Scrutinising Robertson’s list, Eloise saw that Lady Constance, the Dowager Countess of Fearnoch, was missing. Warily raising the issue of his mother with Alexander, she discovered, without surprise, that the omission was deliberate and his doing. ‘But won’t people expect her to be here? It is our wedding ball. Her absence will look extremely odd.’
‘We’ll tell them that her health is too fragile for her to travel to the city,’ he answered after a brief silence.
‘Will you tell her that? The first ball given by the new Earl will be bound to be noted in the newspapers,’ she pressed, when he looked as if he was about to dismiss her concerns. ‘She will surely have friends, acquaintances in attendance too. She’s in Lancashire, Alexander, not Africa. Letters can reach her, newspapers...’
‘I will have her informed. And I will ensure that she does not discuss our nuptials, before you ask. I won’t have her spoil the story we have concocted before we have a chance to tell it.’
He would say no more, except to assure her later that day that the matter had been dealt with, and Eloise had neither the time nor the inclination to pursue the matter.
Phoebe and Estelle between them, in a flurry of correspondence, helped her to design the menus for both suppers to be served, and the music to be played for each of the dances. There was too little time for Eloise to fret about how the Fearnoch House staff viewed their new, inexperienced mistress, as she, with Mrs McGilvery’s help, embroiled all of them in a frenzy of arranging and rearranging all of the public rooms. Alexander, meanwhile, with Wiggins’s help, ordered enormous quantities of wine and champagne, consulted various mysterious authorities to ensure that the carriages arriving with their guests would be supervised, and the waiting coachmen and horses attended to.
In between preparing the house, Eloise had to prepare herself. She expected Madame LeClerc of Bond Street to sneer at her ideas for the very large selection of silks and other fabrics she had purchased. Instead, the modiste was in raptures at her designs, offered several very clever innovations of her own, and promised Eloise that her ball gown would take priority and would definitely be ready in time.
Madame LeClerc recommended that Eloise order her hats from a specific milliner in Piccadilly who also happened to be Madame’s particular friend. On the subject of accoutrements, Madame suggested that Eloise pay a visit to Bedford House, which was one of the finest linen drapers, and conveniently close to Oxford Street’s wide selection of shoemakers, glovers and hosiers, all of which, Eloise discovered, were essential components of her trousseau.
A shy enquiry into where she might purchase undergarments led Eloise to Number Eighteen New Bond Street, the premises of Mrs Harman, stay-maker, and the visiting card which Alexander had had printed for her caused Mrs Harman herself to attend her illustrious new client. The undergarments Eloise was shown were beautifully made and prettily trimmed, the sort which no lady would be ashamed to be seen in by her sisters, for example, but they were not the type Eloise had in mind. When Mrs Harman’s delicate but probing questions established what Eloise did have in mind, she was ushered into a small room behind a pair of dark-velvet curtains furnished only with a red-velvet chaise longue reserved, Mrs Harman told her, for very particular customers. Realising too late that the particular customers were likely to be courtesans rather than countesses, Eloise waited in trepidation, and was seriously considering fleeing, when the stay-maker reappeared, bearing her wares, and all thoughts of leaving fled.
The chemises were the most recognisable items, being the simplest, worn next to the skin, though made of the finest lawn cotton, trimmed with cotton lace. Next came the pantalettes, also in finest lawn and cambric, but trimmed more lavishly with lace threaded with ribbons. Then came Mrs Harman’s speciality, the stays. There were short stays and long stays, designed to accentuate the wearer’s curves or to constrain them. There were stays which were laced at the back and required assistance and stays which laced at the front, which were convenient, Mrs Harman informed Eloise, for both dressing and undressing by a less experienced hand. ‘Or should I say a less feminine hand,’ she elucidated archly, seeing Eloise’s obvious confusion which then immediately turned to embarrassment as her meaning sank in. The stays were made of silk, black, red and jewel colours, too exquisite, surely, to be hidden beneath a gown. Which of course, she realised when she tried on several, staring at herself in the mirror, they were not meant to be.
After the stays came the petticoats, confections of silk and ribbons and lace in a rainbow of colours, some with sleeves for day wear, some with only the flimsiest of straps to be worn under an evening gown. Having announced that she would be honoured to make my lady petticoats of layered green silk, Mrs Harman then produced a selection of stockings. My lady would require white, naturally, but Eloise was also offered stockings with embroidered clocks, stockings with coloured garters, a shocking pair in pink to emulate the bare flesh, and one in black with red rosettes.
When the nightgowns and matching peignoirs were proffered, she ordered a selection of those too. And just at the point where her senses were overloaded and she thought she would never buy another garment as long as she lived, she remembered her sisters and Kate, and ordered each a nightgown and a pair of finest silk stockings with clocks of different flowers.
Arriving back at Fearnoch House, safe from any further temptation, she was appalled by her profligacy, though still in thrall to the sensuous beauty of the garments. The designs were both practical and flattering, the cut precise, the stitching not only beautiful but strong. As a needlewoman, she was lost in admiration for the skill involved.
It was only when the first of her decadent undergarments were delivered and Eloise tried them on, taking the precaution of locking her bedroom and dressing room doors, that she began to have doubts. The fabrics were sensual. They caressed her skin, they moulded themselves to her form, and they accentuated her curves in a way that made her feel self-conscious, and at the same time oddly excited. Taking out her pins, she let her hair ripple down her back, over her shoulders, and saw a woman she didn’t recognise staring back at her. A woman with the sort of siren curves that men noticed. A woman who dressed in anticipation of being undressed, whose silks and laces were designed to invite the most intimate of caresses. Would Alexander find this woman attractive? Would he want to kiss the breasts which were only just covered? Eloise closed her eyes, trying to imagine those kisses, feeling her nipples tighten in response. He would kiss her, and he would touch her, here and here and here. And then he would...
What, exactly? She hadn’t the first clue what he would do next! And yet the woman staring back at her, wide-eyed, soft-mouthed, curvaceous, looked as if she were an experienced lover. She looked, in fact...
‘Dear God in heaven,’ Eloise said, ‘I look exactly like my mother.’
It took her less than five minutes to change. Fortunately, among her mountain of shopping she had ordered a selection of more prosaic underwear. Mrs Harman’s confections were thrust back into their layers of tissue paper, the boxes retied and thrust to the back of the cupboard.
* * *
‘I think we’re ready.’ Alexander brought their waltz to an end with a flourish, twirling Eloise around and making a bow. ‘What do you think, Bennet?’
‘Very polished, my lord. Most graceful, my lady. You are very well matched. Anyone would think you’d been dancing together for years.’
‘Precisely our intention, as you know very well,’ Alexander replied, grinning.
‘Thank you for playing for us so patiently, Bennet,’ Eloise said, as he got up from the piano stool. ‘I don’t think I could have borne the embarrassment of learning to dance in front of a stranger. You are a man of many talents.’
‘Including some I would rather you did not know about, my lady. If you’ll excuse me now?’
‘What did he mean by that?’ Eloise asked as the double doors closed behind him.
> Alexander, thinking of some of his man’s more lethal skills, merely shrugged. ‘Heaven knows. Never mind Bennet’s talents, I’m more interested in yours. I don’t think you realise how much you’ve accomplished in less than two weeks, and all without a dancing master.’
‘I had Lowes’ Ball Conductor and Assembly Guide to study,’ Eloise said, referring to the volume she had uncovered in the library, ‘and I had an excellent tutor in you. You haven’t told me where you first learned to dance.’
At the age of twenty in a seedy and very rundown part of Vienna, was the true answer. The waltz he had learned then was a raucous version of the genteel one he’d taught Eloise, danced with abandon fuelled, Alexander recalled, by some potent clear spirit he’d never encountered anywhere else.
‘It is expected,’ he said, opting reluctantly for another, more sanitised version of the truth, ‘that officers in the Admiralty equip themselves with the necessary skills to deport themselves adequately at social occasions such as dinners and balls.’
‘Do Victualling Commissioners often attend social events?’
‘Regularly, at some of the larger overseas naval bases.’
Looking unconvinced, Eloise wandered over to the piano, flicking through the loose sheets of music. She had asked him several times about the nature of his work, though she was careful never to persist when he resorted to evasion. He wondered if this meant she was more or less curious? The nature of Alexander’s real endeavours required him to be an accomplished fabricator, but for some reason he found it difficult to lie to Eloise. Worse than that, there had been a few occasions—now was a perfect instance—when he’d been tempted to tell her the truth.
Contrary to his expectations, he enjoyed their conversations at the breakfast table. He enjoyed seeing Eloise gain in confidence, rising to so many challenges that it was difficult to remember they had only been married two weeks. The servants, inclined from the start to view favourably any mistress who could put a name to every face, were won over by her frank admissions of ignorance when it came to the running of the household. She did not command, but her every request was happily acceded to. It was to be expected that some members of such a large staff would have taken advantage in a house bereft of a master in the months between Walter’s death and their arrival here, and Eloise, whose mastery of the account books she attributed to Lady Elmswood’s example of careful husbandry, had uncovered a good many instances of pilfering. Alexander would have sacked the culprits. Eloise called an amnesty instead, and he was willing to bet that time would prove her instincts correct.
She had not made Fearnoch House her home yet, but he was confident she would in time. After that first day, Alexander had managed to put aside his own feelings about the place—for the most part. There were moments that still caught him unawares. Not memories as such, still nothing so vivid, but a sudden sense of something, as if someone had just left a room he had entered. And there were rooms he avoided. The master bedchambers. The attics which had been the nursery. The room identified as the study on the floor plan. He told himself there was no need to venture into any of them. Alexander was adept at fooling others. He was not so adept at fooling himself. There would come a time to face his demons, but it was not now.
Eloise set down the sheet music and joined him at the window. ‘You are looking very pensive.’
‘I am thirty years old tomorrow. I never imagined it would be such a momentous occasion.’
‘Our wedding ball. This time tomorrow, there will be an orchestra tuning up where the piano is, and I will most likely be hiding in my room too terrified to come out.’
‘That is one thing I am not worried about. I was just thinking how wonderfully you are succeeding in making this place your own. You are making an excellent Lady Fearnoch.’
‘I am embracing life, just as you commanded me to. You see, I am a most obedient wife. About to attend my first ever ball and I am actually hosting it! My introduction to London society as Lady Fearnoch, and to your cousin Raymond as the woman who deprived him of a fortune. You’re right, I have nothing whatsoever to be afraid of.’
Alexander laughed. ‘At least you can have no fears about carrying off the first dance.’ He pulled her into his arms in a waltz hold and twirled her around in a small circle. ‘You see.’
‘I can follow your lead.’
They had come to a halt by the piano. He dropped his hold to pull her closer. ‘Then you can save both waltzes for me, and dance only the country dances with our guests.’
‘Are you nervous?’
He hadn’t even thought about it, save as a task on his list which must be ticked off. A room full of the great and the good, some of whom would be complete strangers, held no fears for him. It wasn’t exactly life-threatening. But for Eloise, it must be daunting. He cursed himself for a thoughtless fool. ‘I’m sorry. You have been doing such an excellent job of embracing your new life I didn’t realise that it might be taking its toll on you.’
‘It’s not—well, there are some things I’m struggling with, but—I don’t want to let you down,’ she admitted.
‘That’s not possible,’ he said fiercely. ‘And before you list out every single thing that might go wrong, let me tell you that when we stand at the top of the grand staircase tomorrow to receive our guests, when we take to this floor for the opening waltz, what people will see is what we want them to see—a newly married couple who are madly in love with each other.’
As he had hoped, she smiled. ‘Must it be madly?’
It had always seemed to Alexander that love was a form of insanity. ‘Contentedly? No, that’s not right. Though we’ve known and loved each other for years, we’ve only been married a fortnight. That is far too soon for us to be merely content in each other’s company.’
‘Alexander!’
‘Eloise!’ He pulled her closer. ‘We have waited three years to consummate our love,’ he whispered into her ear. ‘I would imagine that we would be eager, now that we are man and wife, to consummate it as often as possible.’
She gave a startled laugh, blushing charmingly. ‘I cannot imagine how that may have been achieved, with so much to be done for tomorrow.’
She smelled delicious—a new perfume, he wondered, or a scented soap? One of her hands was resting on his shoulder. The other, which had been on his waist during their dance, slid up his back. Her fingers curled into his hair. She was such a delightful combination of innocence and allure, he could not resist teasing her.
‘We might start here, for example. We are alone, after all,’ Alexander said.
Surrendering to temptation, he kissed her. He had not meant his kiss to be serious, he had not meant it to be a real kiss. Then Eloise kissed him back. And when she kissed him back, he forgot all about teasing her, wrapping his arms tightly around her and kissing her again, kissing her deeply, eyes closed, filling his senses with her scent and her curves and her mouth on his, kissing him back.
He was hard. Their tongues touched, and it made him harder. When she moaned, pushing herself against him, his senses swam. Still kissing, he eased her back against the piano, lifting her up on to the closed lid. Their tongues touched again, and he wrenched his mouth from hers, telling himself that this was enough, but the sight of her, eyes heavy with passion, lips plump from their kisses, was irresistible.
He kissed her mouth again, then her throat. He kissed her breasts along the neckline of her gown. It was high cut. Only a sliver of her delicate, delicious flesh was exposed, but it was more than enough to make his shaft thicken and pulse. He cupped her breast, feeling the hard nub of her nipple through her stays. Her hands slid down his back, urging him closer, and he almost obeyed. Though they were fully clothed, the primal need to press himself against her, to let her know just how much he wanted her...
Alexander ended the kiss, letting Eloise go, helping her down from the piano—from the piano, for the love of
God! He was mortified at his own lack of control, appalled by his behaviour. ‘I should not have...’
‘I see now, how it may be managed,’ she interrupted him hurriedly. ‘It is as well that I’ve put an end to having the footmen stand sentry at every door.’
She was making a show of shaking out her gown, turning away from him so that he couldn’t see her face. He couldn’t begin to imagine what was going through her head. She had not been feigning her desire any more than he had, but it was clear she wanted to pretend that this had been the case. So he took out his watch and shook his head. ‘I had no idea it was so late. I have some papers to sign before dinner.’
Her sigh of relief was palpable. ‘And I also have a hundred things to attend to. So if you’ll excuse me...’
Without meeting his eyes, Eloise fled. Alexander moved over to the window and stepped on to the balcony. Think about something else, he told himself, think about the list of tasks his lawyer had drawn up for him, think about...
What the devil had come over him! Did he really need to remind himself of the dire consequences of getting too close to a woman—any woman, never mind his wife! In his line of work he wasn’t even supposed to have a wife, had obtained permission from a reluctant Sir Marcus on the understanding that his marriage was exactly what he had agreed with Eloise, in name only. He could not risk her growing to care for him. He most certainly must not care for her.
The Earl's Countess of Convenience Page 12
