“May I come in?” Madame Raschelle asked, a note of amusement in her voice.
“What? Oh, yes, of course.” Elena took a step back, allowing the other woman entrance, only then noticing that she had several large plastic garment bags draped over one arm, and a large handbag over the other.
“I’ve brought you a number of gowns to try on, my dear,” Madame Raschelle said. She dropped the garment bags onto the trestle table, along with her bag.
“Gowns?”
“For the wedding.”
“Oh, but I can’t . . . I mean, I don’t have any money to pay for . . .”
Madame Raschelle dismissed Elena’s concern with a wave of one beringed hand. “Not to worry, my dear. Lord Drake has taken care of that.”
“But . . .” Elena sighed. There was no use arguing with the dressmaker. She obviously had orders from the master of the castle.
Madame Raschelle removed her shawl, then began unzipping the bags, pulling out one dress after another, each more beautiful than the last. Rich silks and brocades, lush velvets, smooth satins, most of them in varying shades of white from ivory to cream. Two gowns stood out from the rest, one the color of a midsummer sky, the other a pale rose. In addition, there were a number of undergarments.
Elena could only stare at the amazing assortment. So many styles and fabrics. How could she ever be expected to choose just one gown when they were all so exquisite?
Madame Raschelle held up a velvet gown with a square neck and long fitted sleeves that ended in points. “This is one of my favorites,” she said, smiling.
Elena ran her hand over the soft, cream-colored velvet. Lace edged the neckline. The skirt was gathered up on one side, revealing more lace. It reminded Elena of dresses worn in medieval times.
“Why don’t you try it on?” the dressmaker suggested.
With a nod, Elena took the dress and hurried up the stairs to her chamber. She changed under the curious eyes of the cat, then glanced around, only then remembering that there was no mirror in the room. She frowned as she realized there were no mirrors in any of the rooms of the castle.
Lifting her skirts, she made her way down the stairs.
“So,” Madame Raschelle asked, smiling. “Does it suit?”
“I need a mirror.”
The dressmaker glanced around the room, then rummaged in her bag and produced a large hand mirror, which she offered to Elena.
“Oh,” Elena murmured, “it is lovely, isn’t it?”
“Quite. Perhaps you should try them all on?”
There was no need, Elena thought. She had already made up her mind. Still, who knew when she would ever have a chance like this again? Between the two of them, they carried all the garments up to Elena’s room.
Trying on all the gowns was not only time-consuming, but a mistake. Elena had been certain the velvet was the gown she wanted, but there was a lovely silk adorned with pearls, a beautiful satin with an empire waist, an elegant ivory brocade fit for a queen. How was she ever to decide?
“Lord Drake instructed me to tell you that you might keep them all, if you so desired,” Madame Raschelle remarked.
“All of them?” Elena had never seen such lavish attire, could scarce imagine their cost.
“He is a man of wealth and power,” the dressmaker said. “He can well afford the price.”
“But . . . all of them?” Aside from her wedding, when would she ever again have need of such finery? “Perhaps just the velvet. And the blue satin. And the rose silk. And the ivory brocade.”
Madame Raschelle laughed heartily as she began hanging the gowns Elena had selected in the wardrobe.
“Of course, you will also need shoes.” Reaching into her valise again, the dressmaker produced a pair of satin pumps and placed them on the floor.
She reached into her valise yet again and pulled out a long, thin box. Lifting the lid, she shook out a shoulderlength veil.
“Oh, it’s lovely,” Elena murmured, stroking the delicate lace.
“I knew you would like it. And now, the pièce de résistance,” the woman said, and dipping into the valise once more she withdrew a long white nightgown that was so sheer, it was little more than a mere whisper of diaphanous cloth.
Elena stared at it, thinking it was as delicate as a spider web. A web for catching a man’s interest.
“For the wedding night,” the dressmaker said, a knowing twinkle in her eyes.
“But . . .” Elena bit down on her lower lip. Had Drake misunderstood her? Theirs was to be a marriage in name only.
Madame Raschelle smiled. “The nightgown was my idea. I added it to his order when I saw that he had neglected to think of it.”
Elena forced a smile. She was relieved that the nightgown hadn’t been Drake’s idea. Wasn’t she?
“I wish you every happiness, my dear,” Madame Raschelle said. “If you have need of more gowns, you have but to let me know.”
“Thank you,” Elena said sincerely, though she doubted she would be calling on the dressmaker any time soon.
Elena accompanied the older woman to the front door, bid her good-bye, and then closed and locked the door behind the rather eccentric dressmaker.
She stood there a moment; then, realizing it would soon be sundown, she hurried back to her room to bathe and dress.
Drake stood in front of the fireplace, a glass of wine in one hand as he waited for his bride to appear. The priest from the next town sat in one of the chairs facing the fire, his hands folded in his lap, his benign expression belying the nervous tic in his left eye, the rapid beating of his heart.
Drake grunted softly. He had never seen the cleric until tonight, when he summoned him to the castle, yet it was obvious that the good Father possessed a strong inner sense that warned him of danger. Though Drake meant the man no harm, it was an instinct for survival that would serve the priest well if he but listened to it. The priest’s cook and her husband stood nearby, called to serve as witnesses.
At the sound of footsteps, Drake glanced toward the staircase. For a moment, he stood frozen as he watched Elena descend the steps. She was exquisite. The cream-colored velvet gown clung lovingly to each curve, outlining a figure so perfect as to make other women weep. A delicate lace veil covered her face, giving her a ghostly appearance in the flickering light of the candles. Her hair fell over her shoulders like a fall of thick black silk.
He moved quickly toward her, eager to be near her, to touch her. To taste her. Reining in his rampant lust, he took her hand in his. Her skin was cool; he could feel her trembling. “How lovely you are,” he murmured. “And how lucky I am.”