His Wicked Wish (17 page)

And that was all he needed to remember.

 

Chapter 12

“Ouch!”

The exclamation escaped Maddy as a pin pricked her bare foot. She stood on a stool in her bedchamber while a middle-aged seamstress crouched before her, adjusting the hem of a ready-made gown in a putrid shade of brown.

The woman looked up, her gray eyes alarmed in a careworn face. “Pray forgive me, milady. I didn't mean to hurt you.”

Maddy was dismayed by the woman's cringing demeanor. It was as if she expected to be flogged with a whip. Though perhaps it wasn't Maddy she feared but the crotchety Countess of Gilmore, who sat enthroned in a chair by the hearth. For the past few hours, the dowager had been selecting a new wardrobe for Maddy while uttering critical commentary. At present, she was bent over the fashion book in her lap, studying the pages through her quizzing glass.

“It was merely a little pinprick, Mrs. Dobbs,” Maddy said, playing the silly chatterbox. “There's no harm done. I'm sure it's hard for you to concentrate in such unfamiliar surroundings. If only Grandmamma had warned me of this appointment, I'd have come to your shop instead and saved you the trouble of dragging all your supplies here.”

The bed was covered in fabric swaths, boxes of buttons, rolls of ribbons, and numerous fashion periodicals. Without conscious intent, Maddy's mind flashed to an image of her lying there in Nathan's arms while he did all those wickedly wonderful things to her. Her body tingled at the memory even though she was vexed with him. She had not seen him since the previous night, when he had insulted her.

You should have made certain from the start that I knew that you were a virgin. I might have offered you a larger sum for your services.

The tactless clodpate! She
had
told him—albeit a little late—yet he had not listened. It was his fault, not hers. Then, without apology, he had walked out, leaving her to stew alone.

Mrs. Dobbs sent a small, grateful smile up at Maddy. A smile that instantly vanished when Lady Gilmore thumped the tip of her cane on the carpet.

“Bide your tongue, Madelyn. Tradesfolk are obliged to come here if we request it of them. And it is highly improper of you to comment on their welfare.”

“I merely thought—”

“Enough of your trivial thoughts. As for venturing out to the shops, that is strictly forbidden. You will not be seen in public until you are in possession of a decent wardrobe.”

“That will take weeks, Grandmamma. What am I to do until then?” Maddy felt the impish urge to vex the woman. “I suppose I can wear this gown for daytime and my crimson dress in the evenings. The gentlemen seem to like it—the crimson one, I mean.”

Lady Gilmore curled her lips in disgust, the network of wrinkles shifting on her face. “That tawdry rag should be burned. Indeed, it
shall
be burned.”

Maddy swiveled her position on the stool to give Mrs. Dobbs better access to the back of the gown. “Burned? But what if I'm invited to a party before any of my new gowns arrive?” Hoping to glean a tidbit about the Duke of Houghton, she clasped her hands to her bosom. “Oh, Grandmamma, do you suppose I'll be introduced to a duke when I go into society? It's always been a dream of mine, to meet such an exalted figure. Do you know any dukes? Will they host balls that I'll attend? Oh, please do tell me their names.”

Lady Gilmore dropped the quizzing glass and glared. “Cease this babbling at once, girl. It is unbecoming for the wife of a viscount. And as for dukes, I shall say a prayer you don't ever encounter one. You would be a disgrace to this family!”

It was the perfect opportunity for Maddy to propose her metamorphosis into a proper lady, as she'd discussed with Nathan the previous evening. But even as she parted her lips to speak, a knock sounded on the door.

Gertie bustled out of the dressing room. Apparently having overheard the dowager's rantings, she rolled her eyes at Maddy. Then the maid opened the door.

Shawshank stepped into the bedchamber and bowed first to Lady Gilmore, then to Maddy. “Pardon the interruption, Lady Rowley,” the portly butler said to Maddy. “Where shall we put the silk?”

“The silk?”

“Indeed, Lord Rowley had it delivered from his warehouse just now. He said to give it directly to you, my lady.”

Nonplussed, she waved at the bed. “You may place it right here, I suppose, with the other sewing supplies.”

Her eyes widened as a line of footmen came marching through the doorway, each servant hefting several rolls of colorful fabric. She quickly jumped down from the stool to give the footmen better access, and Mrs. Dobbs scrambled to her feet, too, stepping back out of their way. Before Maddy's astonished gaze, the many spools of cloth piled up as high as the top of the gilt headboard.

“My word!” the dowager exclaimed as the team of servants departed. Using her cane, she levered herself to her feet and shuffled to the bed to regard the hoard. “What is all of this?”

Maddy stifled a smile. Not even in the role of talkative vixen would she tell the fusty old woman what Nathan had said to her the previous night when she'd stroked her fingers over the dragons embroidered on his dressing gown.
My warehouse is full of silk. I'll give you as many bolts as you like so long as you keep fondling me like that.

Her insides contracted at the memory. Why had he sent her such an extravagant gift? Was he merely fulfilling a promise? Or did he mean for it to be an apology for doubting her virtue?

Oh, she hoped it was the latter. The offering would go a long way toward mollifying her annoyance at him.

She went to the bed and fingered a length of cobalt-blue silk, then another of rich bronze. “I suppose my husband wishes me to make my gowns out of the cloth he brought from China.”

The dowager harrumphed. “Did he think
my
selections would not be good enough?”

Maddy held her tongue. That was another reason she was thrilled to receive his gift. The fabrics that Lady Gilmore had chosen from the dressmaker's samples were the drabbest, dowdiest shades in the color palette, like the mustard-brown frock that Maddy was wearing at present. Apparently, the dowager's plan was to make the infamous Lady Rowley appear matronly and nondescript in the hopes that she would fade into the background.

“What is going on here?” Lady Emily asked, her hazel eyes bright with curiosity as she peeped around the door. “I saw the footmen carrying many bolts of cloth up the staircase.”

“You should be practicing the pianoforte at this hour,” Lady Gilmore chided. “I gave you strict orders not to come in here.”

“I've finished my lesson already,” Emily said. “I just wanted to see … oh, heavens! Look at that treasure trove!”

She darted to the bed to examine the rolls of fabrics. In particular, she seemed drawn to a bolt of fine cream silk, rubbing it reverently between her fingers. Tiny pink roses had been stitched all over it.

“Do you like that one?” Maddy asked.

Her pockmarked face glowed with an inner beauty. “Oh, yes. It would be perfect for my presentation gown when I meet the queen.”

“We have already selected a white satin for you,” Lady Gilmore said sharply. “The embroidery on this would be highly inappropriate.”

“Then perhaps it will do for something else,” Maddy told the dowager. “I'm sure Nathan would love for her to have it. So would I. Would you like that, Lady Emily? Perhaps it can be used to fashion a ball gown.”

“Truly? Thank you!” The girl ran to Maddy and folded her in a warm embrace redolent of soap and lilacs. “I'm so very glad that we're sisters now.”

Maddy's heart ached as she returned the hug. She had never had a sibling; the theater troupe had been her family after the deaths of her parents. Now, it was an unexpected pleasure to find that she could actually
like
one of these aristocrats. But oh, if only she could fix the unsightly pit marks on that fresh, pretty face.

“That is quite enough,” the dowager said sternly. “If you are finished with the pianoforte, Emily, then you may begin addressing the invitations to your debut ball.”

“Of course, Grandmamma.” Emily dipped a graceful curtsy to the old woman. She started toward the door, then spun around, her pink skirts whirling. “Oh, I nearly forgot. We've been swamped with callers today. They've left their cards downstairs. I suspect they all wish an introduction to Nathan's new wife.”

So he was right. The news had spread like wildfire through society. Maddy felt a lurch in her stomach as she wondered if the Duke of Houghton might have been among the visitors. Had she missed a golden opportunity to come face-to-face with her grandfather?

“How exciting that all the nobles want to meet me,” she said with contrived frivolity. “Perhaps I should go straight downstairs in case anyone else comes to call. I wouldn't want all those fancy grandees to think I'm dodging them.”

“Get back onto the stool and finish your fitting,” the dowager ordered. “Until further notice, you are to remain right here in your bedchamber when anyone other than family is in the house. Now, run along, Emily. And pray don't burst in here again like a hooligan—else I shall blame it on Madelyn's bad influence!”

Obediently, the girl vanished out the door, closing it behind her.

While Mrs. Dobbs knelt down to resume her pinning of the hem, Maddy stepped onto the stool. She hated seeing the dowager crush her granddaughter's high spirits. With her skin disfigurement, poor Emily had enough troubles already.

Maddy reminded herself she was only here to play a role—and not to interfere in the lives of Nathan's relatives. Nevertheless, she found herself saying, “Lady Emily is such a sweet girl, isn't she? It's dreadful to see those pit marks on her face. Has she tried powder or paint to cover them?”

Lady Gilmore looked up from her surly inspection of the silks on the bed. “Cosmetics are inappropriate for a young girl.”

Maddy disagreed wholeheartedly, but decided now was not the time to quarrel. Better she should use the opening to delve for more information. “May I ask what happened to her? I noticed the earl has similar blemishes on his face as well. Did they both suffer from the same illness?”

“Smallpox.” Uttering that one word seemed to deflate the dowager's spitefulness. The old woman hobbled back to the fireplace and eased herself back into the chair. With a heavy sigh, she added, “It happened in late winter, just over a year ago.”

Nathan's brother David had died a year ago. It all began to make horrible sense to Maddy. “What about my husband's older brother? Did he catch the smallpox, too? Is that what happened to him?”

Lady Gilmore's wrinkled face drooped and she glanced down at her gnarled fingers wrapped around the cane. “Unfortunately so. David was an honorable, upstanding nobleman with great possibilities. His premature death was a terrible blow to this family.”

Having lost her parents, Maddy understood the grief of saying good-bye to a loved one. But did the earl and his mother have to show such favoritism toward the elder son? Did they have nothing left for the younger one? “Then perhaps we can be thankful that Nathan was away from England at the time. At least he was spared.”

“That one,” Lady Gilmore spat out with bitter force. “He was always the wild, reckless profligate. While David was learning to run my son's estates, Nathan was gambling and carousing, often staying out all night. His only interest in his father's lands was how much he could milk from them to pay his debts.”

Maddy lifted her arms to allow Mrs. Dobbs to pin the loose waist. Yes, it was easy to picture Nathan as a rogue, flashing those dimples and seducing loose women. Perhaps she was wrong to sense a deep, dark reason behind his father's scorn of him. Perhaps it was nothing more than a reaction to Nathan's past wicked behavior.

But she wouldn't criticize him in front of this sour old lady. Not when they were supposed to be madly in love.

“Then it's a good thing he went away and grew up,” she prattled. “I'm sure you'll soon see that he's changed for the better. After all, he's become an exceedingly wealthy tradesman. And now that he is Viscount Rowley, and a married man, I feel certain he will settle down and conduct himself like a fine and proper gent.”

When Lady Gilmore pursed her lips as if preparing to spew more vitriol, Maddy deemed it time to propose her plan to transform herself.

She hopped down from the stool and went to kneel before the dowager, heedless of a pinprick in her side as she took those cold, gnarled fingers in hers. “Oh, milady, I do hope you'll help me. I feel unworthy of such a lofty man as my dear husband. I fear that I might embarrass him when we go out in society to hobnob with all the gentry. A new wardrobe won't be enough to change my common ways. That's why I was thinking you might be so kind as to give me lady lessons.”

Grimacing, the dowager extracted her fingers. “Lady lessons?”

“Yes. I doubt there will be time for me to learn how to play the pianoforte like Emily. But I can study other things. I will need to know which fork to use at dinner, the proper way to serve tea, and how to converse with noble folk—”

“You need only practice the old maxim ‘hear much and talk little.'”

Lady Gilmore sounded crotchety, but at least she hadn't outright refused. Encouraged, Maddy plunged onward. “There's also how to dance, how to curtsy, and how to address a duke—”

“No. That part shall be unnecessary.”

“What part?”

With rheumy hazel eyes, the dowager stared down her snooty nose. “Allow me to be blunt, Madelyn. I should have made this perfectly clear during your earlier outburst. As a figure of notoriety, you will
not
be invited to the best houses. You will
not
be invited to many parties. And you most certainly will
not
be meeting any dukes at all!”