Edward turned an eye toward the missive, which was clearly a bill of sale from Madame Morelle. He'd seen enough of them over the years to recognize her business stationery. "No, I'll take it," he said, curious to see exactly how many gowns were being delivered and at what cost.

Reaching out, he picked up the correspondence and broke the wax seal, revealing a full dozen pages. On each were rows of notations with descriptions of individual items and the accompanying price, all penned in fine black ink. As he scanned one page after the other, his brows shot high on his forehead. Flipping to the final page, he searched for the grand total and felt his eyes strain wide, his jaw dropping as he read the figure written at the bottom.

That can't be right! he thought. Not even a royal princess would spend this much on her wardrobe. Doing another quick review, he began to count gowns, wishing Drake were here to confirm his hasty math. If he was right-and he had the sinking suspicion that he was-there were over one hundred and fifty gowns on the invoice.

One hundred and fifty!

Surely there had to be a mistake, since all these clothes couldn't possibly be for Claire alone.

Mallory! he thought, his head coming up again. Mallory must have defied me and gone shopping too.

Well, he'd see about this and see about it now.

Paying no attention to the last of the deliverymen as they made their way out the door, Edward took the stairs two at a time. The thick paper invoice crinkled inside his grasp, his emerald signet ring tapping against the polished handrail with each of his steps. Turning at the landing, he made his way down the long corridor.

Feminine talk and murmurs of admiration floated from one of the guest bedchambers, growing louder and more distinct the closer he got. He hadn't been to this room since Claire had taken up residence, knowing it was hers. The lilting cadence of her voice floated like sunbeams on the air. Stopping in front of the partially open door, he rapped on the panel.

A maidservant soon appeared at the door, her eyes growing large when she saw him standing there.

"Is my sister within?" he asked.

"Yes, Your Grace," the girl told him, dipping a curtsey.

"Who is it, Penny?" he heard Mallory call. The girl withdrew, a quick hush of conversation following. "Edward's here? You mean right outside the door?" Mallory said.

"That's right," he retorted in a voice loud enough to carry. "And I want to speak with you. Now, if you would be so good."

Mallory arrived at the door moments later. "Oh, hallo, Ned. What do you want? I'm helping Claire try on her new gowns. We're having a bit of a fashion exhibition at the moment."

"Yes, I'm sure you are," he said in a wry tone. "That's what I'm here to discuss."

Mallory gave him a look of surprise, the one she used when she had been caught at something she knew she oughtn't to have done.

He scowled. "So how many of these gowns have you been trying on?"

She scowled back. "None. Well, one. All right, two," she corrected, "but those two are quite within bounds, since my new allowance just became available."

"Come now, how many of those gowns are really yours? And don't try to cozen me. We've been through this more times than I can count and I thought I had your pledge."

She crossed her arms, her lips firming. "You do have my pledge and I have honored it."

"So you're telling me that all of these gowns"-he lifted the stack of bills in his grasp-"were ordered for Lady Claire?"

Mallory opened her mouth to reply, but before she could, the door opened wider and there stood Claire.

She looked flushed and lovely, a few wayward tendrils of golden hair curled against her cheeks in a most becoming fashion. Blue as a summer sky, her eyes shone with vivid brightness against her creamy skin, her cheeks stained the same lush pink as her lips.

Claire met his gaze with a direct look of her own. "That's exactly what she is saying, Your Grace. The gowns are all mine. Lady Mallory was very circumspect in her purchases, so pray do not be cross with her for something in which she took no part."

"Actually, I did take part," Mallory amended in a conspiratorial aside to Claire. "In the shopping, that is, and the selection of the garments."

"Yes, well, I fear your brother is displeased with the wrong person whatever the circumstances," Claire said.

"I fail to see why he should be," Mallory interjected, turning her attention back to her brother. "Claire may have shopped with an admittedly liberal hand, but she bought nothing she did not need for her entrance into Society. Do you not want her looking her best?"

His jaw tightened this time. "Of course I do. But-"

"She couldn't very well buy second-rate goods and patronize an inferior seamstress, who might charge pennies rather than pounds but provide slipshod work."

"I never expected her to do so, and that isn't the point."

"Madame Morelle does not come cheap, you know, nor should she for the quality she provides."

"I have never complained about Madame Morelle or your patronage of her shop."

"Well then, why are you all beetle-browed?"

"Beetle-browed!" he shot back. "I am nothing of the kind."

Mallory gave a delicate snort. "Tell that to your eyebrows."

He paused, then blew out a breath. "Sometimes, Mallory, you try my patience beyond measure. If you weren't my sister I would-"

"What?" she dared, undaunted by his words. "What would you do?"

Briefly, Edward closed his eyes, clearly striving for that patience he'd mentioned. When he opened them again, his expression was calm, despite the faintly militant gleam that lingered in his gaze.

Concerned that her scheme was having unintended consequences, Claire decided it was time to intercede. "Please, do not quarrel," she implored. "Certainly not over me. I appreciate your defense, Mallory, but I believe this is an issue that needs to be resolved between your brother and myself. Is that not right, Your Grace?"

He met her gaze for a long moment. "If you prefer."

"I know you mentioned your eagerness to try on the pair of gowns you purchased," Claire said to Mallory. "Why do you not take them now and go to your room? Penny can accompany you to help. And I'm sure Cousin Wilhelmina would be happy to proffer an opinion, assuming she has awakened from her nap by now."

Mallory hesitated. "Are you sure? I don't mind staying in the least."

"I shall be fine."

Mallory looked between them, clearly weighing the situation. "Well, if you are certain. But remember that I am only just down the hall."

"I'm not likely to murder her," Edward remarked in a half-exasperated tone. "If that were the case, you'd have been dead years ago. Now take your dresses-the two that are most definitely coming out of your pin money, I might add-and go to your room. I shall see you tonight at dinner."

After another considering glance between her and Edward, Mallory departed, the maid trailing behind with a large bandbox in hand.

Standing back, Claire silently invited Edward into her room despite the impropriety of the act. "Surely the servants have heard more than enough already," she explained.

"My staff is extremely discreet," he told her, then strode inside.

Drawing another breath, Claire pushed the door inward, leaving it open by a scant inch. She wanted privacy, but she wasn't lost to all sense of discretion. With her pulse beating at a rapid gallop, she took a moment to compose herself, then turned.

She found Edward standing with a fist on one hip as he surveyed the ocean of clothing spread over every piece of furniture in the room, along with another small mountain of boxes that had yet to be unpacked.

"Merciful heavens, did you buy every yard of fabric in the city?" he remarked.

She ignored his sarcasm, well aware of her extravagance. After all, that had been the point. Determined to proceed with her plan, she'd ended up having Madame Morelle recreate nearly all the fashion plates she'd admired that day at the mantua maker's shop. Additionally she and Mallory had included several designs from La Belle Assemblee and had a few more made up from the fashion babies on display. They'd taken Madame's shop by storm, as the seamstress herself had declared, even her jaded eyes growing a bit round at the enormity of the order.

Now the moment of truth had arrived.

Just how angry is he? she wondered. Enough to blister me with a tirade that would do my father proud? Sufficiently furious to toss me out of the house and end our engagement? She waited, nearly rubbing her hands together in anticipation.

However, unlike her father when his ire was roused, the duke seemed composed, almost cool, despite his earlier heated remarks. He said nothing as he continued gazing at the array of garments, pausing every so often to peruse the bill in his hand.

"Is there something in particular you are looking for, Your Grace?"

"No, simply curious. For instance, there is a notation about several gowns with...let me see what it was called again..." Pausing, he thumbed through the pages he held. "Ah yes, the rose-point lace that costs a mere forty pounds a yard."

Well now, she thought, that's more like it. As a rule, men were notorious for disdaining feminine trimmings and fripperies, particularly expensive ones. Perhaps a detailed description of her purchase would really set him on edge.

"That lace is handmade by Belgian nuns and takes hundreds of hours to create," she informed him in an enthusiastic voice. "Madame assured me it is the finest lace in existence and well worth the extra expense of importing it from abroad. Wartime tariffs, you see, make the price extremely dear."

Abroad! her father would have complained. Aren't there any cloistered spinsters here in England who can tat a bit of thread? And for a fraction of this outrageous price!

But the duke remained calm. "Yes, the tariffs are quite steep for most imported goods these days. Lace included."

"Thus all the smuggling that's so popular," she said. "But Madame doesn't deal in contraband lace, so that wasn't an option. Not that you would approve such goings-on. I'm sure you would never have cause to find yourself on the wrong side of the excise man," she added, hoping he got her allusion to the French wine they'd drunk at dinner the other evening.

From the wry look he gave her, he did. "No, certainly not."

Studying the garments, she crossed to a pale pink silk evening gown. "This one has the rose-point lace. Exquisite, is it not?" Taking up the dress, she held it out for his inspection.

His gaze roamed over the lace. "Indeed. Those nuns definitely know their stitchery."

He sounded serious enough, she decided, and yet as she studied him, she thought she detected the faintest hint of a twinkle in his eyes.

Is he teasing me?

Frowning, she suddenly worried that her plan might not be working as expected. He was supposed to be angry, not amused.

"What else, Your Grace?" she pressed. "What other portions of the bill have you curious?"

At the reminder, he gazed again at the invoice. "Well, the sheer number of gowns for one. By my count there are over one hundred and fifty. Did you have any idea that you'd ordered quite so many?"

Her eyes widened, surprised in spite of herself. At the time, she'd known that she was buying an enormous number of gowns, but even she hadn't realized it was that many! Gracious, Papa would be red-faced with an apoplexy if he were the one holding the bill. So why isn't the duke?

"No, Your Grace," she admitted, "though as Mallory said, I only ordered what I needed."

He raised a brow.

"As I recall, you did say I was to buy whatever I required." She paused with apparent innocence. "It would seem I required a very great deal."

But rather than glowering as she expected, he barked out a laugh. "That's the understatement of the century. And what of this one gown I saw that cost five hundred pounds? I believe there was some mention of diamonds in the description."

Oh goody, she thought. He noticed that one!

She'd realized when she ordered the dress that it was the most outrageously extravagant, utterly decadent thing she'd ever done in her life. In several lifetimes. Even Mallory had hesitated over the purchase, biting one of her fingernails with indecision, while Claire forged ahead and gave her approval of the purchase.

"Oh, that one is for a very special occasion, although I haven't decided which one yet. The dress is made of a magnificent cream sarcenet. Tiny diamonds are encrusted in the bodice, with an array of leaves and flowers across the skirt that are sewn with a thread made of real gold. The effect is quite dazzling. Oh, and I ordered shoes to match! Those haven't arrived yet, I'm afraid. The boot maker is still fashioning my footwear. And I have orders with three different milliners and two glove makers as well."

Her heart pounded in her chest, nerves trembling as she waited again for the explosion.

Instead, the corners of his mouth turned up. "No one will be able to say you aren't dressed as befitting my duchess. Although I'll probably be forced to raise the rents on my tenants to pay for all this," he added with a sweep of his arm.

Her jaw dropped, aghast. "Surely not!" Good heavens! She'd never thought of such a thing. How awful! She would return everything at once, if that was the case.

He tossed back his head and laughed. "Not to worry. I have more than sufficient funds to pay for your spree. Who knows, however, what shall happen if you continue in this vein after we are married."

Married.

Her shoulders sank. So he was still set on the engagement. Wasn't he the least bit perturbed? Wasn't he going to fume and fuss and yell at her at all?

"Then you aren't angry?" she asked.

He gave her a contemplative look before calmly folding the invoice he held in neat thirds and tucking it inside his coat pocket. "Were you expecting me to be?"

"I...I...well, perhaps."

"Did you think I'd disapprove of the expense? Ah, I can see that you did." He paused, meeting her gaze. "I'll admit I was taken aback at first by the rather substantial size of your purchase. But this is your trousseau, so I suppose a bit of excess is to be expected."

She stared. Why was he being so reasonable? Why wasn't he outraged?

He gave her a reassuring smile. "I know you're used to dealing with your father, but you'll have to remember that I have different attitudes about spending money. Not that you shouldn't exercise a measure of prudence in future, but it takes a great deal more than one lavish shopping excursion to ruffle my feathers."

Breath rushed from her lungs as she realized how thoroughly she had misjudged him, and worse, that all her efforts had once again been for naught. Damn and blast, she cursed silently, resisting the urge to beat her fists against her sides. He might not be vexed, but I certainly am!

"You don't look pleased," he said. "Nor should I say relieved."

"Oh, I-I am," she dissembled. "It is just that I am surprised, especially after your squabble with Mallory."

"Yes, well, Mallory is another matter entirely, since every time she shops, it's with a lavish hand. It's a good thing Hargreaves has deep pockets or else I fear there might be discord over household expenses once they're wed. But enough talk of my sister. Is that gown you are wearing one of your new purchases?"

Absently, she brushed her fingers over the skirt of her lilac spotted muslin day dress. "As it happens, it is."

His gaze swept over her. "Very becoming."

"I'm so glad you approve, Your Grace."

"I do," he said with sincerity, leaving her unsure whether he hadn't heard the hint of sarcasm in her voice or he'd just chosen to ignore it.

"But there it is again. Your Grace," he said. "I thought we had dispensed with such formality, at least in private. Considering the amount of money I've just spent on your wardrobe, I would think you could muster up an 'Edward' or two."