The Impossible Ward (8 page)

“Should you try to entertain at all tonight, my lady? There is a chance, you know, that the knee will stiffen up a bit after a few hours. Would you not be better advised to postpone the dinner for a day or two until you are quite recovered?”

“That’s what I told her but she refuses to listen to good advice.” This from the scowling marquess.

“Now, Justin, do not be making too big a thing of this stupid accident.”

The eyes of the two young persons met in the first look of complete understanding they had ever shared, but their combined protests were sweetly but firmly set aside by her ladyship whose daintiness and gentle manner attractively concealed a will every bit as strong as her son’s.

“As I told Justin, Lord Melford and Miss Carstairs are due to pay a house visit of at least a fortnight to friends in Kent. They may not return to Maplegrove much before Christmas. It would be a pity to deny you this opportunity of becoming better acquainted with your cousins.” She sighed. “It is unfortunate we are not of a size, so I might lend you something for tonight.”

“It does not signify, Ma’am,” Marianne assured her kind hostess smilingly. “I can wear the green velvet.”

“As far as today’s proposed excursion to Bath is concerned,” the marquess put in smoothly, “why should we not ask Miss Carstairs to deputize for you, Mama? I shall willingly offer my services as driver and escort for the girls.”

“Oh, I don’t think...” began the marchioness, then bit her lip as she saw the swift pleasure light Marianne’s face, and the rather mocking lift to her son’s brows. “A splendid idea,” she managed gamely, “if Miss Carstairs has no other plans.”

A message was dispatched forthwith to Maplegrove, and it seemed Miss Carstairs did not have other plans and was, according to the reply that arrived less than an hour later, delighted to put herself at her cousin’s service for the day.

And so the small party set out for Bath in high spirits. To the initial amusement of the marquess, his impossible ward displayed a rather endearing shyness in the presence of her pretty cousin, seemingly content to follow Claire’s lead in conversation. On the other hand, Claire’s attitude to her newfound cousin, though affectionate in the extreme, struck the marquess as having more than a touch of patronizing charm. He waited in uneasy anticipation for fireworks, but Marianne showed none of that quiet resistance with which she had greeted most of his sorties over the past few days. However, with a fine perversity he discovered he was not grateful for her almost humiliating eagerness to please her cousin. Did the chit have
no
instincts for danger where her own sex was concerned? She was quick enough to take umbrage at any supposed slight on his part. Could she not sense that Claire was cleverly reinforcing an image of a country mouse that no more fitted his spirited ward than the awful black dress she had worn that first night? Although false, it would be convincing in company that had not spent much time with her. He became increasingly thoughtful as they neared Bath. If indeed Marianne’s only association with another female was with the essentially simple and direct Margery, it was providential that her period of mourning precluded any rash attempts to pitchfork her into the Ton before she had learned something of the nature of womankind. Ultimately, of course, his mother would hint her into the way of things, but for the moment he would do his possible by engaging Claire’s attention.

In this exercise he proved so successful that Marianne received a bare minimum of attention from her cousin for the remainder of the drive. Perforce, she witnessed her first lesson in genteel flirtation from two whom she shrewdly guessed to be experts in the art. Although aware that both relished the thrust and parry of extravagant compliments and equally extravagant disclaimers, she wondered how Claire could endure his attitude of lazy amusement. His very air of patent willingness to play games to amuse a pretty child was an insult in itself. Though puzzled not for the first time by this, she soon gave up wondering about their relationship as the scenery attracted her attention. The air was crystal clear and the view over the rolling hills quite lovely.

And suddenly they were in Bath. Marianne was suitably impressed by the scale and sweep of the Royal Crescent and the Circus, and approved the light effect created by the extensive use of the honey-colored Bath stone for buildings. The marquess set down his passengers outside an unpretentious establishment on Milsome Street with somewhat the air of a man deprived of a treat.

Marianne was unsure whether the laughing regret in his eyes was due to the necessity of parting company with her lovely cousin for an hour, or disappointment at being unable to witness her own awkwardness in a situation that no doubt formed an integral part of the existence of all the women of his acquaintance. Once again she schooled her features to blank politeness as she thanked him for his escort and followed Miss Carstairs into the creative arena presided over by that expert on the latest fashions, Madame Louise. She glanced about the clean but bare interior with no little disappointment, although she could not have put into words just what she had expected. Fortunately her preoccupation with the physical setting caused her to miss the comprehensive glance of disdain that crossed the haughty countenance of the proprietress, emerging from a curtained alcove, as her eyes fell on the black-clad figure. Her expression became one of polite inquiry on catching sight of Miss Carstairs, delightfully attired in an emerald green pelisse trimmed in black fur with a matching cap. Marianne did note the quick interest and speculation in the shrewd black eyes as Claire made her cousin known to Madame Louise, however, and her own deep blue eyes became a trifle guarded. Evidently the disclosures of the earl’s will were already common knowledge in Bath.

Certainly she could not fault Madame’s manner, which nicely blended formal courtesy with pride in her own position as one of the leading modistes in Bath. From the moment of hearing Marianne’s name, Madame Louise became blind to the obvious sartorial deficiencies of this new source of potential income. She hastened to show the young ladies to surprisingly comfortable chairs while she begged to know how she could serve them. Claire rushed into a sweetly apologetic explanation of the spur-of-the-moment dinner party that demanded an immediate purchase of a gown for her cousin to wear that very evening. Marianne observed the slight dimming of Madame’s suppressed excitement with an amusement she hoped was better concealed than Madame’s hopes of good custom.

The modiste was explaining regretfully that there were, alas, but two suitable gowns in an advanced stage of construction that might be expected to fit Lady Marianne, but she trusted one might be made to suit admirably. A young girl of fourteen or fifteen years was summoned from the inner recesses and ordered to fetch the appropriate gowns. In the interim the dressmaker laid stress on the fact that she created original designs to flatter her customers, as well as being able to reproduce any costume featured in
La Belle Assemblée
in strictest detail. Before she could produce any of the aforesaid designs, however, the minion returned, carefully carrying a sapphire blue velvet gown draped over one arm and a stiff yellow silk over the other. She was so tiny it was necessary to hold her arms high to prevent the garments from dragging on the floor and her sweet little face was flushed with the effort required. Madame herself condescended to assist her newest patroness to try first one and then the other, adjuring Miss Carstairs to remain seated and pronounce judgment on the results. Marianne, whose fingers could not resist stroking the heavenly velvet, elected to try this first, and obediently followed Madame behind the curtains to the dressing alcove. She stoically bore the measuring look the seamstress cast at her chemise clad figure and allowed her to arrange the folds of the gown more becomingly.

“Oh, it’s lovely!” she exclaimed involuntarily, watching the play of shadows among the folds with each movement of her body in the glass.

“Ah yes,” Madame allowed with smug satisfaction. “Your ladyship has the type of figure that enhances the simple lines, slim and smooth, and with a naturally regal carriage. The length must be adjusted, but otherwise it is perfect.”

She pulled aside the curtain and preceded Marianne into the other room, assured that the gown would find favor with the fashionable Miss Carstairs.

In this assumption however, she was proved overconfident. For a long moment Miss Carstairs simply stared at her cousin, her lovely eyes widening briefly, then narrowing slightly as Marianne pirouetted at Madame Louise’s direction to display the gown from all angles.

“What do you think, Claire?” Marianne asked eagerly.

“Well, it is indeed a lovely color, my dear, but do you not think it a trifle tight-fitting and, ah, revealing?” She paused delicately, but went on almost immediately, before Madame could express the protest so obviously rising to her lips. “Your situation is rather ... tenuous at the moment, is it not? Though of course I perfectly agree with the marchioness that it is unnecessary to wear black amongst the family, the vicar and his wife will be among those present tonight, and you would not wish to give any least hint of disrespect. But you must use your own judgment, of course,” she finished apologetically.

“Oh, no, I am persuaded you are quite correct,” Marianne said quickly, concealing her disappointment. “You will know the thing to do. I’ll try the other one now.”

The yellow dress, though a bit fussy in Marianne’s private judgment, with a triple frill descending from the moderately cut neckline and another at the hem, met with Claire’s unqualified approval. Certainly there was no question of a too snug fit, in fact the bodice tended to hang a bit loosely around the high waistline, but when Madame Louise indicated a simple alteration to make it lie more smoothly, Claire laughingly declared it perfect as it was, and reminded Marianne that the dress wanted hemming also and must be ready by the time they had finished the luncheon the marquess had promised to provide, or they would be guilty of abusing his generosity. Not surprisingly, this decided Marianne to take the dress with the minimum of adjustment deemed necessary. She cast a lingering glance at the blue velvet while changing out of the silk, and was heartened to hear Madame Louise promise to save the gown until Lady Marianne should return with Lady Lunswick. In quiet accents she confided her intentions of making any adjustments the marchioness should require.

“The gown was meant for your ladyship,” she finished, still in that confidential tone with a rather enigmatic expression on her face.

Marianne gazed thoughtfully at the modiste for a long moment, then smiled with unaffected friendliness and agreed that she would like to try the gown on for the marchioness’ viewing the following week when they should have more time to begin ordering a complete wardrobe.

The girls took their leave then, hastening to a shop where Marianne might purchase a new reticule to carry with the yellow dress, before it was time to meet the marquess. Claire chatted away animatedly, pointing out places of interest. She made a lovely picture in her deep green pelisse and Marianne, noting the number of admiring glances her graceful figure drew, felt utterly drab beside her sparkling cousin. She reflected wryly that for someone who had not given her appearance a second thought until that pregnant moment scarcely a sennight ago when the marquess had glanced at and through her as though she were invisible, she was rapidly becoming immersed in a condition of personal vanity to the total exclusion of all other concerns. She took herself to task and began to concentrate on her surroundings, appreciating, as the marchioness had predicted, the charm and cleanliness of Bath. The air was crisp and the sunshine enhanced her favorable impression of the city. While they walked up Milsome Street to George Street where the hotel at which they had agreed to join the marquess was located, she listened to Claire’s mingled snippets of gossip and opinion on current fashion as represented by the people they passed, with a show of courteous attention that left the better part of her mind free to form impressions of the passing scene. There was not time to stroll by the famous Pump Room, but she was quite content to await another visit in the company of the marchioness.

Claire was nothing if not lively company, and as the two girls entered the hotel, the marquess, rising from a chair to saunter indolently toward them, noticed that despite her dowdy clothing, Marianne’s flushed and laughing countenance was vibrant enough to warrant her legitimate inclusion in the low-voiced compliment of the old gentleman with whom he had been chatting idly while he awaited their arrival.

“An attractive pair, by Jove!”

“By Jove, they are!” he thought, grinning to himself as he led his guests to the private parlor he had engaged. If his smile had an element of smugness in it, this was due to the fact that his tiresome ward had so far forgotten her determinedly aloof politeness in the excitement of the shopping trip as to greet him with absentminded affability. Deciding to test the depth of her forgetfulness, he turned a smiling face to her when they were comfortably seated and quizzed her gently.

“By the air of satisfaction emanating from the two of you may I venture to guess that your excursion proved fruitful?”

“Oh ... yes, yes, of course.”

It was slightly disconcerting to see the carefree smile fade as she replied a shade too quickly, and his gaze sharpened as Claire said gaily:

“We were fortunate enough to find the most ravishing dress and Madame Louise promised to have it delivered here within the hour, so we need not impose on your good nature any longer than necessary.”