by Karen Harper
“I swear, Clayton, I shall wear this tiger skin for my court presentation and naught else, and then people will say Mrs. Glyn has lost her mind, and I’ll tell them why. I repeat, you don’t have a romantic bone in your body and you made me think you did with all that formal, gentlemanly talk when we met and later on our honeymoon, two days in rented water.”
“Calm down. Lower your voice. We don’t need the servants or the gondola boys hearing all this, now do we?”
Was he softening his stance? Had her mention of seeing him kissing her friend or her silly threat about wearing a tiger skin made him back down? Or was he somehow moved by her emotions for once?
“Let’s drag this damned thing into your bedroom,” he said. “I suppose Margot will like to pet it, but it will cost us an arm and a leg to ship it with us to Egypt and then home. Get up, Elinor,” he insisted and took her arm to help her stand. “I suppose it’s special to you like the game birds and my cows are to me.”
She only nodded and did as he said. Her passion for this and what it stood for in her life was a far hue and cry from his birds and cows. But she’d won a victory here, and she felt fierce about that. She fully intended to lock everyone out tonight, including him, and lie naked on this tiger skin and claim her name as Belle Tigress!
CHAPTER Thirteen
I’m heeere-er!” Elinor called as she bustled into the crowded backroom that served as an office at the Maison Lucile. “I’ve been shopping and have to sit down,” she told Lucile. “I’m carrying a big baby this time, and it absolutely must be a boy!”
“Sit here in my chair. Did you bring the gown?”
“Williams is having your girls unpack it in that chaos out there. And I think I’m bursting at the seams,” Elinor said as Lucile helped her take off her coat and hat. She plopped in Lucile’s chair and put her hands on her big belly.
“Do you mean it must be a boy because it’s larger than Margot was or because Clayton has his hopes up?” Lucile asked.
“He needs a son to secure the estate, though I pay no attention to his business machinations unless he tells me to cut back—which he hasn’t lately since we’ve been getting on.”
“I see you have.”
“Well, believe it or not, a tiger skin can work wonders. It’s what one of your new creations does for you.”
“I’ll send for tea. It’s cold for early December. Just wait until you hear my plans to promote Lucile Ltd. even more. I’m not sure how many guests I can pack in here, but I’m determined to stage a live mannequin parade and send embossed invitations to all my former clients, asking them to bring a guest. Both Lillie and Ellen Terry said they would help with the publicity and hostessing. Actually, I need a larger establishment again, if I could only get Cosmo to agree.”
“So this event will have your goddesses walking around instead of just posing in gowns for a particular buyer? I vow, you always have something up your sleeve—if I can say that to a dress designer. Isn’t it enough that you are in trade and making silky unmentionables as well as your lovely gowns? You’re walking a fine line with clients—and their menfolk—who might think that sort of publicity is vulgar. Lucile, it really isn’t proper to pull stunts to advertise.”
Lucile propped her hands on her hips. “As proper, I warrant, as a society woman writing flippant pieces for Scottish Life Magazine disguised as letters from some fictional Suzon to Grizelda!”
“I’m proud of those letters and I like to think of them as articles. Has Cosmo mentioned them?”
“He has.”
“And said what?”
“That they are clever essays and the pen-and-ink drawings you’ve done with them are charming. Actually, I agree.”
“Oh, thank God. And I must tell you that Lord Rosslyn, who is my liaison to the magazine, has told me a great deal about Cosmo.”
“I already know a great deal about Cosmo. He’s most attentive as a business partner and a suitor. He frightens me.”
“You, frightened? How? He’s not putting pressure on you because he’s advised you and loaned you money?”
“Not a bit of it. He frightens me because he—he moves me, and I don’t want any complications with men. I’ve seen too much of the bad from them, and they can get in the way of one’s dreams.”
“Don’t I know.”
“A little adoration to get a girl’s spirits up is fine, but Cosmo is so serious and intent.”
“Frankly, serious and intent sounds like you. Meanwhile, I think Clayton laughs at my ardor for writing, yet is amused by it—sees it as a way for me to earn spending money. He’s even finally keeping quiet about my book, and I’m bound to finish it as soon as this baby sees the light of day, and that in less than a month.”
Edith and Hebe—whose real name was Clara, the girl hired from Harrods—knocked and came in with the gown Elinor had brought. Edith had fluffed out and stuffed tissue in the short sleeves and full skirt of white satin peau de soir edged with silver gauze ribbon and lace. Hebe held up the white brocade train trimmed with lace and fastened by bows of silver ribbon with diamond buttons. It was the ornate Lucile gown Elinor had worn for her court presentation before Princess Alexandra since Queen Victoria was too weak for that royal duty now. Lucile had hoped Alexandra would remember the gown and order one for herself, but no such luck.
“I think Hebe will model it in our fashion parade when I can stage it,” Lucile told them, “so cover and hang it carefully. And, Edith, please send some tea in for us.”
In a rustle of tissue paper and satin, they went back out. “Too many rules for that gown,” Lucile said. “For a court presentation gown, the train must be not less than three yards from the shoulders and fifty-four inches wide at the end. Low bodice, short sleeves, and white, white, white when I adore colors.”
“Too many rules in this world, in general, especially for women. It was difficult enough to drape that train over my left arm, hand off my name card, not to mention all those previous hours of practicing my curtsy and backing away from the royals without taking a tumble. But worse,” Elinor said, lowering her voice as if someone else would hear, “was waiting all that time on the Mall in an absolute glut of carriages and then not being able to use the facilities when I needed a chamber pot so badly!”
“Not to change the subject from that lovely little fact, but what has Lord Rosslyn said about Cosmo?”
“Aha, back to that. You do care for him. I thought your putting him off was a case of ‘The lady doth protest too much.’”
“Don’t tease or cite your literary knowledge to me,” Lucile said and pulled up a stool just as Edith came back in with a tray of teapot and cups. “Thank you, Edith. I’ll pour, and please be sure Mrs. Glyn’s lady’s maid has a spot of tea too.”
“Yes, Lucile. We’ll take good care of her like you do us. Hebe’s still practicing her French phrases so we’ll try them out on her.”
When they were alone and had managed a few sips of tea, Lucile said, “All right, let’s have the straight facts about Cosmo, according to the eminent Elinor Glyn.”
“Lord Rosslyn says Cosmo Duff-Gordon is above all an admirable man, a man of honor. He might as well have stepped out of some of my favorite books.”
“I said, never mind all that about your books. So far, so good. Go on.”
“Well, all the impressive things, of course. Educated at Eton and trained in Italy in music, no less. You have said he has a beautiful voice.”
“He does indeed.”
“Frankly, the thing that impressed me most is that I heard he was distantly related to the romantic poet, Lord Bryon. But if he’s inherited any of his morals, beware. Byron was called ‘mad, bad, and dangerous to know’ by one of his paramours, of which there were many, and he had huge debts and died young.”
“Sister dearest, did you ever ask yourself if someone will say of you someday that ‘a little learning is a dangerous thing’? So far, Cosmo has been nothing but wise, good, and wonderful to know.”
; “But has he asked you to travel to Kincardineshire to see his estate? Good heavens, it’s on the northeast coast of Scotland. And I thought Clayton’s lands were too far out of London. I should have made him take me before we were married, so let that, at least, be a warning to you.”
“I do know Maryculter is a longtime family estate near Aberdeen. It sounds beautiful there, but I haven’t gone yet. Too much going on here and—it would be a commitment somehow. He said he didn’t intend to ask other people to go along if I agreed to visit but planned to invite a few in to meet me once we were there.”
“But let me fly another red warning flag for you. Like most gentlemen today, he is a sporting man, bird shoots and all that. He’d have you off by yourself farther than Clayton has me, even though we have a London flat now, even if Cosmo does seem to be in London a good bit. And Lord Rosslyn said that’s how Cosmo lost an eye—in a hunting accident.”
“Yes, I did know that. But I’ll tell you that one eye sees more than most with two. And it can challenge and flirt as well.”
“And seduce one’s heart if not one’s body? Hmm, perhaps I can use that description too, if not in this book, then another.”
“Another? Anyway, Cosmo’s reputation is not primarily as a gamer or hunter but as an athlete. Did Lord Rosslyn tell you he’s a noted fencer? One of Cosmo’s goals is to represent Great Britain in the Intercalated Games. He’s also a self-defense enthusiast.”
“Perhaps you’re the one who’d best study that art. Well, he is a man’s man, and that’s always attractive to a woman. I trust you to know his family is very wealthy from way back. In the 1700s they founded the Duff-Gordon sherry business in Spain, which still produces strong wines. And one other thing that may come into play here. Lord Rosslyn says Cosmo’s beloved father made him promise on his deathbed that he would honor his mother’s wishes, take care of her. She’s strictly old Scottish school—or church, I should say.”
Elinor put her teacup down and went on, “Lucile, Lord Rosslyn said that Cosmo’s mother would never permit him to wed a divorced woman. I just wanted you to know that lest he makes promises or—well . . .”
“Tries to seduce me into an affair instead of marriage?”
“Well, yes. I wanted to get round to that, but I felt I had to screw my courage to the sticking point, so to speak. I admit he does have a certain allure about him. Besides, it seems to be the way of the world among the uppers. It might be all right for my friends, like Daisy Warwick, but I detest that in general.”
“But you said at the first that Cosmo is an honorable man. Frankly, he’s more than intimated his feelings for me. They shimmer from him, however serious he can be,” she whispered.
“Hmm,” Elinor said, going back to her tea. “They shimmer from him. I shall use that.”
“Why don’t you set your story in Egypt since you adored your time there so much? Or in India?” Lucile reached for the copy of the Standard newspaper on her drawing table. “That famous man you met who seemed so grand—ah, Lord Curzon—has just been named viceroy of India, and there’s to be almost a royal reception for him there where he will rule as a king.”
She pointed to the article, and Elinor reached over her big belly to snatch it up. “Oh, his American wife and two young daughters are going to India with him,” she read aloud. “It means certain riches and titles to serve the Queen there, it says.
“They have two young daughters,” she went on. “I can only hope and pray that was not to be my fate soon. Clayton’s drowning in brandy lately and toasting with expensive champagne a son he’s sure is on the way. But, my, doesn’t the mere name and title of Nathaniel George, Lord Curzon, Viceroy of India, sound romantic and grand?”
Only a fortnight later, Cosmo took Lucile home in his carriage when Elinor’s warnings were still fresh in her teeming brain.
“I’d best not ask you in since Mother and Esme are visiting Clayton and Elinor in the country, waiting for the birth,” she told him as she was ready to ring the bell.
“No better time then.”
Oh crumbs. Even his voice got to her, deep and resonant with that slightest Scottish burr. She gave a nervous, little laugh that sounded so ingénue. The man did make her nervous, a shivery kind of delicious tingle. “Well, for a few moments if you don’t mind your driver waiting in this bitter cold. Perhaps he can drive round to the back and Cook will take him in.”
“Thank you for being so thoughtful. I would have sent him somewhere warm and told him to come back later, but that would be fine. And we are not going to argue further about your needing a larger place for this live-women parade you are set on. We’ll search for a bigger venue and then you can stage your event.”
Lucile let herself in while Cosmo talked to his driver. She held the door open for him and held her tongue. She knew he was right, and she was in too much of a hurry to move again, but she’d never fit all the guests she planned to invite into that small space.
As for Cosmo coming inside, she could handle this. The man had been ever the gentleman, although they still had tiffs over her plans for more spending. Well, he was from Scotland, and they were notoriously frugal, but somehow she knew he’d rattle her poise even if he was from the moon.
She called for a light supper to be prepared, and they sat in the library where Cosmo himself stoked up the fire.
“I have a confession to make,” he said, bending over the grate with the poker after jokingly making several fencing feints with it to make her laugh. “Although I am happy to advise you and invest in you, I might not have done that for anyone with such a stubborn streak and high-flying plans. But I am willing to consider the expansion plans for your—our—business you have in that pretty head of yours.”
Her stomach flip-flopped as he sat down close beside her on the sofa and turned slightly toward her. It suddenly seemed so hot in here when he barely stirred the embers.
“I thank you again for your help and concern, Cosmo. I hope you don’t intend to call in my debt to you, because you know I’m not ready to pay you back. And yes, I would love to expand.”
“I am totally intrigued by that. Financially, you are not ready. But emotionally? You and your gowns of emotion your clients adore with those exciting names like Sweet Surrender and Promises to Keep heat my blood. Lucile, sweetheart, I’m not rushing you but—lass, I adore you, and not just as a business partner.”
Despite how close he was and the scent of fresh, outdoor air that always seemed to emanate from him, she told herself to set him back, to hold him off, this beautifully built athlete, this intense man. But the moment he moved toward her, she found herself leaning into his embrace.
She’d been kissed by a few other admirers since James had left, of course, and had felt deeply for Morell. But the strength, the power of this man and his carefully guarded emotions nearly drowned her, and she kissed him back with wild abandon.
His lips slid lower, down her throat, as she mindlessly arched back for him. His mustache tickled. She had needed his strength, encouragement, and help, but she had not fathomed she had needed him.
He kissed her again, devouring her sanity. Suddenly Scotland didn’t seem so bad, so far away. But this was what she could not do, respond like a wanton, surrender her strength and power she’d fought so hard for.
“My beautiful sweetheart,” he whispered, tipping his head back a bit to look at her.
Was the room spinning? She felt like a schoolgirl back in exile on Jersey, wondering if she’d ever find someone to love. But she’d learned it was safer to love her own dreams and desires and not to trust a man again.
“Cosmo,” she told him, out of breath, “wait.”
“I don’t want to. Not for you.”
“They’ll be in with supper soon,” she whispered, feeling quite the silly coward.
“I’ll buy you a thousand dinners, anywhere you want.”
“Dinners in a bigger shop?”
“Business,” he muttered. “Too damned much business, alway
s business. Just now, that was not business between us, lass, but something else, and don’t forget it.”
He cleared his throat and set her back as Cook knocked on the door and rolled in a cart with several covered dishes and a bottle of Duff-Gordon wine he’d sent them. But her maid, Bradford, bustled right in behind, waving a white envelope.
“A message just came from your sister, not by post but a messenger,” she said and bobbed a curtsy to Cosmo. “Since the baby is due soon . . .”
“Yes, of course,” Lucile said and took it from her and broke the red seal. But it was from Clayton. He’d written in a hasty scrawl,
Come to help your mother if you can. Elinor has been delivered of another daughter. Large baby, hard birth. She’s ill and the doctor says no more children. Clayton
CHAPTER Fourteen
Elinor was afraid she was going to drown. She was swimming with her red hair wrapped around her in thick, black water. But why was her mother on her honeymoon with them? She kept hearing her voice, and was she crying? She would have to include that scene in her book. Oh, and Lucy must be here too. How old were they? This was awfully hot for Canada, and what would her strict, French grandmama say to her hair being down?
“She’d delirious again. The fever seems to hang on. More ice and we’ll try to bring it down,” a man’s voice said, not Clayton’s.
Icy looks. Icy looks from some of those women she’d tried so hard to entertain with her drawings and stories. But they were kinder when they learned she had no dowry, and why would anyone want an ugly, red-haired girl? Lucy was prettier, made pretty costumes for their dolls, too, and perhaps one of those dolls had been presented at the palace . . .
“Elinor, dearest, it’s Mother. You have a lovely daughter. I know you said that it was a boy. But if a girl, you wanted her to be named Juliet.”
“Her story is a tragedy,” someone whispered. “They both die.”
