A Lady Compromised (The Ladies) (21 page)

             
The gown brought out the whiteness of her slim neck and deep violet eyes. The shade flattered her auburn hair and emphasized the softness of her breasts and tiny waist. The green silk sleeves would be shot with pale ivory tucks and below the tiny puffed sleeves, matching lace sleeves covered Delia’s slim arms. The silk fell to her feet in swirling yards of green. The gown was outrageously extravagant for an afternoon of calls but that was what Lady Burke suggested was the best strategy: the very best, which the
ton
could not possibly ignore.

             
“I’m afraid I’ve never worn something quite so glamorous,” Lady Delia said as she stared at herself in the mirror, though the gown was still incomplete.

             
“It will be a triumph,” Madame Gireaux stated plainly. “You will appear to be the most devastatingly beautiful future Marchioness that no one will be able to resist you.”

             
“I do hope so, Madame,” said Lady Delia, a bit intimidated by her own appearance.

             
“Now, shall we make a few choices for morning gowns and perhaps a riding habit? We will also need a ball gown for your engagement ball, Lady Burke informs me.”

             
“Indeed, but that event is eleven days hence. We ought to ensure I have appropriate clothing for the next few days of afternoon and morning events. I am of the opinion that I should not attend any evening entertainments until the engagement ball.”

             
“I quite agree,” said Lady Burke. “We want everyone to have to come to get a look at you. And if the
ton
comes to your engagement party, you have won them over.”

             
“Then I must choose something truly spectacular for that event,” said Lady Delia with an irrepressible grin.

             
“I have an idea,” said Madame.

             
“Oh really?” The ladies put their heads together as Madame drew bolt after bolt of silk and chiffon to Lady Delia’s draped figure.

             
Chapter 30

              Lord Durham was sitting, brooding, in his study when Melville ushered in the Earl of Blackwell. At the sight of his friend’s imposing figure in the doorway, Mason looked up and waved his friend to a seat. Melville withdrew.

             
“I confess I am surprised to hear of your engagement to Lady Delia? Or should I say Mrs. Mannering?” Simon said as he settled in a deep and comfortable leather chesterfield sofa.

             
“Lady Delia,” Mason replied.

             
“Don’t harass me. You are the one who went and got yourself engaged. I confess I am unsure what to believe anymore.”

             
“It is, I think, the only correct course of action. I am sure that you were not aware, as I am the only person aside from Mr. Jarndyce in London who currently knows, that Mr. Rosewood put about that story to compel Lady Delia to marry him because he’s not, in fact, her actual guardian?”

             
“You must be joking!”

             
“Not at all. Jarndyce told me yesterday. I can’t decide if I should murder him myself or have him transported.”

             
“I would, of course, advise against murder.”

             
“Simon.” The Marquess raised a hand to his forehead and rubbed silently. “Do not further complicate matters by refusing my requests for assistance in burying bodies.”

The Earl leaned forward toward the tea tray, only to swallow a cold cup in disgust. “Evidently, you have been sitting here for quite some time. Shall I ring for
more

tea
?”

             
“Please.”

             
After Weebold had appeared with a steaming pot of the tissue restoring liquid, the men resumed their conversation. 

             
“So you know only that Rosewood and Gigi plotted together for him to marry Lady Delia and Gigi to extort you?” Lord Durham nodded.

             
“Quite so. I still do not know why they worked together, what their relationship is, or why they chose myself and Lady Delia. I can only be glad I was able to discern their plotting before anything truly dreadful happened.”

             
“And now you are marrying the lady? Isn’t that taking your responsibility rather far?”

             
The Marquess did not reply immediately. He was not prepared to admit anything to his friend, just as he was not willing to admit to himself—or even examine—his feelings for Delia.

             
“Lady Delia is imminently eligible. She’s beautiful and rich and gently bred. I enjoy her company and I must marry. I can repair her reputation and gain a wife and heirs at the same time. It all seems rather fortuitous and convenient,” Lord Durham said finally with a casualness he did not feel.

             
“I confess those all seem like reasonable points,” said his friend. “But I can only wonder that she is the first lady to inspire such feelings in you?” The Marquess said nothing, as he did not wish to reveal anything more than he ought. “Where is the girl now?”

             
“At Lady Burke’s. Where she will remain until our nuptials.”

             
“Which will be?”

             
“As soon as can be arranged. The announcement in the
Gazette
this morning was the first step. We will be married by special license at Durham House, once permission has been granted from Delia’s actual guardian, the new Earl Ellsworth. Jarndyce is working on it as we speak.”

             
“A very tidy resolution.”

             
“Quite.”

             
“Now we have only to determine the extent of Rosewood and Gigi’s knowledge about the smuggling operation and our lives return to those of idle gentlemen, eh, Mason?”

             
“Right,” replied the Marquess with a wry smile. “The day that happens I’ll eat my hat.”

             
“Well, I have come today only to offer my warmest congratulations and to ask if you will go to Lady Burke’s today?”

             
“I believe I ought. The social force of everyone we know should be behind Lady Delia today. It must not be permitted that she go snubbed.”

             
“No indeed. And if you are present, no one will be able to stay away. The match-making mamas will be desperate to see for themselves that the wolf has at last been snared.”

             
“I can only hope that Lady Delia is up to the challenge.”

             
“From what you have said about her thus far, Durham, it hardly seems likely that she not.”

             
After Lord Blackwell departed, the Marquess climbed the stairs to dress. He was unsure about the afternoon not only because he had never been engaged before, but because he did not know how he would react to seeing Lady Delia again. He knew he desired her but it had been more than a day since he had even laid eyes on his fiancé. He did not know how he could avoid touching her. And he was very afraid that their intimacy would be plain to anyone who saw them and he feared Lady Delia’s beautiful, expressive face would reveal all to a
ton
that was already skeptical of her virtue. He would simply have to be extremely formal in their interactions and not allow the passion they shared to be revealed, or obvious. It was unfortunate. Because all he wanted was Lady Delia, in his bed, on a deserted isle, preferably off the coast of France, for the next ten years.

             
Chapter 31

              When Madame Gireaux left Lady Burke’s town house, Delia was instructed to bathe quickly and have her hair dressed while Mimi put the finishing touches on the emerald green gown that she would wear as soon as the afternoon callers began arriving. She did as she was bid, and, once her long waves had been arranged with a beautifully complicated coiffure, her skin dusted with the tiniest touch of powder—Lady Burke insisted that it was the only way a lady looked “finished”—and the dress was buttoned around her, Delia hardly recognized herself.

             
The gown emphasized all her best parts; her skin and coloring, and the corset pressed her breasts upward to fill out the thin silk of the bodice, which was still high enough to be proper for afternoon calls. The lace sleeves had turned out perfectly and she permitted herself to twirl once, in front of the large gilt mirror, feeling for all the world like an almost-Marchioness.

As she stepped out of her chamber in front of an admiring Amelia, she heard Lady Burke calling a welcome to Lord Durham and her heart skipped. He was here already? She could hardly believe she had not seen him in over a day and she confessed she wished her kind
hostess in the Antipodes. She practically danced down the stairs to where she was announced, finding Lord Durham, Lady Burke, Miss Burke and two unknown ladies in the drawing room. She forced herself to remain calm, though her gaze went straight to Mason, her heart in her eyes. He gave her a formal bow and turned away, as she was introduced to Lady Burke’s friends.              

Her face fell slightly as she took in his cool reception, but she turned quickly to address the
ladies. Lady Burke took her arm and made the introductions. The Marquess said nothing, standing very appropriately next to the fireplace with one arm on the mantle. He looked every inch the powerful, handsome lord, but he did not look like her lover. She wondered why he continued to say nothing but did not attempt to go to him.

Making small talk with her guests, Lady Delia remarked on the kindness of Lady Burke, whose friendship with her late mother she had always admired. She mentioned her sadness at the passing of her father and the grief that had kept her at Washburn Court for so long until Lady Burke’s kind interference. She said nothing in particular about her guardian except that he had been most kind in agreeing to allow Lady Burke to try to cheer the young woman from her mourning. When asked about her fiancé, Lady Delia simply stated that it had all been arranged for her through the Marquess’ solicitor and the late Earl, and she would never like to disappoint her dear departed father.

Lady Delia had thought up this story on her own and, when she feigned complete innocence about the gossip about her, she felt quite sure the ladies dismissed the evil gossip as the simple machinations of a desperate guardian. She also felt that in claiming the marriage was arranged, there was little chance of anyone countenancing the story of her ruination. Why bother if the Marquess was already hers? Particularly as it seemed to be quite clear from the Marquess’ behavior that theirs was not a love-match. He had hardly looked at her for more than a bare second and seemed more interested in discussing the weather and the various ladies’ own offspring than his fiancé or their upcoming nuptials. The whole afternoon seemed so proper as to be almost dreary. Which was, Lady Delia inwardly admitted to herself, almost certainly for the best. Though it depressed her to think that Mason was not showing the consideration for her that he generally did in front of these women and she wondered why. She prayed that he was not regretting his choice, nor that he was only pretending to care for her and sacrificing himself to repair her reputation.

The questions swirling about her brain gave her
a headache and how she endured the afternoon, Lady Delia did not know. The endless parade of ladies, whose judgment she was supposed to not only endure, but countenance and seek…was tiresome and degrading. She disliked it almost as much as Mason’s coldness toward her, which she wished she could understand.

             
When at last the guests had gone and Lady Burke had pronounced the afternoon a success, Lady Delia begged to have supper in her own room, pleading exhaustion. She needed to finish her novel and did not know if Lady Burke would approve if she knew that the guest she had just introduced to the
ton
as the fiancé of the Marquess of Durham, was actually D. E. Mannering. Lord Durham had not informed Lady Delia that her hostess was aware of her authorial proclivities. As Lady Delia wanted no risk of missing the deadline, she politely begged off from supper and retired to her chamber to finish the manuscript and try to distract herself from the confusion she felt over Mason’s behavior.

             
Across town in Sparrow Street, Gigi and Mr. Rosewood looked with horror at the pages of the
Gazette.
Though they would have thought, and prayed, that it was simply impossible; there it was, in print, right on the page.

             
“How
can
they be engaged?” Christopher demanded. “I thought hiding her at his townhouse was odd, but
engaged
?”

             
“This would explain why the Marquess is no longer requiring my services.”

             
“It does no such thing. Why should he give you up just because he’s getting leg-shackled? Especially to a frigid creature like Delia.”

             
“The Marquess is strange. Perhaps he wants to devote all his attention to his wife until she is breeding.”

             
“Perhaps. I know not.”

             
“This is an emergency.”

             
“Quite.”

             
“Excuse me?” the maid asked as she came in. “Madame?”

             
“
Oui?”
Gigi responded.

             
“Your new gown was not ready when I went to collect it from Madame Gireaux. The assistant said that Madame was out attending the future Marchioness Durham at the house of Lady Burke.”

             
“I suppose that is expected, but it is fortunate that we know she has relocated from Durham House. Do you know if a wedding date has been set?”

             
“I do not, ma’am. They said there is some complication getting permission from her guardian.” 

             
“Thank you. That will be all.”

             
The maid bobbed a curtsey and left her mistress with Mr. Rosewood.

             
“If she is to be married to the Marquess, and they are concerned with the permission, it cannot be long before he discovers you are not the girl’s true guardian.”

             
“I believe I know what is to be done,” Christopher replied. “Come, dearest, sit on my lap and congratulate me on my upcoming nuptials.”