Louisa Rawlings (27 page)

“You
are
Nature’s child,” he said. “So natural. So wonderful.”

She frowned at him, mystified.

He laughed and indicated her soft nakedness. “Look at you. In full daylight. Before lunch!”

“Dang you, is that meant to be an insult?”

“Hardly. But most women nowadays wouldn’t even make love to their
husbands
except at night. And in a darkened room.”

“Is it wrong of me?”

“Wrong? Good grief, I can’t believe my luck!” He smiled. “You look sleepy. And I know I am. I couldn’t close my eyes for a minute on that train, just thinking about you. We have time for a nap.” He helped her climb under the quilt, then pulled her into his arms.

She snuggled against him; her eyes were growing heavy. She giggled softly. “Sleeping while the sun is shining. Now
that’s
wrong!” Feeling deliciously wicked, she closed her eyes and slept.

She awoke to find him gone. The sun had shifted while she slept, and now shone on a patch of carpet. She thought, It must be well after noon. She jumped out of bed, hurriedly wrapping the quilt about her, and went into the adjoining small parlor. Drew was there, already dressed in an elegant suit of clothes. She was dazzled by his handsomeness, regretting again the plainness of her green gown. Then she remembered he had spoken of a wedding dress.

“It’s about time you woke up,” he said. “I’ve had my bath already, and lunch should be arriving at any moment.” He indicated a small tub that had been placed in a corner of the room. “Get in. I’ll scrub your back.”

Giggling, she dropped the quilt and climbed into the tub. “Am I never going to see my gown?”

“In time. Here.” He handed her the soap. “Do your front. Because if
I
do it, we’ll never get to the wedding.” There was a knock on the door. Drew looked at her full bosom and stood up, smiling benignly. “Come in.”

“Tarnation,” she whispered, sinking down to a more modest level under the water. A young bellboy had appeared, carrying in a large tray that rattled and clattered under its linen covering.

“Over here, boy.” Drew tossed the lad a coin, trying not to grin as the boy gulped, stole a hasty glance at Marcy in her tub, and vanished out the door.

“Drew Bradford! You might have warned me!”

“And denied that young man a look at your beautiful shoulders?” He pulled the linen covering off the tray and picked up a bottle. “Have a glass of champagne.”

“While I’m still in my tub?” This was surely the most extraordinary day in her life! “I’ve never had champagne.”

He knelt beside her and handed her a glass. “I intend to spoil you as much as I can,” he said, and kissed her softly.

She sipped at the champagne, making a face when the bubbles tickled her nose. It tasted a bit sour to her, but after it had gone down, it left a nice, warm feeling in her throat. She took another sip and smiled at Drew. By the time they had—together—washed her all over, she had finished that one glass and was starting on a second. She climbed out of the tub, feeling a bit wobbly, and allowed Drew to towel her dry. Reluctantly, she put down her glass (surely she had been mistaken to think it sour!), and turned toward the bedroom. “I’ll just get my shift and drawers”—she looked at him with accusing eyes—“and then you better show me my dress!”

“No. Stay here. I intend to dress you from the skin out!” He brought out several large boxes and began to untie their ribbons. “Including your underpinnings.”

“Drew! You didn’t get me a corset…?”

“Of course I did.”

“I’ve never worn a corset!”

“You’ve never been married before, either! Here. Put on this chemise.” He handed her the prettiest garment she had ever seen in her life, a beautiful wisp of fine muslin, sleeveless, knee-length, extravagantly trimmed with lace at the neckline and hem. She slipped it over her head, enjoying the slide of the delicate fabric against her skin. The drawers came next, of the same muslin as the chemise, and trimmed with the same lace. She gasped when he pulled the corset out of the box. That beautiful thing was surely not meant to be hidden! It was of deep pink silk, lined and padded, its whalebones held in place with decorative quilt stitches and embroidery.

Drew laughed delightedly at the look on her face. “You’d better eat some lunch first. You may not want to eat once I lace you in!”

Lunch was cold chicken and ham with a mustard sauce. And ice cream and sweet cakes and fresh grapes. She wolfed down her food impatiently, eager to see the rest of her finery, and topped off the meal with a little more champagne. She was beginning to feel giddy. She stood up and sighed, holding her arms straight out at her sides. “Now, Drew, do your worst!” He put the corset around her, fastening the large hook in the center front, then hooking the smaller ones above and below. The corset reached just from the tips of her breasts—cradling and lifting them—to several inches below her waist, dipping down in the front to flatten her already trim abdomen. “It feels a little queer, but not at all what I expected!”

He laughed and went to stand behind her. “That’s because I haven’t pulled the laces yet! Tell me when it’s tight.” While she sucked in her breath, he tugged at the tapes until she felt she couldn’t breathe.

“Tarnation! Stop! I’ll never be able to bend over and lace my shoes!”

“You’re not supposed to. The ladies who dress like this usually have servants. I’m afraid you’ll have to rely on me.” He looped the corset tapes, brought them around to the front, and tied them in a bow. He pulled out the next garment, a white cotton-and-lace fitted bodice that buttoned down the front, and looked very much like a chemise except that it was waist-length.

“What’s that?”

“A corset waist. So the lines of the corset won’t show through the dress.” He put it on her, stopping to kiss her as he fastened the last button, then produced a pair of gray silk stockings and frilly garters. “I didn’t buy you shoes. I didn’t know what size. Sit down.” While he put on the stockings and fetched her shoes from the bedroom, she poured them both another glass of champagne. The bustle came next, a little half skirt of stiffened and ruffled horsehair that tied around her waist. This occasioned a delay in her toilette while she danced around the room, sitting on one chair and another, trying to find the most graceful way to sit without the bustle slewing around and sitting beside her on the chair.

“It can’t be done,” she said at last. “I’ll have to stand for the rest of my life!”

He laughed and kissed her. “You can always lie down. Let’s get your petticoats.” White muslin trimmed with lace and tied on with a tape, followed by gray silk with a pleated ruffle at the hem and pale green embroidery. The gray silk fastened with a button on one side. “Damn,” he said, struggling to close it. “I should have pulled your corset tighter.”

She looked down at herself. All these layers of clothing, and they hadn’t even reached the dress yet! She would surely need some more champagne to fortify her! And as long as there were a few more pieces of chicken…

At last she was ready for the gown. Drew presented it with a flourish, his arms filled with yards and yards of pale gray taffeta. When he held it out, she saw that it was trimmed with fringes and pleatings and puffings of the most delicate shade of pink she had ever seen.

“Oh, Drew,” she gasped. “It’s beautiful! But so extravagant. All these things. Can you afford them?”

He laughed ruefully. “Probably not. And when we’re starving in Paris, we may both regret this day.” His forehead creased in a sudden frown. “Dammit, Marcy,” he muttered. “I wish I had more to spend on you.”

“No serious talk today. You said so yourself. Open that other bottle of champagne and then show me how to get into this wonderful dress!”

“The skirt comes first. Of course, it’s really two skirts together.” He slipped the double skirt over her head, arranging the long train of the underskirt, then showing her how to pull the hidden tapes of the overskirt so it bunched up in graceful poufs over her hips and bustle.

“I’ll never be able to move. What about the top?”

“Not yet. This model comes with a
tablier
. It’s a kind of apron. Here. Let me.” He wrapped the
tablier
around her waist and hooked it in the back. It draped beautifully in front, its graceful curve trimmed with a thick pink fringe.

“
Now
the top?”

He shook his head. “No. I decided to be practical. You’ll be able to wear this gown for daytime and evening. If we fill in the low neckline with a chemisette…” He produced a sleeveless, high-necked garment of fine pleated batiste, which tied on under her bust and was finished with a frill of lace at the neckline. At last he helped her into the short basque jacket that fit snugly and accented the slim grace of her figure. Only when he had given her a matching pink parasol and hat, and pale green kid gloves, did he allow her to return to the bedroom and look at herself.

She gaped in astonishment. Who was that woman there? She pirouetted around the room, returning again and again to the mirror to stare in disbelief. “I look at
least
twenty-one!” she said.

His mouth twitched. “Indeed. At the very least.”

“Don’t laugh at me. Oh Drew!” She threw her arms wide for sheer joy and flung herself flat on the bed, grinning up at him.

He smiled in pleasure. “I’ll give you the ring in church, but come into the other room for your earrings.”

“Drat!” she whispered, biting her lip.

“What is it, Marce? Is something the matter?”

Her eyes were wide and filled with dismay. “I can’t get up! I can’t even move!” She wriggled helplessly on the bed, trying in vain to bend in the middle. “We’ll have to get married in this bedroom. I’m not joking, Drew. Truly, I feel buried in all these clothes.”

He threw back his head and roared with laughter. “I think you’ve just had too much champagne.” He reached down and pulled her to her feet, steadying her against himself when she wobbled slightly. “I think you’re a bit tipsy.”

“I am not!” Her voice sounded strange to her ears.

“Tipsy or not, I love you.” He kissed her softly, then deepened his kiss, his mouth moving on hers, his arms pressing her tightly to his hard chest.

Panting hard, she pulled away from him and began to giggle. “I’d like to say you take my breath away, but I think it’s this blamed corset!”

Laughing, he pulled out his watch. “It’s time to go to church. Come get your earrings; then we’ll go.”

She put on the earrings, lovely gold filigree balls, turned about once more for a final inspection, and declared herself ready. “No. Wait,” she said suddenly. “There’s a bit more champagne.”

“You’ve had enough.”

“I’m fine, Drew. And we can’t leave the rest. It will only go to waste.”

“No. It’ll go to your head. And get that stubborn look off your face. It’s foolish to drink any more.”

“Oh, bosh! I’m fine. Look.” She poured out the rest of the champagne and drank it quickly. Just let him try to stop her, she thought. She drew herself up, straightened her hat, opened her parasol. “You see? I’m perfectly fine!”

He sighed in resignation. “It’s your head. Come on, bride.”

They set off for the church. She thought, I really
do
feel fine. We must have champagne in Paris whenever we can! She took Drew’s arm. It felt more secure. The road was suddenly wavy and difficult to walk on. And the arm that held her parasol refused to stay up, but kept drooping so the parasol dipped down and bumped against her knees. She stole a sidelong glance at Drew. She wasn’t sure, but he seemed to be chuckling under his breath.

“Why don’t you close the parasol?” he asked. “You can loop the ribbon around your wrist.”

“I think I shall,” she said grandly. “It’s very heavy.”

Old Jack was waiting at the church, down in front with the Reverend Carpenter. “I’ll be jiggered,” he said. “You look like a mighty fine lady, Marcy.”

She smiled and sailed down the aisle to him, though her knees gave way in midsail and Drew had to support her with his arm. By the time the Reverend Carpenter had opened his book and begun the service, she was frowning in bewilderment. Who had let loose the swarm of bees in the church? She couldn’t see them, but she could certainly hear them, buzzing so loudly in her head that they threatened to drown out the reverend.

I can’t breathe, she thought. I’ve eaten too much. And this danged corset…! She wriggled in distress, looked helplessly at Drew, and hiccoughed loudly. The Reverend Carpenter stopped, his mouth twitching in a weak smile, and cleared his throat.

“Shall I go on, Miss Tompkins?”

“Of course,” she said, and hiccoughed again. Beside her Drew made a sound that was like a snorting horse.

“Go on, Reverend,” he said solemnly.

Marcy blinked her eyes, trying to clear her head. Good! That seemed to have chased away the bees. But the hiccoughs remained, and were getting worse, bubbling up from her chest every minute or so. Drew didn’t seem to mind; in fact, he was now chuckling softly, but the reverend looked scandalized.

The smile faded from Drew’s face. “Please go on, Reverend. Pay Miss Tompkins no mind. An unfortunate physical condition. She can’t help it. It runs in the family.”

Old Jack began to sputter. “Consarn it! Family condition? She’s been drinking!” The reverend dropped his missal.