Miss Winthorpe's Elopement (11 page)

She sneered. ‘Of course. I suspected if I was not careful that I would have a husband eager to waste my money on foolishness. I was willing to allow it to such a degree as it did not interfere with my comfort or my studies. And I was right to be concerned, for you have breached both boundaries with this request.’

As she watched, her husband became the duke to her
again, drawing in his power in a way that was both intriguing and intimidating. His voice dropped to a barely audible murmur. ‘Well, then. I am glad I have fulfilled your worst fears. We must set something straight, if we are to live in harmony.’

He meant to dictate to her? Reason fled her mind, and was replaced with white-hot rage. He had no right to do this, no right to tell her who she must be, if she was to be his wife at all.
One, two, three
…

‘The wardrobe I am suggesting is in no way wasteful. Think of it as a uniform, nothing more. You wish to be left in peace? Then you will find it easier to deflect notice if you can play the part of a duchess with reasonable facility. The clothing I am suggesting will make this easier and not more difficult.’

Four, five, six
…

‘It will be expensive, but I have seen the statements from your bank, and you can most certainly afford it. If it helps, think of it as no different than you would allow me to purchase for my mistress. You had allotted an expense of this amount, hoping to keep me occupied so that you could work. Think for a moment the level of stubbornness and bullheadedness that you must project if you allow me to spend the money, but will only berate me for it if I wish to spend it on you.’

Seven, eight, nine
…

‘I take your silence for assent.’ He rang for a servant and ordered the carriage brought round. ‘I will deposit you at a modiste, and you can work out, between you,
what is best done. I care not for the details, as long as the project is completed.’

Ten
. And still she could not find a hole in his argument.

‘And if you balk or resort to tantrums, I will throw you over my shoulder and carry you there, for you are behaving as a spoiled child over something that any other woman in the world would enjoy.’

The nerve of the man. Very well, then. She would go to the dressmaker, get a few simple gowns in the same vein as those she owned, and escape the ridiculous display that he intended for her.

She rode in silence with him, still irritated by his insistence on controlling a thing that he could know nothing about. Before her come-out, she had had more than her share of pushy dressmakers, shoe sellers and haberdashers, all eager to force her to look a way that did not make her the least bit comfortable. She had lacked the nerve to stand up to them, and had felt no different than a trained pony at the end of it, paraded about to attract a buyer.

And it had all come to naught.

The carriage pulled to a stop in front of an unassuming shop in a side street, far away from the hustle of Bond Street. Adam stepped down and held out his hand for her, but she would not take it. Unlike some women she could name, she could manage to walk without the assistance of Adam Felkirk.

The horses chose that moment to shy, and she almost fell into the street.

But her husband caught her easily, and pulled her into his arms, and safely to the ground. Then he had the gall to smile at her. ‘This is what happens when you try to resist me. There is no point in it. I suggest you surrender, now.’

She glared at the shop in front of her. ‘And do you come here often to purchase clothes for women? Or is this the store that Clarissa was threatening me with?’

‘I have never been here before, and I have no idea where Clarissa would have had you go. This shop was frequented by my mother.’ His smile turned to an evil grin. ‘She decorated the sitting room that you enjoy so well. Since it does not matter to you what you wear, the fact should not bother you at all.’

She had a momentary vision of herself, clothed in bright pink organza, and could not control her grimace.

Adam nodded. ‘I will leave you to it, madam, for you know best what to do. But do not think you can return home without purchases, for I am taking the carriage and the driver will not return for you for several hours.’ He looked at her servant, hanging on the back of the carriage. ‘I will leave Jem with you.’ He tossed the man a sovereign. ‘When the carriage comes back, if you can carry the purchases in one trip, she has not bought enough. Tell the driver to leave and return in another hour.’

And her own servant, who she should have been able to trust, pocketed the coin and bowed to his new master.

Adam looked to her again. ‘When you are home, we will discuss the ball. Do not worry yourself about it. My mother had menus and guest lists as well. I am sure they will serve, and we can pull the whole thing together with a minimum of bother.’

P
enny watched the carriage roll away from her. Damn the man. He knew nothing about anything if he meant to pull a ball together with the help of a woman who, she suspected, had been dead far longer than her own father. Clarissa was right: it was a disaster in the making.

And what was she to do for the rest of the afternoon, trapped here? If she had known his intent was to abandon her, she’d have brought something to read. She stepped off the street and into the shop.

A girl dropped the copy of
Le Beau Monde
that she had been paging through and sprang to her feet behind a small gold desk. She said, with a thick French accent, ‘May I be of assistance, your ladyship?’

The girl sounded so hopeful, that Penny found it almost pleasurable to introduce herself with her new title. It made the girl’s eyes go round for a moment, and then her face fell.

‘Your Grace? I believe there has been a misunderstanding. You husband the duke must have been seeking my predecessor in this shop.’

‘There is no Madame Giselle, as it says on the door?’

The woman laughed. ‘Unfortunately, no. Until her death, she was my employer. She had been in this location for many years.’

‘And before she died, you were…’

‘A seamstress, your Grace. Madame died suddenly. There was no family to take the shop, and many orders still to fill. It made sense to step out from the back room and become Madame Giselle, in her absence.’ The French accent had disappeared to reveal the Londoner underneath. Apparently, she’d taken more than the shop when she’d come out from the back room.

The girl took her silence as hesitation. ‘We are not as fashionable as we once were, I’m afraid. I will understand, of course, that you prefer to go elsewhere. I can recommend several excellent modistes who are frequented by the ladies of your class.’

If she was not careful, she’d get her chance to shop with Clarissa. Penny’s eyebrows arched in surprise. ‘No wonder you are not as busy as you should be. For when one is in trade, one should never turn down commerce, especially an order as large as the one I am likely to make.’ When she had come into the shop, she had had no intention of spending money. But suddenly, it seemed the most natural thing in the world.

‘A large order?’ the dressmaker repeated, dumbly.

‘Yes. Day dresses, travelling clothes, outerwear and ball gowns. I need everything.’

‘Do you wish to look at swatches?’

She gritted her teeth. ‘It does not matter. Choose whatever you wish. And styles as well. I do not have any idea how to proceed.’ And then she prepared for the worst.

The girl ran her through her paces, draping her in fabrics, and experimenting with laces and trims. And Penny had to admit that it was not as bad as it could have been, for the girl made no attempt to force her into gowns that did not flatter, but chose clothes that would suit her, rather than poking and pinching to get her to fit the fashion.

The choice of shops had been most fortunate, although Adam could not have known it. Now if she could find a way around the inconvenience of dinner and dancing for a hundred or so of her husband’s friends… The man was cracked if he thought he could use his mother’s guest lists. The names on it were likely to be as dead as her modiste.

Penny glanced down at the girl, who was crouched at her feet, setting a hem in the peach muslin gown Penny was modelling. ‘Giselle?’

‘My real name is Sarah, your Grace,’ she said, around a mouthful of pins. ‘Not as grand as it should be. But there is no point in hiding the truth.’

‘Sarah, then. Do you have family in service?’

‘My mother is housekeeper at Lord Broxton’s house.’

One of her husband’s adversaries in Parliament, but closely matched in society. It would do to go on with. ‘It seems, Sarah, that I am to throw a ball. But I am no more born to be a duchess than you were born a Frenchwoman. If I had guest lists and menus from a similar party, it would help me immensely. No one need know, of course. And I would be willing to pay, handsomely.’

Jem was summoned from the street and given a note from Sarah, and directions to the Broxtons’ kitchen door.

He was back in a little more than an hour, with a tightly folded packet of papers containing names and addresses of the cream of London society, and the menus for a variety of events.

Penny sat comfortably on a stool in the back room and smiled at Sarah, who was throwing a hem into another sample gown. ‘This is turning out to be a surprisingly productive trip, and not the total waste of time I had suspected. If I am careful, and can avoid any more of my husband’s outlandish plans for me, I might still manage an hour or two of work.’

Adam would no doubt be irate when he saw the clothing that that woman was making for her. It did not in any way remind her of the dresses worn by the ladies of his circle. The colours for evening were pale, and the sprigged muslins she had chosen for day dresses hardly seemed the thing for a duchess.

Although just what duchesses wore during the day, Penny was unsure. Whatever they liked, most likely.

She gritted her teeth again. Or whatever their husband insisted they wear. But Sarah had seemed to know her business, despite the lack of customers. She had loaded Penny up with such things as were ready, more than enough petticoats, bonnets, and a few day dresses that had been made for samples, but fit so well they might have been tailored for her.

She inquired of the total, not daring to imagine how much she might have spent.

She saw the wistful look in the girl’s eye as she said, ‘The bills will be sent to your husband, of course. You needn’t worry about anything, your Grace.’

Of course not. For nobility did not have to concern themselves with a thing so mundane as money. But she had taken much of the poor girl’s sample stock, and there would be silks to buy, and lace, and ribbon to complete the order.

And since she was the Duchess of Bellston, it could all be had on credit while the false Madame Giselle found a way to pay her creditors with aristocratic air. Her husband, who had been so eager for this wardrobe, would send the girl some money in his own good time. She must manage as she could until then.

Penny reached into her reticule, and removed a pack of folded bank notes, counting out a thick stack. ‘Here, my dear. This should go a fair way in covering the materials you will need. You may send the balance directly to my bank for immediate payment. Do not hesitate to contact me, should you need more. If I must do this at
all, I would that it be done right and wish you to spare no expense.’

She saw the visible sag of relief, and the broadening of the smile on the face of the modiste.

When the carriage returned, and Jem saw the pile of boxes, he looked at her with suspicion, and gestured to an underfootman to throw them on to the carriage and tie them down. ‘I’m to spend all my time, now that you’re a “her Grace” two steps back and carrying your ribbons?’

‘If it makes you feel better, Jem, think of it as charity work, just as my brother always wanted me to do. Or perhaps as economic investment in a small business.’

Jem stared sceptically at the boxes. ‘I’m thinking, at least ladies’ dresses are lighter than books.’

‘Well, then. You have nothing to complain about.’

She had chosen to wear one of her new dresses home, a simple thing in pale pink muslin, with a rose-coloured spencer. The matching bonnet was a work of extreme foolishness, with a shirred back and a cascade of ribbons, but it seemed to suit the dress and she did not mind it overmuch. When she walked up the steps to the townhouse, it was a moment before the man at the door recognised her, and smiled before bowing deep.

Very well. The transformation must be startling. Adam would be pleased. She was certain of it. And he would admire the way she had managed the ball with a minimum of effort.

And then she remembered it did not matter at all to her what Adam thought. The whole of this production was an attempt to fool society into believing in their sham marriage, and put up a united front for his spurned lover, Clarissa.

If she was truly spurned. It was quite possible that Penny had wandered on to the scene in the middle of a contretemps and things would be returning to their despicable normal state at any time. If she allowed herself to care too much about her husband’s good opinion, she would feel the pain of his indifference when he was through with her.

She hardened her heart, and walked down the hall to her husband’s study, pushing open the door without knocking.

He was not alone. Lord Timothy was there as well. They had been deep in discussion over something, but it came to a halt, as she entered. ‘I have returned. As Madame Giselle would say, “
C’est fini
”.’ The men stared at her as she pulled the bonnet from her head and dropped it on to her husband’s desk. She reached into her reticule and removed the papers. ‘Here is the list of guests for your ball. Add any names I have missed to the bottom of the list. Dinner will be buffet, but there will be no oysters, because it is too late in the season. You have but to choose a date. You know your social schedule better than I. For my part, I mean to be studying every night, for the foreseeable future. Which means any night you choose for this ball is equally inconvenient.

‘Once you have decided, send the cursed guest list to the printer yourself. If you do not know where I wish you to take it, I will tell you, in no uncertain terms.’ She looked down her nose at her husband, in what she hoped was a creditable imitation of a
ton
lady. ‘Is that satisfactory, your Grace?’

Her husband stared at her in shocked silence. Lord Timothy grinned at her in frank admiration and supplied, ‘Oh, yes. I should think so.’

‘Very well, then. I shall retire, in my mildly pink dress, to my incredibly pink sitting room, put my feet on a cushion and read Gothic novels. I do not wish to be disturbed.’ She turned to cross the hall, only to have Tim bound ahead of her to open the door.

Before it shut behind her, she heard a noise from the study that sounded suspiciously like a growl.