by Jane Feather
“Yes, I’m sure my maid will find any number of different ways to dress it,” Arabella said hastily, as it looked as if he was about to demolish his present creation and begin again. “I think that’s wonderful, M’sieur Christophe, but indeed it will do for today.”
He looked disappointed but bowed and stepped aside. Madame Celeste coughed and murmured, “One other matter, your grace.”
It was to be assumed she was addressing Jack, Arabella reflected. Jack certainly seemed to think so. He turned his attention to the modiste. “Yes?”
“The Court dress, your grace. It would be an honor to . . .” She proffered a winning smile.
“Ah, yes, the Court dress.” Jack frowned. “I think we’ll leave that for the moment. Complete this business and then we’ll discuss it.”
The two women curtsied and left, barely visible beneath the mounds of materials. “Court dress?” Arabella inquired. “I thought as a professed Whig you wouldn’t be invited to Court.”
“Oh, Queen Charlotte will summon you to a drawing room, have no fear,” Jack said aridly. “She’ll want to give you her stamp of approval . . . or otherwise,” he added, before turning to the remaining lady, who sat amongst bandboxes. “Hats,” he demanded.
“It seems a waste to hide this elegant coiffure under a hat,” Arabella observed, patting the nest of curls at her nape with a little air of complacence.
“Oh, your grace will look very well,” the milliner declared, opening the first of her boxes. “This is a most beautiful creation.” She gazed misty-eyed at a monstrous lavishly decorated wheel of silk and lace.
“Good God,” Arabella exclaimed. “It has a veritable orchard on it.” She touched one of the wax apples with a grimace. “I don’t care what anyone says, whether it’s the height of prevailing fashion or no, I will not put that monstrosity on my head. It’s a Lavinia Alsop hat.”
Jack couldn’t help laughing. The milliner looked discomfited and replaced the hat in its box. “Perhaps her grace would prefer this.” She displayed a very large picture hat decorated with dyed ostrich feathers and ornamental flowers. Arabella threw up her hands in horror.
“Yes, that one,” Jack said, ignoring Arabella’s gesture of dismissal. “It won’t work with your hair in its present style, but when it’s dressed loosely around your face, the hat will be enchanting.”
“I don’t think my presence here is necessary,” she said tartly.
“Perhaps your grace would prefer the taller hats,” the milliner said in haste, afraid her commission was about to come to a premature close. “These are the latest fashion.” She held up a tall crowned silk hat with a turned-up brim, decorated simply with a ribbon around the crown.
“Ah, now that’s better,” Arabella approved, glancing at Jack, who merely nodded. “Well, that’s settled, then.” Arabella rose to her feet. “Two hats is more than enough for one person. Thank you for your time.” She gave the milliner a courteous smile of dismissal.
“I’m afraid two hats is not enough,” Jack said, torn between amusement and annoyance. “Something in straw, I think.”
“Yes, your grace. My thoughts exactly.” Relieved, the woman opened more boxes, pulling out natural straw bonnets decorated with ribbons, and flat-crowned straw hats in various colors, with wide picture brims.
Resigned, Arabella left the choices to her husband, who seemed to know what he was doing. Or, at least, seemed very decided about what he wanted. She couldn’t imagine finding enough occasions to wear half of what he’d ordered. But if, as he’d promised, she was to turn heads when she made her grand entrance to the world of fashion, then on this occasion she would leave the mechanics to the master.
Chapter 11
It was another half an hour before the milliner left on the heels of Christophe.
“Thank God that’s over,” Arabella said.
Jack regarded her with a slight frown. “Do you really have so little interest in such matters, Arabella?”
She shrugged. “Little enough. Does it matter?”
He didn’t reply, merely continued to look thoughtfully at her, lightly tapping his mouth with two fingers. Then he shook his head as if dismissing the issue.
She came over to him, reaching her arms around his neck. “Perhaps now we could finish what we started earlier.” She moved one hand up to his head, passing her flat palm over the white streak springing from the widow’s peak. It fascinated her.
He held her waist between both hands and kissed her mouth, then reluctantly reached up for her arms and brought them down to her sides, holding them there. “Not now, Arabella. I have to go out.” His eyes had changed, lost some of their earlier warmth and humor. There was no sign now of incipient desire in their cool depths.
“Out?” The question sounded both surprised and displeased, and she knew it was a mistake. “But you were out all morning.”
His gaze became opaque and he let go of her arms, stepping away from her as he did so. “I have friends to see,” he said in his calm, neutral way. “And I have business to attend to. I’ve been absent from Town too long as it is.”
“Yes, of course,” she said, her voice now as level and neutral as his own. “Will you be in to dinner?”
“No, I don’t imagine so,” he said, going to the door that led through her bedchamber, to the adjoining door to his own. “I will probably dine at Brooke’s and play late.”
“It’s probably as well, since I planned to spend the evening in the hothouse organizing my orchids,” she said, managing to sound as if nothing would suit her better.
“If you’re not asleep, I’ll come to you when I get home.” He turned at the door, smiled, and wished her a quiet good evening.
Arabella remained standing in the middle of the room, where he had left her. He was going to his mistress. She knew it as certainly as if he’d told her in so many words. And there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it. She didn’t even have the right to object since she had agreed that he would continue his liaison and she would not interfere.
But so soon. They’d been in London barely twenty-four hours. She realized now that at the back of her mind had lurked the hope that the passion in their marriage would satisfy him.
Arabella shook her head. What a fool she was. A naïve fool. But never again. And never again would she give him the slightest indication that she had any interest whatsoever in his movements.
_______
Jack hailed a sedan chair on the corner of Cavendish Square. “Mount Street,” he told the chairmen as he climbed in. He sat back, tapping the hilt of his rapier, his face dark. It was the devil’s own nuisance that he had to see Lilly today. But simple courtesy, not to mention loyalty, demanded that he not leave her in suspense. He had written to her informing her of his marriage but had given her no details. She would know he was back in Town—after his visit to Brooke’s this morning, everyone would know it—and she would be waiting for him.
The chair drew up outside a tall double-fronted house. Black iron railings bordered the short flight of well-honed steps leading to the front door. Jack paid the chairmen and looked up at the house for a moment before mounting the steps. The heavy curtains at the long windows of the second-floor salon twitched slightly and a shadowy figure moved across the window. Lilly was at home.
He mounted the steps and lifted the heavy brass knocker. The porter who opened the door bowed at the familiar visitor. “Her ladyship is within, your grace.”
The steward came forward to greet him but Jack waved him aside and crossed the hall to the stairs. “I’ll announce myself.” The man stepped back. His grace of St. Jules was one visitor to the house of the earl of Worth who dispensed with the formalities.
The countess of Worth was seated on a brocaded sofa when her visitor entered the salon. She was dressed for an informal evening at home, in a loose silk negligee and a dainty lace cap over her powdered ringlets. She appeared to be reading but Jack was no more fooled by that than he was by her informal attire. Lilly
had spent hours at her dressing table to achieve her present delectable appearance.
She looked up from her book, closing it over her finger to keep her place, and smiled at him. “Why, Jack, how lovely. This is a surprise.”
“Nonsense,” he said with a faint smile as he crossed the rich turkey carpet to the sofa. “You knew I would come today.” She held out her hand and he took it, lightly kissing her fingertips. She tightened her hold and drew him down to her. He kissed her mouth, but it was a light, friendly kiss rather than the passionate embrace she had both invited and expected.
He straightened but continued to hold her hand, a slight shadow in his eyes even though he smiled down at her. “You are as perfect as ever, my dear Lilly. The new coiffure becomes you.”
“You didn’t come here to pay me compliments, Jack,” she said, a tiny frown drawing her well-plucked eyebrows together.
“It’s impossible not to pay you compliments, Lilly,” he said gallantly, releasing her hand. He leaned over and smoothed the lines on her forehead with a forefinger. “Don’t frown, my dear. You don’t want wrinkles, they’re so aging.”
Despite her dismay at his lack of passion, she consciously relaxed her forehead, wiping away the frown. “So, you are a married man,” she said, trying to sound lighthearted. “I never really expected you would succumb, Jack. Indeed, I doubt anyone did.”
He withdrew his snuffbox from his pocket, observing mildly, “Marriage has to come to all men eventually.” He took a pinch of snuff and with his free hand took her wrist, turning it up as he dropped the snuff onto the blue-veined skin. He carried her wrist to his nose and inhaled the fine, fragrant powder. It was a gesture that bespoke a lover’s intimacy and it reassured Lilly. She had had a faint, barely acknowledged fear that he had come to bring their liaison to an end.
She asked casually, “Have you brought your wife to Town?”
“Yes, she’s at present in Cavendish Square.” He strolled to the fireplace and stood with his back to the fire. “So how are things with you, Lilly? How is Worth?”
“Oh, as tedious as ever,” she said with a sigh, tossing her book to the floor as if casting aside the unfortunate earl. “He’s being so difficult about my debts. I lost a mere thousand guineas at Devonshire House the other evening, a trifle, Jack, a bagatelle, and would you believe he is refusing to advance me the money to settle the debt?” She unfurled her fan and waved it lazily in front of her face, her china-blue eyes regarding the duke closely over the top.
“Oh, that’s easily settled,” Jack said. “I’ll write you a draft immediately.” He went to the marquetry writing table and wrote swiftly, sanding the ink before folding the sheet and handing it to her.
“You are so good to me,” she said warmly, reaching to the table beside her and taking up a jewel box with delicately painted Sevres plaques inserted in the lid. She tucked the draft inside. It was not something she wanted to leave lying around for her husband’s eyes. “Come sit beside me, Jack.” She patted the sofa. “I want to hear all about your wife. The gossip has it that she’s a country mouse, a dull thing.”
Jack didn’t move from his place before the fire. He smiled, but it was not the kind of smile that gave Lilly any confidence. “My dear, I will not discuss my wife with you . . . or indeed with anyone.”
“Oh, such scruples,” she scoffed. “You were happy enough to talk about the kind of wife who would suit you.”
“True enough. However, there is a difference between discussing that and the lady herself. I’m sure you understand.” The smile was still in place, but the gray eyes were opaque as they rested on her face.
“You’ll not object, I trust, to my visiting her,” Lilly asked with an arch smile. “Unless, of course, you intend to keep her imprisoned in Cavendish Square. Will she have a debut?”
“My wife made her debut some ten years ago,” he told her, picking up a jade card box from the mantel. “And I’m sure she will be receiving callers once she has settled in . . . This is a pretty thing.” He held the box to the light. “I haven’t seen it before.”
“I acquired it at a rout. It was placed as a wager in a game and I won the game,” she said with a touch of impatience. “How soon will your wife be—”
“I congratulate you, my dear,” Jack said, replacing the box. “It’s a valuable piece.” He sat down, one arm propped on the arm of the chair, legs casually crossed. Idly he swung one foot in its silver-buckled shoe. The smile had not left his lips.
This was turning out to be a most unsatisfactory encounter, Lilly reflected crossly. She had hoped for a cozy discussion of the bride, along the lines of their previous conversations on the subject. Of course, despite her protestations she had known that Jack would take a wife eventually. He needed heirs and she couldn’t provide them.
“Don’t pout, Lilly, it doesn’t become you,” the duke said, the smile now touching his eyes. “There’s not the slightest need for it. I will not discuss my wife with you. That’s all there is to be said on the subject. So, tell me who’s new in Town.”
“As far as I know, only you,” the countess said. She rose from the sofa in a graceful cloud of pale silk and lace and drifted towards him, her hands outstretched. “Come, Jack, it’s been weeks since I’ve seen you, and you’re not being at all friendly.”
She alighted on his knee with the delicacy of a butterfly, putting her hands on his shoulders as she kissed him. “There now, isn’t that better?” She rubbed her cheek against his.
Jack inhaled her fragrance, it was very different from Arabella’s light scents of rosewater and lavender usually mixed with a healthy dose of the good rich earth. The comparison disconcerted him. Lilly’s dainty body and alluring scent had never before failed to arouse him.
He kissed the side of her neck and then gently but firmly put her away from him, saying with a smile, “Forgive me, my love. But I don’t have much time.”
She looked at him with surprise and a hint of dismay. “But Jack, there’s always time. And we won’t be disturbed. You may be sure that the porter will tell Worth I have a visitor if he returns prematurely, and you know he won’t come in.”
Jack shook his head as he rose to his feet. “I ask your pardon, my dear. But I must go.”
“I suppose your country mouse of a wife is waiting for you,” Lilly declared, showing her teeth for a moment.
He frowned and shook his head in faint reproof. “Careful, Lilly.”
Lilly was angry, her blue eyes clouded, her lovely mouth set in a less than attractive downturn, but she was too clever to let him leave on a sour note. She offered a rueful smile as she said, “Oh, dear, please forgive me, Jack.” She laid an elegant white hand on his arm. Her nails were long and exquisitely shaped.
Jack placed his own hand over hers even as he thought of his wife’s ragged fingernails with the dirt beneath them. “There’s nothing to forgive, Lilly.”
“Oh, but I can see you’re displeased.” She offered a tremulous smile. “I had been so looking forward to our reunion. It’s been so many weeks, and . . . well . . .” She lifted her rounded shoulders in a gesture that combined apology with sensuality as the movement lifted her breasts for a moment above the lace-edged neckline of her negligee.
For a moment, Jack was tempted. And then it was gone, a mere fleeting memory of a past attraction, and he knew he couldn’t prolong this meeting any longer. He took her hands and kissed them. “We’ll talk again, Lilly.” He squeezed her hands and was gone, and she could hear his step quickly receding along the corridor.
Lilly crossed her arms over her breasts and stared into the fire. She had never believed that a marriage of convenience would take her lover from her. When they had talked about it together, it had always been understood that nothing between them would change. She must see this woman for herself. How formidable a rival could she be? A country mouse.
Lilly examined her image in the gold-embossed mirror above the fireplace. Her complexion was flawless, her lips red, her eyes a
pure celestial blue. No, she decided. She would admit no rival. She had made a few mistakes this afternoon. Jack had to be handled carefully, she had always known that. And this afternoon she had exposed her need for him. A need as much for his deep pockets and generous purse as for the pleasure he brought her body.
Jack stood outside the house in the gloom of early evening, drawing the crisp air into his lungs. It was tinged with the foul stench of sea coal and the rich fumes of horse manure as a carriage horse lifted its tail in the narrow street in front of the house and deposited a steaming pile on the cobbles. The cries of street vendors mingled with the clatter of iron wheels and the shrieks and catcalls of gangs of ruffians roaming the alleys. The city was noisy and it reeked, but it didn’t reek of blood and the clamor was not the mob’s screams for vengeance, shrieks of triumph as yet another aristo head fell into the basket. His nostrils flared at the memory and he wondered if he would ever be able to put it behind him. Would the day come when he could think of Charlotte without the bloody images? Would the day come when he could think of Arabella without the shadow of Frederick Lacey?
He looked up at the well-kept façade of Worth’s house. The window panes sparkling, the paint fresh. Almost as fresh as the paint on Lilly’s cheeks.
God dammit. He felt as if he’d been cut loose from his moorings. Lilly entranced him, he had always enjoyed her, and counted the price he paid in settling her gambling debts worth every penny. But not this afternoon. The brittle artifice that varnished their liaison had lost all allure.
“St. Jules, I heard you was in Town.” A cheerful greeting brought him out of his reverie and he forced a polite smile for the earl of Worth, approaching his house from the mews at the rear. “Been riding at Richmond,” the earl confided. “Beautiful day for it. Enjoyed it so much I nearly found m’self benighted.”
“It was a lovely day,” Jack agreed, returning the bow. “You’re keeping well, Worth?”
