in love with her husband. Had she been married against her will? It was difficult to fathom.
