The Duke's Reluctant Bride

Wycliffe Manor -The Morning After

Sunlight streamed through the high arched windows of the upper salon, draping the room in gold and warmth. The once austere chamber had been overtaken by bolts of imported fabric-satins, velvets, embroidered silks in hues ranging from wine-red to champagne to emerald. Dozens of fine accessories lay in velvet-lined boxes: glinting brooches, tiny glass beads, glimmering threads.

Juliana, humming with excitement, stood in her lace-trimmed robe atop a small dais while a team of four highly sought-after dressmakers from the town of Wycliffe scurried around her like a flock of brilliant birds. Ribbons hung from their necks, notebooks in their hands, eyes sharp and calculating as they took measurements and pinned sample cloths to her figure.

Evelyn, seated on a settee near the tall window, wore a dove-gray morning gown. Her hair was pulled back simply, pinned with only a single pearl comb. A small smile played on her lips as she watched Juliana flit about the room like a butterfly in spring bloom.

"You must wear something in green," Juliana was saying to one of the dressmakers, who was fitting an embroidered lace bodice against her front. "Evelyn, you must. That dark emerald, the one with the sheer sleeves. It will make your eyes sing. I'll not let you go to your first Wycliffe harvest looking like a widow."

"I hadn't realized this festival meant so much to you," Evelyn said, smiling softly.

Juliana spun to her, the pins on her sash catching the light. "Of course it does. It's the only time the entire county spills into the square. There's music, wine, dancing, nobles and commoners side by side. It's a Wycliffe tradition. My brother never comes, of course, but I always do."

"I can already see it - emerald silk, with an off-shoulder neckline and a train that glides like air," she said, spinning. "Evelyn, you simply must wear the green. It would make you look absolutely bewitching."

Evelyn, smiled faintly. "You've already decided on both our gowns, haven't you?"

Juliana grinned. "Of course. I've been thinking about it since last harvest. And now that you're here, it will be the most memorable one yet. You'll meet the Bransburys, the Howards, even Lady Blythe's family, her daughter was once presented to the Queen, you know. But they've nothing on you." She chattered.

One of the dressmakers, Madame Thistle, stepped forward with a carefully written ledger. "Your Ladyships," she said smoothly, "based on the designs you've both chosen: beaded silk for Lady Juliana, and embroidered satin for Her Grace... the full cost of the gowns, including petticoats and gloves, will come to one hundred and three pounds. That includes the hand-stitching and the expedited tailoring."

Another added, "Lady Juliana's gown is especially intricate with hand-stitched beading, silver thread lining. A fine commission."

Juliana waved her hand. "That's quite reasonable."

At that moment, a dry voice interrupted from the far side of the room.

"I'm afraid there are no funds for both gowns."

The room stilled. All turned to see Mrs. Carroway standing rigidly by the door. Her dark gown was plain as ever, and her keys jingled faintly at her waist as she stepped forward.

Evelyn slowly rose from her seat.

Juliana narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean, no funds?"

"The household budget has already exceeded the monthly allowance," Mrs. Carroway said without emotion. "The estate books reflect several ongoing expenses such as the re-roofing of the eastern stables, the order for winter stores, and the repairs to the tenant cottages after the last storm."

The tension in the room grew tighter.

"I can authorize the cost for one gown," the housekeeper continued. "And that will be yours, Lady Juliana, as arranged prior."

Evelyn stood still, expression unreadable, though the pink had already started to creep into her cheeks.

"But she's the duchess," Juliana said, her voice rising with disbelief. "You can't seriously suggest she attend the harvest festival in a reused dress, like some country maiden. How would that look? There must be some solution."

"I've consulted the books," Mrs. Carroway replied evenly. "And Lady Rosalind, who manages the household's funds, has made no allocation for an additional gown this month. Unless Her Grace is willing to pay for hers from her personal coffers, I'm afraid we cannot accommodate the commission."

The dressmakers exchanged glances, their faces professional but subtly intrigued by the tension. One of them coughed discreetly into her hand.

Evelyn's cheeks flushed not with anger, but with embarrassment.

It wasn't the money. She had her own dowry and wealth from her family, and she could very well commission a gown herself. But the implications were louder than the words spoken: She, the Duchess of Wycliffe, had no say in the financial affairs of her own household. Lady Rosalind still held the purse strings. She was, despite the title and status, little more than a well-dressed ornament.

Juliana turned to Evelyn. "We'll speak to Nathaniel."

Evelyn gave a soft smile, though the heat rising in her throat tasted like shame. "No, there's no need."

"But..."

"It's just a dress," Evelyn said calmly, but her voice was brittle. "Please, go ahead with your order, Juliana."

Juliana looked outraged. "I don't want the dress if you can't have one, too."

Mrs. Carroway stepped forward again. "Forgive me, Your Grace but Lady Rosalind controls the household accounts. My authority comes from her. If Her Grace would prefer a discussion with Lady Rosalind directly, I shall inform her."

Evelyn's knuckles tightened around the edge of her gown. Lady Rosalind controls the household accounts. It shouldn't have been a surprise, and yet it felt like a slap. She was Duchess in title but not in power.

Juliana looked at her with disbelief. "You can't let them embarrass you like this."

"I'm not embarrassed," Evelyn lied. "I'll manage it."

"I could lend..."

"No." Evelyn's voice was firm. "Thank you, but no."

The dressmakers quietly packed away the extra materials for Evelyn's gown, pretending not to see her discomfort. One of them glanced up sympathetically. Another avoided her gaze entirely.

When the women had left the room, Juliana stomped over to the hearth and slammed the fan she was holding against the mantle.

"This is absurd. Lady Rosalind's had the keys for years. But you're the mistress of the house now. She should've handed them to you the moment you married Nathaniel."

"She didn't," Evelyn murmured, glancing out the window toward the garden.

"Talk to him." Juliana said.

"He has more pressing matters."

Juliana turned, hands on her hips. "Then make it a pressing matter."

Evelyn let her eyes drift to the far corner of the room, where a ray of sunlight hit the spot where the dressmakers had stood. The image of herself in green silk shimmered and disappeared like smoke.

"I'll find another way."

Juliana opened her mouth to argue but then saw the faint look in Evelyn's eyes. Not defeat. Not quite. But something heavier, more complicated.

Quietly, she nodded.

"Then we'll make you the most radiant duchess in all of Wycliffe, with or without Lady Rosalind's damned budget."

Evelyn gave her a grateful smile.

But inside, she burned..