The predawn showers had given way to brilliant sunshine and dewy fresh air, promising a day of warmth to bathe the bustling city. Of course, she had slept fitfully after their rather friendly discussion of the night before, tossing and turning between the sheets, her mind racing, filled with the continuous, confusing, and positively…indecent thoughts of him. So much for enjoying springtime. And the warm milk obviously hadn’t worked. Her personal maid, Marie-Nicole, Normand’s youngest daughter at fifteen, had arrived at precisely seven o’clock, as she did every morning, to help her with her toilette and the donning of her dress, today’s choice being a modest yellow chiffon day gown with a raised, square neckline of white lace and puffed half sleeves. After braiding her hair into two loops and lifting them to fasten daintily on top of her head with mother-of-pearl combs, Marie-Nicole departed, leaving her alone to face the Duke of Durham. He walked beside her now as they left her apartments for the boutique where she would be giving him a basic understanding of the history and necessity of perfume and its industry.
