Lenore had gathered as much but was still unclear as to his motives. Leaving such imponderables aside, she wondered what to do. As Agatha had noted, Eversleigh’s organisational habits left very little room for manoeuvre. More than half the items were at least partly made up; Lafarge must have had her workrooms operating around the clock. Idly fingering a delicate silk chemise, Lenore made her decision. “Madame, did His Grace give permission for me to add to this collection?”
Lafarge brightened perceptibly. “But yes.” She spread her hands. “Anything you wished for you were to have, provided it was in a suitable style.”
The caveat did not surprise her. Lenore nodded. “Very well. In that case, I wish to double the order.”
“Comment?” Lafarge’s eyes grew round.
“For every article His Grace ordered, I wish to order another,” Lenore explained. “In a different style, in a different colour and in a different material.”
Agatha burst out laughing. “Oh, well done, my dear,” she gasped, once she had caught her breath. “An entirely fitting reaction. I had wondered how you would manage it, but that, at least, should set him back on his heels.”
“Quite,” Lenore agreed, pleased to have Agatha’s support. “I could hardly be so insensitive as to not appreciate his gift, but neither will I be dictated to in the matter of my own wardrobe.”
“Bravo!” Clapping her hands, Agatha raised them to Lenore in salute. “Heavens! But this will take an age. Are you free, Madame?”
“I am entirely at your service, my lady.” Shaking her head at the incomprehensible ways of the English, Madame summoned her assistants. Far be it from her to complain.
The following hours were filled with lists, pattern cards and fabrics. As she argued the rival merits of bronzed sarcenet over topaz silk, and cherry trim over magenta, Lenore felt some of Trencher’s excitement trip her. Agatha encouraged her to air her views. In the end, Lafarge paused to say, “You ’ave natural taste, m’moiselle. Strive to retain it and you will never be anything but elegant.”
Lenore beamed like a schoolgirl. The appellation “elegant” was precisely what she was aiming for. It seemed only fitting if she was to be Eversleigh’s bride.
At last, having duplicated the long list approved by His Grace, they paused to refresh themselves with tiny cups of tea and thinly sliced cucumber sandwiches.
Suddenly, Lafarge set her cup aside. “Tiens! Fool that I am—I forgot the bridal gown.”
She clapped her hands, issued a stream of orders and the repast was cleared. The curtains at the back of the shop parted to permit her senior assistant to enter, reverently carrying a gown of stiff ivory silk covered in tiny seed pearls.
Lenore simply stared.
“That’s Georgiana’s wedding gown—or part of it, if m’memory serves.” Agatha looked at Lafarge.
The modiste nodded. “Monsieur le duc’s mama? Mais oui. He asked for the gown to be re-made in a modern style. It is exquisite, no?”
All Lenore could do was nod, eyes fixed on the scintillating gown. As she climbed into it, she shivered. The gown was unexpectedly heavy. Lafarge had exercised her own refined taste in its design; the high neckline with its upstanding collar and long tightly fitting sleeves met with Lenore’s immediate approval. The long skirts fell from just below her breasts straight to the floor, the long line imparting a regal elegance most suitable for a ducal bride.
Once the gown had been adjusted and removed, Lafarge hesitantly brought forward a silk confection. “And this, monsieur le duc ordered for your wedding-night.”
Resigned, Lenore shook out the shimmering folds and held them up. Agatha stifled a chuckle. “I dare say,” was all the comment offered. She handed the scandalously sheer, tantalisingly cut nightgown and matching peignoir back to Lafarge. “I expect you had better send them with the rest.”
It was after two when they descended once more to the carriage. The first of the gowns, three day dresses and one evening gown ordered by Eversleigh, would be delivered that evening, along with some chemises and petticoats. As she followed Agatha into the carriage, Lenore heaved an unexpectedly satisfied sigh.
Agatha heard it and chuckled. “Not as boring as you expected, my dear?”
Lenore inclined her head. “I have to admit I was not bored in the least.”
“Who knows,” Agatha said, settling herself back on the seat. “You might even come to enjoy town pleasures. Within reason, of course.”
“Perhaps,” Lenore replied, unwilling to argue that point.
“Tell me,” Agatha said. “Those gowns you ordered—not in the usual style but not in your usual style, either. Don’t tell me Eversleigh has succeeded where your aunt, myself and my sisters all failed?”
A subtle smile played on Lenore’s lips. “My previous style was dictated by circumstances. Situated as I was, going about the estates alone, with my brothers bringing their friends to stay, it seemed more practical to wear gowns that concealed rather than revealed, dampened rather than excited. As you know, I did not look for marriage.”
Head on one side, Agatha studied her charge. “So you don’t mind Eversleigh’s choices?”
“I wouldn’t go quite so far as some of the styles he favours, but…” Lenore shrugged. “I see no reason, now I’m to be wed, to hide my light under a bushel any longer.”
Agatha chuckled. “And you wouldn’t get any bouquets from my nephew for attempting to do so.”
Lenore smiled and wondered how long it would be before Eversleigh came to see her.
HE CAUGHT UP with her the next day. On her way to convey a shank of embroidery silk left in the upstairs parlour to Agatha in the morning-room, Lenore was halfway down the stairs before she heard the rumble of Eversleigh’s deep tones below. After a fractional hesitation, she continued her calm descent.
Jason turned as she gained the hall tiles, his grey gaze sweeping from her hair, neatly braided and coiled, over her modish amber morning gown with its delicate fluted chemisette, to the tips of her old-fashioned slippers peeking from beneath the dress’s scalloped hem. Seeing his gaze become fixed, Lenore had no difficulty divining his thoughts. She went forward with her usual confident air, her hand outstretched. “Good morning, Your Grace. I trust I see you well?”
With a slight, questioning lift to his brows, Jason took her hand and, without preamble, raised it to his lips. “I apologise for not being here to greet you. Business took me to Dorset and thence to Salisbury, as I hope Agatha explained.”
Quelling the now familiar sensation that streaked through her at his unconventional caress, Lenore retrieved her hand. “Lady Agatha has been most kind.” Turning to lead him to the morning-room, she added, “You will, no doubt, be happy to know that yesterday she and I visited a certain Madame Lafarge, who is, even now, endeavouring to create a wardrobe fit for the Duchess of Eversleigh. We plan to visit the shoemakers, glovers and milliners tomorrow. Tell me, my lord, do you have any particular makers you wish to recommend?”
The airily polite question was more than enough to put Jason on his guard. “I’m sure Agatha will know who is best,” he murmured.
Agatha was delighted to see him, promptly informing him of a ball to be given by her sister, Lady Attlebridge, the following evening. “Mary’s agreed to use the event to puff off your engagement. A select dinner beforehand, so you’d best be here by seven. My carriage or yours?”
Jason frowned. “I’ve sent the main Eversleigh carriages to be refitted, so it had better be yours, I imagine.”
Lenore noted his slight constraint and, after years of tripping over her brothers’ secrets, wondered if he had intended the refit as a surprise for her.
“I had thought to take Miss Lester for a drive in the Park.” Jason smoothly turned to Lenore. “That is, if you’d like to take the air?”
There was, in fact, little Lenore would have liked better. Buoyed by the bracing effect of Agatha’s encouragement, she was determined to make a start gaining experience dealing with her
husband-to-be while she still had his aunt behind her. “You’re most kind, Your Grace. If you’ll wait while I get my pelisse?”
Jason merely nodded, sure she would not keep his horses waiting.
Making an elegant exit from the morning-room, Lenore hurried upstairs. The day was unseasonably cool; she was eager to try out the new cherry-red pelisse delivered from Lafarage’s this morning. It was an item Eversleigh had ordered; she was determined to give him no warning of her other purchases prior to Lady Attlebridge’s ball. Ringing for Trencher, she tidied her hair, fastening it with extra pins given she as yet had no suitable bonnet; she refused to have it cut nor yet to wear a scarf. Shrugging into the pelisse and buttoning it up, Lenore turned this way and that before her cheval glass, admiring the soft merino wool edged with simple ribbon and trimmed at collar and cuffs with grey squirrel fur. The pastel amber of her gown did not clash with the deep cherry. Then she noticed her slippers.
Grimacing, Lenore turned to Trencher. “My brown half-boots and gloves. They’ll have to do until I can get something to match. Perhaps tomorrow?”
Descending the stairs busy with the last buttons on her gloves, Lenore did not see Eversleigh at their foot.
“Commendably prompt, my dear.”
Lenore looked up, straight into his grey eyes and found them warm with appreciation. She smiled but did not deceive herself that he had not noticed her gloves and boots.
“That shade of red suits you to admiration,” Jason murmured as, taking her hand, he led her to the door.
Lenore bit back her impulsive rejoinder, to the effect that it was hardly surprising if his taste found favour in his eyes. Letting her lashes fall, she replied, “It’s not a colour I have previously had a chance to wear. I must admit I rather favour it.”
The gleam of pride in his eyes as he lifted her to the box seat of his curricle filled her with a curious elation.
The drive to the Park was accomplished swiftly, the traffic in the more fashionable quarters having markedly decreased. It was the first of July and many of the ton had already quit the capital. Nevertheless, there were more than enough of the élite left to nod and whisper as His Grace of Eversleigh swept past in his curricle, an elegant lady beside him.
Lenore revelled in the speed of the carriage, bowling along at a clipping pace. She had been driven in curricles before, but never on such smooth surfaces. Jason’s matched greys were, she suspected, Welsh thoroughbreds; the carriage, sleek and perfectly sprung, was no great load for them. Above their heads, the sun struggled to pierce the clouds; the breeze, redolent with the scents of summer, whipped her cheeks.
Bethinking herself of the one item she should make a point of mentioning, Lenore leant closer to Eversleigh. “I must thank you for my bridal gown, my lord. It’s truly lovely.”
Briefly, Jason glanced down at her. “It was my mother’s. My parents’ marriage was, by all accounts, a highly successful one. It seemed a fitting omen to re-use my mother’s gown.”
Not quite sure how to take his words, Lenore made no reply, keeping her gaze on the passing trees and the occupants of the carriages about them.
Noting the sensation their appearance was causing, Jason sought to clarify the matter. “The announcement of our betrothal will appear in the Gazette the day after tomorrow, after the announcement at my aunt’s ball.” He glanced down at the fair face beside him, refreshingly open, her complexion aglow. He smiled wryly. “I had to make sure all my major connections, such as my uncle Henry, heard of it first from me, else there’d have been hell to pay.”
Lenore returned his glance with a grin. “I can imagine. Your family is very large, is it not?”
“Very! If you were to ask how many could claim kinship I would not be able to tell you. The Montgomerys, I fear, are a somewhat robust breed. While the direct line has dwindled due to accident, the collateral lines continue to increase unabated.”
“Will they all be attending our wedding?” Lenore asked, struck by the possibility.
“A large number of them,” Jason replied, his attention on his horses. Only when he had successfully negotiated the turn and had the leisure to glance again at Lenore did he perceive her worried frown. “You won’t have to converse with them all.”
“But, as your wife, I should at least know their names,” she countered. “And their associations. Great heavens—and you’ve left me only three weeks to learn them all.”
Belatedly perceiving his error, and foreseeing hours spent in recounting his family connections—a topic that had always bored him witless—Jason groaned. “Lenore—believe me. You don’t need to know.”
Fixing him with a steady gaze, Lenore enunciated carefully, “You might be able to wander through a reception ostensibly given by you without a qualm despite not knowing everyone’s name. I cannot.”
Jason glared at her. “Great gods, woman! You’ll never get them all straight.”
“Am I right in supposing you wish us to marry in three weeks?”
Jason scowled. “We are marrying in three weeks.”
“Very well,” Lenore continued, her tone perfectly even. “In that case, I suggest you lend me your assistance in coming to grips with your relatives. And your friends among the ton. Some I know; others I don’t. I’ll need some assistance in defining those you wish me to acknowledge, and those you do not.”
Her careful words reminded Jason that she did, indeed, know some of his “friends” he would not wish her to encourage. And there were yet others who might claim friendship who he would not wish her to countenance.
Considering the task ahead of her, Lenore frowned. “We’ll have to prepare a guest-list. Perhaps I could use that?”
Jason felt a sudden chill. “Actually,” he replied, “the guest-list has already been prepared.”
Silence greeted this pronouncement. While he rehearsed his defence—there was only three weeks, after all—he was well aware that, regardless, she had good cause to feel annoyed. More than annoyed.
“Oh?”
The lack of ire in the query brought his head around. But nothing he could see in her mild green gaze gave any indication of aggravation. Which was impossible. The fact that she was shutting him out, hiding her feelings, and that he could not penetrate her mask if she so wished, rocked him. Abruptly, he focused on his horses. “Your father started the list, Jack and your aunt made some additions and I dictated the whole to my secretary.”
Again, a painful minute passed unbroken. “Perhaps you would be good enough to ask your secretary—Compton, is it not?—to furnish me with a copy of this list?”
“I’ll call to take you for a drive tomorrow afternoon. I’ll bring you a copy and we can discuss it during the drive.” Jason heard his clipped accents, quite different from his habitual drawl, and knew his temper was showing. Not that he had any right to feel angry with her, but she threw him entirely with her cool and utterly assumed calm. She had every right to enact him a scene and demand an apology for what was, he knew, high-handed behaviour of the most arrogant sort. Instead, she was behaving as if his transgression did not matter—why that fact should so shake his equilibrium he was at a loss to understand.
Keeping her gaze on the carriages they passed, a serene smile on her lips, Lenore gave mute thanks for her years of training in the subtle art of polite dissimulation. The Park, she was certain, was not the place to indulge in heated discussions. Not that she had any intention of discussing her fiancé’s error with him later. He would only use logic and reason to make his actions seem perfectly reasonable, a fact she would never concede. Besides, there were other ways of making her point. His irritated tone had already provided a modicum of balm for her abraded pride. Guilt, she recalled, had always turned her brothers into bears. The thought cheered her immensely.
“Perhaps we could make a start with members of the ton. Who is that lady in the green bonnet up ahead?”
Determined not to let another awkward silence develop, Lenore continued to quiz her betrothed o
n personages sighted until, after half an hour, he turned his horses for Green Street once more.
CHAPTER EIGHT
AS THE Colebatch carriage rumbled down Park Lane, Lenore clutched at the edge of her velvet evening cloak, her expression serene, her stomach a hard knot of apprehension. Her silk gown was entirely concealed by the dark green cloak, one Eversleigh, sitting opposite her, had ordered. Although the evening was fine, there was just enough chill in the air to excuse her need for warmth; she had been cloaked and waiting when he had arrived to escort them to Attlebridge House.
Beside her, Agatha was in high gig, resplendent in midnight-blue bombazine with a peacock feather adorning her black turban. Her patrician features were animated, her black eyes alert. It was plain she expected to enjoy the evening immensely. Lenore swallowed, easing the nervous flutter in her throat, and risked a glance at Eversleigh. Superb in severe black, his ivory cravat a work of art, her fiancé was the epitome of the elegant man about town. His heavy signet glittered on his right hand; a single gold fob hung from the pocket of his embossed silk waistcoat.
His features were in shadow but, when they passed a street-lamp, Lenore found his grey eyes steady on hers. Her breath caught in her throat. He smiled, gently, reassuringly. Lenore returned the smile and, looking away, wondered whether she was that transparent.
In an effort to distract herself from the coming ordeal, she reviewed the list of those Montgomerys she was shortly to meet. Thanks to Agatha, she had the immediate family committed to memory. Given that she was already acquainted with Eversleigh’s aunts, she felt few qualms about the social hurdles facing her tonight. It was an entirely different hurdle, one she had erected herself, that had her nerves in unanticipated disarray.
True to his word, Eversleigh had arrived to drive her in the Park that afternoon armed with a copy of all three hundred names on their guest list. She had spared a thought for the unfortunate Compton, required to produce the copy in less than twenty-four hours. At Agatha’s suggestion she had restricted her queries to those of his friends included on the list, leaving the family connections to be later clarified by Agatha. Any awkwardness that might have existed had been ameliorated by her shy thanks tendered for the present he had sent her that morning.
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