The Wedding Runaway (12 page)

"
Hoping to run into Sophie?
"
asked Victor with a saturnine lift of an eyebrow.

Lydia blinked. No
,
she was hoping to avoid being measured by a tailor.
"
I don
'
t want new clothes.
"
Just the idea of standing in front of Victor with nothing on but her shirt and breeches knotted tension in her stomach.
"
I cannot imagine a greater waste of time. I will not be able to stay in London forever
,
you know.
"

"
No
,
I do not know. When will you return home
,
Lenny?
"

"
A few months
,
I suppose.
"
Although she missed her brothers and father
,
she didn
'
t want to go home. Here she stood on her own two feet and made her own living
,
albeit as a ne
'
er-do-well gambler. She didn
'
t depend on any man
'
s support. Her choices might be limited
,
but they were all her own. Where to live
,
what to eat
,
when to sleep
,
where to go. The freedom was heady.

A woman always had to live in the shadow of a man
,
her very identity tied to his talents. Pretending to be a boy gave her a glimpse of life where she was valued for herself.

Victor wore his habitual black
,
which both repelled and attracted her. His determination to take her to his tailor made her shudder.
"
I think when you are finished with me
,
I will look like an undertaker.
"

"
Are you in mourning
,
cub?
"

"
No.
"
Lydia stared at Victor. Was he?

"
Then there is no need for you to dress in black as I do. Is that why you are kicking up such a fuss?
"

"
I don
'
t need you to father me.
"

"
I
'
m not old enough to be your father.
"
Then he looked thoughtful.
"
On second thought
,
I might have managed it. How old are you?
"

She didn
'
t think she wanted to try and claim her real age again. She didn
'
t look like a twenty-one-year-old man. Instead she searched her head for an insult.
"
You act older than Methuselah. I think you were never young.
"

Victor winced and Lydia wondered if she had hurt his feelings.

"
Don
'
t be insulting
,
Lenny. If you get too carried away, I shall have to call you out.
"

Lydia blinked. Call her out? Now he was insulted?
"
I take it back. You have no maturity at all. Who settles disputes with fights?
"

"
Gentlemen do.
"

"
Do you mean duels?
"
A chill of disquiet slid down her throat. At times the male creature was as foreign to her as the hills of China.

"
That or we could strip down at Gentleman Jackson boxing salon and go a few rounds
,
but that would hardly be sporting as I have several stone on you.
"

Not to mention that stripping down together in a boxing salon would be out of the question
,
although it might prevent a fight. She wanted to shrivel up and die.

"
No matter how elderly I may behave now
,
I never was so young I didn
'
t take an interest in being properly clothed. Now are you worried about the expense? I shall take care of it.
"

"
No
,
I can afford new clothes.
"
With the money she had won from him.

"
Then what is the problem?
"

Lydia couldn
'
t tell him the real reason she didn
'
t want to visit a tailor. The carriage halted and her heart jumped into her throat. Anything to delay the inevitable exposure.
"
Who...who are you in mourning for?
"
she asked.

"
My wife.
"

"
Oh God
,
I
'
m sorry
,"
she blurted.

He turned and studied her as he descended from the carriage.

Uh-oh
,
bad move.
She shouldn
'
t have been so gushy and emotional. Boys
,
men
,
weren
'
t known for emotions. Women were.

"
Don
'
t be. It was a release from a living nightmare
,
worse than any of the levels of Dante
'
s Inferno.
"

Lydia stumbled down the carriage steps and looked through the window of a tailor
'
s shop. Her heart thudded in her chest and her mouth grew painfully dry.

"
Don
'
t repeat that
,
cub.
"

"
No
,
of course not.
"
She willed back her panic by focusing on him. He had been married? He
'
d had such a complicated past. At once she wanted to know more
,
yet that he
'
d likened his marriage to the pits of hell made her wary.
"
How long ago did she...pass?
"

"
Three months.
"

He rubbed the red mark on his forehead. In the daylight she could see it was a burn scar. The inch-long welt contained smooth reddened flesh at odds with the rest of his pale skin. How had he gotten it? He seemed to rub it when distressed. She wanted to ask more about his wife
,
but she could tell it bothered him.

He turned and walked quickly into the tailor
'
s shop. The bell above the door knelled out a sprightly death toll for her.

The tailor in his waistcoat and shirt sleeves scurried forward.
"
How can we help you today
,
my lord?
"

"
Not me. My young friend here needs the help.
"

The tailor looked Lydia up and down
,
frowned
,
hemmed
,
then nodded.
"
Yes
,
I see.
"

Perhaps she could pretend to need the necessary and bolt out the back.

"
Shall we start with six shirts
,
two with lace cuffs for evening wear—
"
Victor began.

"
Four shirts
,
no lace
,"
Lydia countermanded.
"
I won
'
t wear lace.
"
Not while in men
'
s clothing.

"
The lad is right. With his slenderness
,
lace would be too...effeminate.
"
The tailor stared at her and frowned.

"
He
'
ll need a couple of evening coats
,
waistcoats
,
breeches
,
day wear
,
two or three pantaloons and informal jackets. Can you broaden the shoulders
,
until he fills out?
"

Lydia wanted to crawl under the nearest rock
,
counter
,
pin cushion
,
anything to get away from the scrutiny of the tailor. In front of her hung a brocade velvet robe of long full-bodied paisley fabric. The drape of that gown would cloak any figure. Hers
,
if she was ever caught again without all her binding and pads in place.
"
What
'
s that?
"

"
A dressing gown.
"

"
I want one.
"
She crossed over and removed it from the tailor
'
s dummy and draped it around her shoulders.
"
Doesn
'
t it look good on me?
"

Victor paused in his litany of items he seemed to think were necessary for a man
'
s wardrobe.

Wrong
,
wrong.
A boy would never ask if a garment looked good on him.
Oh, fiddlesticks!

"
I
'
m glad to see you
'
re taking an interest in your new attire
,
cub.
"
Victor turned toward the tailor.
"
He doesn
'
t want anything in black.
"

"
Uh
,
er
,
given his youth
,
black might be too mature.
"
The tailor frowned again. He pulled his tape measure out of his vest pocket.
"
Although I might suggest
,
black breeches for evening
,
with a light blue coat. The contrast of color will give the illusion of more breadth on the upper portion.
"

Lydia looked around madly for an escape. Her heart jumped in an irregular pattern. The back corners were draped. Hooks on the wall and a low bench with cushions showed through the curtain opening. Changing rooms.

"
If you would remove your waistcoat and jacket
,
sir
,
I might get your measurements.
"

She swung the dressing gown off
,
and handed it to Victor. She half wished she could have thrown it over his head. She strode back to a draped corner and shrugged out of her jacket.
"
In the fitting room?
"

She hung her jacket on the hook and stepped behind the curtain as she unbuttoned her waistcoat.

The tailor had trailed behind her.
"
Sir
,
there is more light out—
"

"
Please
,"
she whispered. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a five-pound note.

He stared at the bill in her hand. His gaze rose to the opening of the waistcoat. Not that there was the best place to judge her female. But even bound tight
,
she still had small curves there. She hunched her shoulders and locked her elbows in front of the opening.

"
Please
,"
she whispered again. She wiggled the money.

He backed away as if fearful.
"
I...I...I need to get paper.
"
He reached behind his ear and grabbed his pencil, then held it in front of him like a weapon to fend her off.

He swiveled and rushed back to the main part of the room. She heard the low murmur of voices. She turned around. Cornered.

How ironic. She leaned head-first against the wall and squeezed her eyes shut. The five-pound note remained clutched in her hand. She didn
'
t know if the tailor would come back to measure her
,
or if Victor would return. How could she think five pounds would overcome the loyalty of a tailor for his regular and rich client?

Would Victor be angry? Would he hate her? Would he force her to leave London?

"
Uh...er
,
miss
,
if you could remove your waistcoat. I
'
ll get these measurements
,"
said the tailor.

Lydia turned.
"
You didn
'
t tell him
,
did you?
"
she hissed.

"
No
,
miss.
"

"
Shhh then
,
don
'
t call me miss.
"
She held out the banknote again.

He eyed it reluctantly a moment, then took it and shoved it in his pocket.
"
I have my assistant choosing fabric with Lord Wedmont. He doesn
'
t know?
"

Lydia shook her head as the tailor measured around her waist.

He tentatively tested the padding around her waist by pinching it.
"
Interesting.
"

They both blushed as the tailor had her raise her arms and measured around her flattened chest. He turned her away from him and measured the length of her back and across her shoulders. Lydia closed her eyes as if that could distance her from participation in her dimensions being recorded by a man.

He finished after a few awkward moments over her inseam—she finally held the tape at the top. Relieved to get back into the concealing waistcoat and jacket
,
she buttoned while the tailor wrote the last numbers on his tablet of paper. He looked up and squinted at her.
"
You pass quite well for a boy. I would have never known
,
if I had not seen you without your waistcoat.
"

"
Thank you
,"
whispered Lydia. What else could she say?

The tailor pulled back the curtain
,
and she emerged. Victor leaned against the counter
,
his long legs stretched out. Her gaze moved up from his long black boots
,
to the perfect fit of his black unmentionables
,
up to shoulders that would never need any padding.