Scandalous (13 page)

"You have the most… kissable… mouth," he said pensively instead, leaning back against the pillows and letting his lids droop until his eyes were half shut. To tease her seemed a poor reward for her care of him, but it had the desired effect: her eyes widened and her lips parted as she stared at him with shocked surprise. He continued with a growing smile: "For dessert, I could fancy just a taste. What do you say?"

She surged to her feet. Her movement caused the dishes to rattle, and for a moment he feared that he might find himself awash in ale. Quickly he grabbed the glass to steady it, glad to find his strength recovered enough to permit him to do so, and looked up to find her eyes flashing like silver fish in a pond as she glared down at him.

"You are a nasty, vulgar,
libertine,"
she said through her teeth. "I should have known better than to feel sorry for you. I wish I'd let you starve."

With that, she turned on her heel and stalked with a great deal of dignity out the door. He smiled faintly as he admired the gentle sway of her backside beneath the too-big skirt. Really, she was not nearly so shapeless as he had at first supposed.

12

Gabby was still seething as she joined her sisters downstairs. To think that she had felt sorry for him, sat on his bed and fed him soup, began to feel a degree of comfort in his presence. She should have known better. She did know better. But he had charm enough to lure turtles from their shells, and she had fallen victim to it.

It would not happen again.

"What did Marcus want?" Beth asked as Gabby joined them at table. Taken by surprise, Gabby could only blink at her sister for a moment. Then she forced herself to push the scene she had just left to the back of her mind, and dredge up a suitable pleasant expression to go with a suitable pleasant reply.

"He wished only to inquire about our well-being. I assured him that we are fine."

Beth looked as though she would ask something else and Claire seemed on the verge of chiming in, so to give their thoughts a new direction Gabby hastily inquired of Twindle, who had joined them in the dining room, where in her opinion the most fashionable shops were to be found. This diversion worked; Claire and Twindle chatted animatedly, Beth chimed in from time to time, and Stivers's input was eventually sought. He in turn canvased the household while the ladies partook of a quick, light luncheon. Finally what was felt to be a definitive answer was returned, and the sisters, plus Twindle, sallied forth on their first daylight foray through London's streets.

To their country-bred eyes, the sights that greeted them on every front were nothing short of dazzling. On the one hand were edifices, monuments, and museums, and buildings the height and ornate facades of which caused them to marvel. On the other hand were the inviting expanses of green that were described, in a guide which Beth the enterprising pulled from her reticule, as Hyde Park and Green Park. Everywhere people thronged, in carriages, on horseback, on foot, and vehicles clogged the streets. By the time Bond Street, which both the household and the Pocket Guide assured them was the most select boulevard for the acquisition of elegant goods in town, was reached, even Gabby felt as though, if she did not take care, her jaw might hang open as Beth's had done before Claire had adjured her, in the name of saving them all from looking like the veriest bumpkins, to please shut her mouth.

At first, conscious of their own sartorial shortcomings, they were a shade hesitant about entering the establishments of the most fashionable dressmakers. Those elegant boutiques were rife with beautifully gowned ladies of the
beau monde
on the prowl for the latest styles, and Gabby felt as out of place among them as a Puritan miss mistakenly wandered into King George's court. But the silks and satins and muslins and gauzes on display were of such mouthwatering colors and textures, and the styles of the gowns themselves were so enticing, that they could not help but be drawn in, and soon found that they were enjoying themselves immensely, even Beth. By the time they had entered the rarified precincts of Madame Renard's, who was understood to be the most exclusive mantua maker in town, they were quite caught up in discussing the finer points of the current fashions and barely noticed their surroundings. After a chance remark let fall by Claire revealed to one of Madame's pinch-nosed assistants that this trio of dowdy, black-clad provincials were in fact the sisters of the earl of Wickham, newly come to town for the season, Madame herself came out to wait on them, practically rubbing her hands in greedy glee.

After that, the afternoon disintegrated into such a whirl of fabrics and patterns that even Gabby was in danger of losing her head. Madame quite understood when Gabby told her that Lady Claire was the primary focus of the undertaking. A tiny, birdlike woman with an immense pile of improbably black hair and shrewd black eyes, Madame at once perceived in Claire a beauty whose successful adornment could only enhance her own reputation. The other sisters provided less scope for her talent, she admitted to her assistant in a private moment, but the older one, for all that she was a bit long in years to be still unwed, at least possessed a certain air that was, in its own way, nearly as rare and valuable as beauty. Quality, was what it was, Madame said, settling at last on a word to define what she meant. Lady Gabriella possessed
quality.
As for the younger sister, who was, lamentably, plump as a pudding, it was to be hoped that time would work its magic on her figure. In any event, Madame could only feel that she had done her noble clients a service by pointing out that Lady Gabriella, in her role as elder sister and prospective chaperone, would doubtless need a great many new outfits, too. Lady Elizabeth was not to be left out either; although she was too young to grace any
ton
parties, it would be perfectly permissable for her to be present on at-home days, and to visit among the younger set, whose acquaintance she would undoubtedly soon make. Thus her wardrobe, though simple as befitted a schoolroom miss, needed to be quite extensive, too.

By the time the orgy of shopping was completed, the ladies, on Madame's recommendation, retired to Guenther's for ices. Exhausted but happy, each was conscious of the supremely feminine pleasure of being clad in new and fashionable gowns, Madame having been moved by the size of the order given her and the illustrious nature of her clients to part with garments that had already been made up for other ladies, but not yet delivered. The discarded mourning gowns, which madame had offered to consign to the fire, had instead been earmarked for charity. More gowns were promised for the following day, with complete wardrobes to follow within the week.

"And if we do not see a marked increase in custom once the lovely one has taken her place among the
ton,
then I have no business calling myself a
modiste,"
Madame told her assistant with satisfaction as the ladies left her premises. And her assistant agreed that it surely would be so.

Not more than three quarters of an hour later, the Banning sisters finished their ices and agreed to suspend the rest of their shopping, for such necessary but minor items as ribbons and fans, for another day.

"Well," said Beth in a fair-minded fashion as they stepped up into the carriage to be driven home again, "I must say that wasn't so bad. Shopping in London is a whole different experience than shopping in York."

"Yes, for we had money to spend, which we have never had before, and the fashions are so breathtaking," Claire replied, settling into her seat. She looked rather anxiously at Gabby, who sat across from her. "Do you suppose Marcus will cut up stiff when he receives the reckoning? I am afraid that we have been sadly extravagant. I had no notion that we would need so many gowns, had you?"

"And gloves, and bonnets, and shawls, to say nothing of those cunning half boots with the little buttons on the side," Beth chimed in. Her enthusiasm for shopping had increased markedly as she had been shown how well she could look in new clothes.

"Certainly there was no need to bespeak new gowns for
me,
Miss Gabby," Twindle said. Like Claire, Twindle looked slightly worried about the small fortune that had been spent. "As I told you, I already possess a sufficient number of gowns for my purposes, and His Lordship— quite properly— may not wish to pay for me to swan about looking grand as a duchess."

"Stuff!" Beth snorted indignantly. "Everything you chose was either gray or puce, and of such staid design… I should like to see any duchess who would get herself up like that."

"The colors and materials I chose are entirely suitable for my age and station, Miss Beth, and the finished gowns will be far finer than any I have heretofore possessed."

"Sad to say, that's true for all of us, Twindle," Claire said with a rueful twinkle.

"Because Papa was such a nip-farthing." Beth exclaimed. Chewing her lower lip, she glanced at Gabby. "You don't suppose our brother takes after him in that way, do you? How lowering it would be if he ordered us to send it all back."

"Our brother Wickham," Gabby said firmly, refusing to allow so much as a single image of the odious creature to enter her mind, "will be delighted to see us looking our best."

She had not the slightest idea what the rogue's feelings would in fact be if he should, by some remote chance, see what was sure to be a staggering bill, and she didn't care. Although it was not, properly speaking, their money, it was far more their money than his, at least. Of course, if one were being strictly honest, every last farthing now rightfully belonged to Cousin Thomas. But Gabby was determined not to think about that. There was no point in letting the rights and wrongs of the situation trouble her. She had made her choice, and meant to stick to it. Claire was going to come out in style just as she deserved, and that was all there was to it. Under the circumstances
Wickham
was certainly not going to be allowed to control her purse strings. He might count himself lucky that he was not even now cooling his heels in gaol. In any case, it was highly unlikely that he would even see the bills. She had directed that they be sent straight to Mr. Challow for payment.

Smiling determinedly, she said, "That fawn-colored walking dress you are wearing becomes you to admiration, Claire."

"Yes, did you not see those two gentlemen ogling her on the street? I must say, Claire, despite all your faults you are possessed of a positively
staggering
degree of beauty." Beth spoke as one stating an immutable law of the universe, rather than with any hint of envy.

"Faults? I?" Claire stuck her nose up in the air, looked down it at Beth, then laughed. "You are very pretty yourself, Beth, and that particular shade of green in your dress makes your hair look the color of copper."

"No, does it really?" Beth beamed in delight at the compliment, and smoothed a hand over the folds of her new olive-figured muslin with obvious pleasure. "Do you think it might be actually growing darker? Being cursed with carrot-colored hair is the most maddening thing in the world."

"Be thankful you don't have freckles to go with it," Claire advised. Beth found herself so much in agreement with this that the two of them conversed in perfect amity for the remainder of the ride home.

They returned home to find Cousin Thomas waiting for them in the drawing room. Tall, thin, and balding, with a perpetually worried look on his rather long face, Cousin Thomas rose abruptly from the gilt-armed sofa as they entered. Although their last meeting had been less than warm, Gabby greeted him with a smile and a handshake. Claire and Beth, taking their cue from her, followed suit.

After exchanging the usual pleasantries, Cousin Thomas got right to the point.

"I've heard— things will get around, you know— that Wickham's arrived from Ceylon to take his place as head of the family, and that he's somehow managed to get himself shot. What truth is there in that, if you please?"

Lying should, Gabby thought with despair, be almost second nature to her now, but it was not. She felt more than one pang of conscience as she agreed that Wickham was, indeed, abovestairs at that very moment, and, was moreover, slightly wounded from an accidentally self-inflicted gunshot. If it had not been for Claire and Beth's innocent corroboration, Cousin Thomas might well have been able to divine from her scrambled account of events that she was telling less than the truth, Gabby thought worriedly, and vowed to do better in future. After all, she was in too deep— by far too deep— to climb out now.

When Cousin Thomas left, with assurances that he would send Lady Maud and his daughters to call on them as soon as they returned to town from a visit to the older girl's new in-laws, Gabby roused herself to one last effort and wrote a note to Lady Salcombe announcing that she and her sisters were in town and begging permission to call without delay. Then, worn out from the events of the past two days, desperate to escape from Beth and Claire's chatter, Gabby retired to bed shortly after the evening meal. Despite her exhaustion, however, once laid down upon her bed she found herself quite unable to sleep. Her leg and hip ached like a sore tooth, the jarring they had suffered when she fell in the hall aggravated, no doubt, by all the walking she had done that day. To add to her inability to rest, faint sounds from the adjoining chamber reminded her of the unsavory characters separated from her by no more substantial a barrier than a locked door. Having learned from Stivers that Dr. Ormsby had been by, and that my lord was still far from being in prime twig, she judged herself fairly safe from attack, from
my lord
at least. But still, Jem's dire warnings rang in her ears. Thanks to her faithful servant, every time she closed her eyes she was afflicted with hideous visions of Barnet's hulking form creeping into her bedchamber to put a pillow over her face. In the end, she was obliged to get up, locate a small glass jar on her dressing table, empty it of its contents, and balance it upon the knob of the door that opened from the earl's chamber into hers. As a final precaution, she took the fireplace poker back into bed with her. Finally, with such reasonable safeguards in place, she managed to fall asleep.