Chapter 28
Do I really need to purchase every single one they’ve brought?
The gems adorning each gown gleamed with undeniable authenticity, and the opulent fabrics suggested the materials alone commanded a steep price.
Hold on—did the Grand Duke summon Madame here himself? Is he covering the bill, or will it dip into my own allowance?
A chill trickle of sweat slid down my spine.
Here I am, Grand Duchess, yet too timid to inquire about the cost.
“Your Highness, care to slip into one?”
Receiving no swift reply, Ramondria lifted a gown of blue silk that echoed the hue of my eyes.
“Very well?”
The moment I donned it, my apprehensions only intensified.
It framed Annette’s features with breathtaking allure—even I couldn’t deny its splendor.
“Oh, my! Your Highness, it fits you like a dream!”
With every fresh gown I modeled, Ramondria exhaled a gasp of delight.
When I stepped into the pink one, its bold central bow drawing the eye, even stoic Whitley offered a faint nod, echoed by the shop attendants.
Yet my thoughts churned wildly.
I’ll settle for just one or two, surely?
“I’ll take this pink one. And…”
I wavered between a white dress that captivated me more and a blue one that promised greater utility.
At that juncture, Ramondria dipped her head, mistaking my pause for displeasure.
“If these fail to please Your Highness, I can procure fresh designs without delay.”
“No, no—that’s not it at all. Truth be told, I adore them every one. I’m simply at a loss for which to select.”
“Ah.”
Her strained features eased a touch.
“Your Highness.”
Whitley, who had observed in silence, advanced with measured grace.
“Spring demands a full wardrobe. Though you could commission more later, why not claim every gown presented today?”
“Pardon?”
“His Grace the Grand Duke charged me to ensure you lack for nothing.”
Dropping his tone so Madame couldn’t overhear, Whitley pressed on.
“He pledged ample funds. Selecting merely one or two might leave him crestfallen.”
His words carried a gentle nudge, pinpointing my very reluctance. Unbidden, heat bloomed in my cheeks.
He’s urging me not to fret over the expense.
Whitley must have gleaned from the maids how sparse my closet truly was.
I hauled as many gowns as possible from my family’s holdings, but bulk forced me to leave most behind.
Any keen observer could spot my reliance on a handful of threadbare staples.
Doubtless the Grand Duke had taken note by now.
I’d long recognized his thoughtfulness, but this—arranging for his wife without shaming her—surpassed all expectation.
What began as an unforeseen present now stirred deep warmth.
Come to think of it, my wardrobe does cry out for expansion.
Eyes alight with budding thrill, I turned to Ramondria.
“I’ll have every gown I’ve tried.”
“They’ll drape even more exquisitely once fitted precisely to you.”
She beamed at my declaration, and Whitley’s satisfaction mirrored hers.
“Oh, and during the alterations…”
I faltered, then plunged ahead.
“I’d like subtle design tweaks.”
Ramondria, bustling about, halted abruptly.
She had poured evident passion into these creations.
The seams whispered perfection upon inspection, necklines and cuffs blooming with fine filigree.
Yet that very excess left them wanting, in my view.
I might have favored modest attire, but my fashion instincts ran sharp—honed by the relentless scrutiny of advertisers and models.
I devoured elite journals and global runway spectacles for inspiration, forging discerning tastes.
Which only amplified the tragedy, really.
Still, I sensed Ramondria’s visions would soar with streamlining into purer elegance.
“Y-Your meaning is…”
To my surprise, Ramondria faltered.
“I deemed bolder extravagance ideal. Grant me time, and I’ll lavish more gems and flourishes.”
“What? No, that’s the opposite…”
“Or perhaps fuller skirts with extra ruffles and lace? Share your vision, and I’ll refine accordingly…”
“Wait.”
I intercepted her torrent of words.
“I seek no added opulence.”
“Naturally, we must amplify—What?”
Her eyes bulged, as if I’d mangled my speech.
“Quite the reverse—I crave far greater simplicity.”
“But in the capital, elaborate styles reign…”
She faltered, discomfort plain.
Her response hinted at the capital’s penchant for excess.
Ladriel’s gown, after all, dazzled like a chandelier under gemfire.
“Yet this is no capital.”
“True, yet…”
“As Northern Grand Duchess, mimicking southern fads would ill suit me.”
Ramondria’s fists tightened.
“I overstepped.”
“No rebuke intended. I simply desire gowns true to my sensibilities, trends be damned. For instance…”
I gestured to an olive frock drowned in frills.
“You wish to accent the hem, yes?”
Its skirt cascaded in graceful tiers, pleats alone commanding gaze.
“But the frills overwhelm. Every gown suffers thus—no breathing room.”
“A-all of them?”
“That word gave her pause; she pressed her lips thin.
Have I bruised her too deeply?
Noting her shadowed mien, I hastened to mend.
“Oh, but this one I’m in now? A triumph.”
I spun lightly, flaunting the final try-on.
Its clean lines contrasted the rest, elevated by exquisite stitching into quiet sophistication.
“This… your preferred?”
Ramondria gaped, thunderstruck.
“Precisely.”
I affirmed with resolve.
“It requires no changes whatsoever. I’ll wear it straightaway.”
“……”
“Madame?”
Rousing at my prompt, she ventured cautiously.
“But… for the Grand Duchess, isn’t it overly subdued?”
I dismissed her qualms with a shake.
“Its very restraint lets the precision shine. The work is masterful already.”
My fingers traced the embroidery’s finery.
“Above all, I refuse to be overshadowed by my attire. The gown must serve me. Do you see?”
I could have dictated per piece, but trusted her once more.
A creator of such caliber would grasp my intent.
Her voice quavered faintly.
“…I shall adapt them to Your Highness’s wishes.”
As she measured, bemusement clouded her face; I feigned oversight.
The Grand Duke’s lavishing a king’s ransom— I must honor these wisely.
Amusing, too, that he’d curate finery for his foe’s daughter.
Such… benevolence. No doormat, mind—far from it.
And his own wardrobe? Neglected.
A few tweaks, and his allure would blaze brighter.
Had he freshened his spring attire?
I queried Whitley; predictably, he demurred.
“Regrettably, His Grace’s last order dates to the prior winter.”
Neglecting that visage borders on felony.
I pivoted to measurement-scribbling Ramondria.
“Any record of the Grand Duke’s sizes? I’d commission outfits for him too.”
“I do.”
Whitley interjected ere she could, eyes agleam, surging ahead.
“Swiftly—fetch the men’s templates!”
Ramondria directed her team posthaste, her own enthusiasm kindling.
Each time I’d knotted a drab cravat about his chiseled throat, regret had gnawed.
Now, visions of him in tailored splendor sparked my imagination.
Meanwhile, en route to the castle…
“The crux of the Keltara Trading Company crisis lies here: Merion undercuts prices to crush independents, demanding our firm hand…”
Loic nodded vaguely as Perel briefed him.
His knight, Leon, trailed a pace behind.
They approached the primary manor.
Sunset bathed the world in amber; arcane lamps kindled, gilding the way.
“Your Grace?”
Perel paused, eyeing him askance.
“Hm?”
“…Pondering Her Grace the Grand Duchess?”
“Absurd.”
“You’d scarcely wear that dreamy look over Keltara’s squabbles.”
Perel grinned, shoulders lifting in a shrug.
