by Candace Camp
Nicholas had been the man who figured in those dreams as she grew up. Of course, as she had gotten older, she had realized how foolish and unlikely such dreams were. But she had clung to the hope that somewhere there was a man who would love her, that she would find the sort of love her parents had shared. It seemed the most terrible irony that when at last she was offered marriage, it should be one that was the very antithesis of what she had longed for—yet offered to her by the very man who had once occupied those romantic dreams.
How could she bear to tie herself to such an arrangement, so tantalizingly close to her dreams, yet so harshly removed from them?
On the other hand, she knew how absurd it would be to throw away such an opportunity. There was little likelihood of her marrying for love in her present situation. Nicholas had been correct in saying that, given her position, she rarely met eligible men, and if she did, certainly none of them would think of offering for a nobody like her.
If there was no possibility of marrying for love, was it then so terrible to marry where there was at least true affection? Nicholas did care for her in his own way. He had said that she was as much family as he had. Surely it said something about her place in his life that he was willing to marry her to give her a better life instead of marrying any of the young beauties he could have taken to wife.
And even if that was far from love, it seemed to her that it could still be the basis for a lasting marriage. They shared a past; they were friends. And he was a good man, whatever he or others might say about his wicked nature. Only kindness could have made him offer to bind himself to her for life.
Oh, there was, no doubt, a little roguish desire in him to figuratively spit in the eye of the relatives who had so mistreated him—it was galling enough to see him take over the house and title they had so wanted. How much more galling would it be to have her, another undeserving creature in their eyes, be the mistress of that estate? He would indulge in a mild laugh at the consternation of all the Society maidens—and their mothers—who had chased him when they heard that he had preferred a penniless girl to them.
But those wishes were not enough to make him marry, Juliana was sure. It had to be, at the heart of it, his generous nature that had prompted his offer. And such a man, surely, would be a kind and generous husband. If some other woman in the same position had asked her for advice, Juliana knew she would have urged her to accept the proposal.
Indeed, Eleanor said as much later that day, when Juliana told her about Nicholas’s offer, “Of course you should accept. You deserve the life he can give you, and he sounds like a very intelligent man to choose you for a wife.”
Juliana suspected that her friend did not share her own feelings about the sacred bond of marriage. Eleanor and her husband seemed to have a rather odd sort of relationship, more that of a brother and sister, really, fond, but lacking in any passion. Still, she also knew that Eleanor had Juliana’s best interests at heart. Perhaps she was right in what she said.
She went to bed that night without having resolved the issue in her mind, and when the morning light came, and she awoke from a restless and dream-filled sleep, she found that she was still unsure of her course of action.
After breakfast, Eleanor went to work in her office, as she did most mornings. Juliana went for a walk with the children and their nanny, an attractive young dark-skinned woman from India, who was still somewhat shy around Juliana. After that the children went upstairs for their lessons, and Juliana was left alone with her thoughts.
She should, she supposed, go to the employment agency and inquire whether any new positions had opened up. Yet she could not bring herself to. She had to be here for Nicholas’s visit.
She started to work on some mending that Eleanor needed done, but she could not concentrate and found she had to tear out half the stitches she had put in. Finally she put it aside as a waste of effort.
It was time, she knew, to make up her mind. Nicholas would be here soon, and she must give him her answer.
Her prospects were not good, she admitted. It was unlikely that she would find the love she sought, so if she insisted on waiting for it, most likely she would never marry. She would spend the rest of her life on the edge of someone else’s life. Would it not be better to marry Nicholas? To have the security and the advantages that marriage to him would bring? Yet she could scarcely bear to think of resigning herself to a husband who did not love her, who carried on affairs, discreet or otherwise. She wanted a true marriage, yet when she thought about turning him down, her heart quailed inside her.
There was the sound of a knock at the front door. Juliana’s stomach twisted in anticipation, and she clenched her hands together in her lap. She listened to the sound of steps coming down the hall, and a moment later Nicholas strode into the room.
She stood up, suddenly breathless, as he crossed the room to her. He bowed over her hand, then straightened, looking into her eyes.
“Well?” he asked, his face serious. “Have you decided?”
She could not do it, she thought; she could not shackle herself to such a life. Juliana opened her mouth to say so, but to her surprise, the words that came out were, “Yes, I will marry you.”
NICHOLAS SEEMED almost as surprised by her acceptance as Juliana was. Then his face broke into a wide grin, and he pulled her into his arms, hugging her. For an instant she relaxed against him. It was almost easy to believe that their engagement was a normal one, that he was happy because the woman he loved had agreed to marry him.
But that was not the truth, she told herself, and the sooner she learned to live with that idea, the better. She pulled back, smiling at him a trifle awkwardly.
“I was certain you were going to be stiff-necked about it,” he told her, “and I would have to work to convince you. You have made it much easier.”
“I—it was the sensible thing to do,” Juliana replied carefully.
“I have to go to Lychwood Hall soon,” he told her. “Why don’t we have the wedding there? They are all we have of family, either of us, little as I like it.”
Juliana nodded. She had little desire to see her cousins again, but that would be one of her primary duties as Nicholas’s wife. However strong and successful he was, he could use a buffer against the Barre family.
“I’ll purchase a special license so that we can dispense with the reading of the banns,” he went on. “And we must take the time to buy you a new wardrobe.”
“You needn’t—” she began, a little embarrassed.
“Nonsense. Of course I must. A bride must have a trousseau, mustn’t she?”
“But it is too much. We are not even married yet.”
“Must I wait until after the ceremony?” he asked, his eyes twinkling. “Must we marry here and then purchase your clothes before we go to the estate?”
She grimaced. “Don’t be absurd. There is no need to—”
“There is every need. Have you looked into a glass? I’ll not have my wife going about dressed like a governess. I want the world to see how lovely you are. Do you want everyone gossiping about what a skinflint I am, making my wife wear old and dreary clothes?”
“Of course not,” Juliana demurred, feeling foolish. It seemed somehow mercenary on her part to accept such a gift, as if she were marrying him solely for his wealth. Which she was not! She was marrying him because—well, that probably did not bear thinking of.
“Very well,” she told him, putting on a smile. “We shall buy my trousseau.”
They told Eleanor the news first. She was delighted to hear it, and almost as delighted to hear that Juliana was about to receive a new set of clothes.
“Wonderful! We should start with Madame Fourcey. She is all the rage among the modistes this year. It is rumored that she is the daughter of French aristocratic émigrés who fled the Revolution.”
“Really?”
Eleanor shrugged. “As to that, I have no idea. Indeed, I have my suspicions that she is more likely an adept actress from
Ipswich. However, one thing I am certain of is that she is an artist at creating gowns.”
“We shall rely on your expertise, my lady,” Nicholas assured her.
The three of them visited the woman’s store the next morning, and Juliana was immediately transfixed by a gown on display upon a mannequin. It was a ball gown of rich cream-colored satin, embroidered around the hem and on the small train in a floral pattern of pale gold thread. The embroidery was repeated in a line around the low scoop neck.
“Mademoiselle likes it?” Madame Fourcey asked in a heavy—too heavy?—accent, bustling up. She cast a gracious smile at Juliana, and then at Nicholas and Eleanor, recognizing money when she saw it. “It will be perfect with your hair and eyes. Do you wish to try it on?” She was already turning, signaling to an associate to remove the dress from the mannequin.
“Oh, I don’t—” Juliana began, a little surprised by the deep, instant hunger she felt to wear the gown.
“Yes, she would,” Nicholas answered. He turned toward Juliana. “That is what we are here for.” His dark eyes twinkled down at her.
“Yes, I know.” She had the grace to blush. She knew she was being silly. But a lifetime habit of pinching pennies was difficult to break.
She let the dressmaker lead her away to the dressing room in the rear as Eleanor settled down on the green velvet sofa with a fashion book. The dressmaker and her helper whisked Juliana out of her plain dark dress, Madame Fourcey shaking her head sadly as she examined the gown, then tossed it aside.
“No, no, no, not for you, this color,” she said emphatically. She tilted her head and added, with a spark of amusement in her eyes, “Not for anyone.”
She and her assistant lifted the cream satin dress and slid it on carefully over Juliana’s head. As the helper hooked it up the back, Madame Fourcey busied herself shaking out the skirt and straightening it until every fold fell to her satisfaction.
“Oh, yes,” she said, beaming. “It is perfect. Well, a little short, but that is easily taken care of. A small ruffle, sewn beneath the skirt, so.” She picked up the hem of the dress, illustrating for Juliana. “That way, there is no handwork hidden. Back to here, and then the train starts.”
Juliana looked at herself in the mirror and was swept with a fierce desire to own this dress. Even with her hair knotted back in its usual plain fashion, she had never looked as beautiful. The cream and gold of the dress warmed her skin and were a perfect foil for her dark hair. She had never thought of herself as a vain person, but she could not help but love the way she looked in this dress.
The dressmaker smiled at her knowingly. “You see. Come, we show your…”
“Fiancé,” Juliana supplied, aware of an upswell of pride.
Madame Fourcey whisked her out into the store, where Nicholas and Eleanor sat waiting. Nicholas rose to his feet at her entrance, and his dark eyes gleamed.
“Ah,” he said with satisfaction. “That is how you should look.”
Juliana warmed beneath his gaze. She felt the same tingling awareness she felt so often now in Nicholas’s presence, and she wondered what, if anything, he felt when they stood close to one another.
“It is rather expensive,” she hedged, though she already knew that she had not the strength of will to turn down this dress.
“Do not think about such things,” Nicholas told her, coming closer. “I want you to have it. You will be my wife.”
He looked into her eyes, and suddenly it struck Juliana that it was important to him that he provide her with an array of lovely clothes. It was more than a kind impulse on his part. It satisfied something in him, gave him pleasure, and that settled the issue for her.
“Thank you,” she said simply.
JULIANA SPENT the next week in a veritable orgy of shopping. Nicholas, after the first day, left the matter in Eleanor’s capable hands. As she had exquisite taste and a great deal of money, Eleanor was quite familiar with all the best modistes and milliners, and they went from shop to shop, purchasing so many things that it made Juliana’s head whirl.
They purchased morning dresses of plain and sprig muslin, as well as afternoon dresses of a finer quality muslin, lawn and silk, trimmed with satin bands or embroidery about the hem and on the sleeves. They bought walking dresses to wear while out paying calls, and carriage dresses made of heavier materials for traveling.
When Juliana protested at the expense of a military-coated riding habit in deep blue velvet, saying, “But I don’t even own a horse,” her friend gave her a level look and replied, “You will.”
There were numerous evening gowns, as well, though none could compare in Juliana’s mind to the first ball gown she had tried on. These were of the most elegant silk satins and light taffetas, some with small trains, and all showing a good deal of bosom, with their wide square or scooped necklines.
But dresses, so many they made Juliana’s head spin, were not enough. She must also have all new undergarments of softest cotton, from her chemise to her petticoats to the thin flesh-colored stockinet pantaloons that would cover her lower body beneath the thin dresses and petticoats that were the fashion. And she must also have new night shifts, trimmed with lace and embroidery, and dressing gowns of brocade and velvet.
Then there were the various forms of outerwear deemed sufficient for a lady of means—short spencer jackets and fur-trimmed pelisses, as well as mantles to wear with her evening dresses, and full-length redingotes. Of course, a number of shoes were also necessary: riding boots of gleaming leather, walking shoes, evening slippers in soft colored kid or embroidered satin. Nor could one forget silk parasols in a variety of colors to match her outfits, as well as gloves in differing lengths, materials and colors. Ribbons. Fans. Reticules. The list of necessary items, it seemed, went on and on.
And no wardrobe could be considered complete without the addition of hats. There were deep-brimmed, scoop-shaped bonnets, some tied with a scarf in the “gypsy” style, and others with wide colorful ribbons. There were close-fitting capotes that sweetly framed the face, and soft velvet turban-style hats. Some were flat-crowned and others were deep, still others following the newer style of a high crown. They were decorated, of course, with ostrich feathers or a cunning little cluster of painted wooden cherries, or flowers or ribbons.
It was an excess of riches, and though it was delightful, Juliana soon began to feel as if she had stuffed herself on sweets. After all, no one needed so many hats and shoes and accessories, and by the end of the week, she called a stop to it.
Of course, most of what she bought had to be made. A few dresses, such as the elegant evening gown she had first tried on, were already made up and required only a little altering, and the dressmakers agreed to rush the orders on several more dresses. But for the majority of the clothes, the modistes took measurements and would ship the clothes to Juliana at Lychwood Hall when they were done.
Given how busy the days were, she saw little of Nicholas until they left for Lychwood Hall a little over a week later. But that day seemed to arrive in a rush. Juliana could scarcely believe it when she found herself giving Eleanor a goodbye kiss on the cheek before she went to climb up into the waiting carriage.
She glanced at the vehicle, where Nicholas stood waiting to hand her up, and she turned back to Eleanor, fear suddenly clutching at her stomach.
“Oh, Eleanor,” she murmured. “Am I doing the right thing?”
Eleanor smiled. “Of course you are. ’Tis just jitters at the actuality of getting married. Even I felt them, and you know that in general I am unflappable.”
“But I scarcely know him, really,” Juliana went on. “We have been strangers to each other these past fifteen years, and—”
Eleanor took her hand and squeezed it. “You know that you are welcome to stay here with me. If you feel it is too much of a rush—why, he will wait, I’m sure. You can come to Italy with Sir Edmund and me, and when you return, then you can marry him if you still feel so inclined.”
Her friend�
�s words were the perfect antidote to Juliana’s sudden flash of nerves. Offered the option of not marrying Nicholas, she recoiled. She realized that whatever prewedding jitters she might be experiencing, marrying Nicholas was what she wanted.
She smiled, more in amusement at herself than anything, and squeezed Eleanor’s hand in return. “No. I don’t want to wait. Truly. You’re right—’tis only nerves at embarking on a new life. I am just as excited as I am frightened. I only wish that you were going to be there at the ceremony.”
“I wish that, too,” Eleanor assured her. “If we did not already have tickets for the ship…”
“I know. And you must not delay your trip.” She did not mention, just as Eleanor did not, that the sound of her husband’s cough grew worse daily.
With a final hug, Juliana parted from her friend and went down the steps to the street beyond. Nicholas took her hand to help her up into the carriage, then turned to bow to Eleanor before he swung up into the vehicle after Juliana.
He sat down on the seat across from her—it would, after all, have been considered improper for a gentleman to sit beside her in the carriage unless he was her husband or a relative, such as a father or brother. The carriage rolled off, and Juliana settled back against the luxurious seat. The squibs behind her back were well-padded, as was the seat, and the brown leather that covered them was as soft as butter.
“’Tis a beautiful carriage,” she told him, a little uncomfortable now that they were alone together.
“I’m glad you like it. It’s yours,” he replied.
“It is?” Juliana looked at him, surprised.
He shrugged. “A curricle is fine for a bachelor. But a lady needs an enclosed carriage.”
Juliana took another glance around the vehicle, a little amazed. He was right, she supposed; Lady Barre could scarcely be expected to pay her calls in his curricle or a pony trap. Yet she could not help but think that his purchase of the thing indicated more than just attention to what was necessary for his position. There had to be some degree of caring on his part for him to have picked out and purchased this carriage.
