“Not quite yet. Maybe in another hour or so. I might just read a bit more.” She smiled at Baxter and pointed to the open book.
“Very well. I will send them up in an hour.” She headed toward the door. “Is there anything else?”
“No, nothing. Nothing at all. Thank you so much. You are a wonderful lady’s maid.” She laid her hand on the woman’s shoulder and kept her walking. “I don’t believe that I have ever told you that. I very much appreciate what you do for us.”
Baxter blushed. “Well, thank you.”
Mary gave her a slight wave, closed the door, and raced to the wardrobe, yanking open the door. “Are you all right?”
Redgrave crawled out of the space and unfolded himself, brushing off his breeches. “I thought I would smother in there. I’m not overly fond of closed spaces.”
Mary placed her hands on her hips. “What do we do now? The servants are up and down the corridor, getting water for baths and bringing up pressed gowns.”
“The window?”
“No. Any one of the ladies could glance out her window and see you dropping to the ground, and it would take all of three minutes to figure out whose room you were exiting.”
Redgrave crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the bedpost. “Then I am out of ideas.”
Mary studied him, tapping her lips with her index finger. As the idea formed in her brain, a huge smile broke out on her face. “I know exactly what to do.”
He stood upright, dropping his hands to the side. “I do not particularly like that look on your face.”
Waving her hand in dismissal, she opened the wardrobe and pulled out one of her older day dresses. She turned to Redgrave. “You will dress as a woman and leave right through the bedchamber door.”
“What!”
“It is simple, really. Merely remove your jacket, waistcoat, and cravat and pull this gown over you.”
He burst out laughing. “My dear, I am twice your size.”
“I know it won’t fit, but if you can get into it enough so I can put a shawl over your shoulders, all anyone will see is the bottom.”
“And my masculine head.”
“No.” She reached into the wardrobe once more and pulled out a lace cap. “You can put this over your head, and as long as you keep your head down, the shawl pulled up over your neck, and walk very quickly, no one will give you a second look.”
Redgrave ran his hand down his face, then sat on the edge of the bed, his hands dangling between his spread legs. “Mary. That will never work. There is no woman here who is anywhere near my height.”
“You don’t understand. You will put on the gown and cap, leave the room and walk very quickly to the men’s wing and right into your room. If a lady opens a door for any reason, all she will see is another woman. People only see what they think they see. If they view someone in skirts and a cap they will assume it is a woman and not consider it any differently.”
He stared at her for a long moment. “You must have been a hellion for your poor mother.”
She grinned. “You have no idea.”
“And what happens when I get to the men’s side and someone there sees me?”
“The men are all at the alehouse. If you hurry you will be safe in your room before any of them return. But you must hurry.” She tugged on his hand and pulled him up. “I’ll help you.”
“Of course. You will help me right into Bedlam.”
She began yanking off his jacket while he untied his cravat. Hopefully this plan would work. It was the only way unless he agreed to sit in the wardrobe until she was bathed and dressed for dinner and the ball.
Heat rose from her middle to her face at the thought of Redgrave huddled in the wardrobe while mere feet away she was naked in her bath.
Once he was stripped of his outer garments, she pulled and tugged and got the gown at least over his chest, even though the fabric was stretched to the point where the stitches were threatening to tear.
“Here.” She straightened the skirts, lifted the cover of the chest at the foot of her bed, and removed the largest of her shawls. She shook it and laid it across Redgrave’s shoulders. Then she grabbed the lace cap, set it on his head, and burst out laughing.
“That’s it, I’m leaving through the window. What’s a broken limb or two?”
“No. It’s fine. Truly.” She covered her mouth to smother her laughter. “It’s just that you don’t make a very pretty woman.”
“Something I have been grateful for all my life,” he growled.
“Now don’t be grumpy. Just keep your head down, slouch a bit, so you don’t appear quite so tall, and hurry to your room.”
Giving her a stately bow, he took her hand and kissed it. “My lady, our visit has been a pleasure. I will see you at dinner.” Then, mumbling to himself, he opened the door, glanced out, and left the room.
…
Redgrave did just as Mary had said and kept his head lowered as he strode down the corridor. Obviously not as a lady would, but all he wanted to do was get to his room and out of the blasted dress. He felt as though he couldn’t breathe. And how the devil did women maneuver themselves with these skirts tangling up around their legs all the time?
He ducked as he passed two footmen carrying a bathtub. They barely gave him notice. Once he was in his room with the door closed firmly behind him, he took a deep breath for the first time. Hopefully, he could get out of the dress before his valet arrived to prepare him for dinner.
He whipped off the shawl and finally ended up tearing the dress in two in order to get out of the thing. He rolled them up in a ball, with the horrendous lace cap in the center of it all. Had there been a fire in the fireplace, he would have tossed the entire bundle there.
After being alerted by Priscilla’s lady’s maid, Redgrave walked into his wife’s bedchamber to see her tossing her newly delivered clothing into the fireplace. Dresses, petticoats, stockings, hats, gloves—they all went to feed the flames.
“What the devil are you doing? Have you gone mad?” He tried to grab a hat from her.
“I shall walk around naked!” Her eyes glowed with something frightening. “I want to visit my modiste in London. I hate these rags the local dressmaker sent. I refuse to be clothed in them. They are ugly.”
“You chose the patterns and fabrics yourself.”
She yanked the hat out of his hands and tossed it into the fire. “I won’t wear any of them. I deserve much better.” She stamped her foot and shoved her finger into his chest. “I want to go to London.”
The smell of hard spirits emanated from her, making him turn his head. “We are not going to London. We’ve had this conversation before. You so badly wanted this marriage, well, you have what you wanted.”
“And of course I kept you from what you wanted.” Her lips twisted in a snarl. “The wonderful, perfect Lady Abigail. The impeccable sister of the Duke of Manchester, whom you left weeks before your wedding. How they must loathe you! Knowing that you are detested by that family keeps me warm at night when you refuse to visit my bed.”
The memories flooded him once more, wrenching him away from any warm feelings he’d had with Mary in his arms. He was foolish to continue this pursuit of a woman who could never be his, who could never provide him with the love he didn’t deserve, anyway. He needed to return to his original intention when he’d arrived in London. To find a bride who he could have a pleasant friendship with, with whom he could share a calm, peaceful life. He didn’t want, or need, love. He would find such a woman, marry her, and set up his nursery. And put Lady Mary out of his mind forever.
Liar.
Chapter Fourteen
Several days later, Mary took the footman’s hand and stepped from her carriage. She hesitated for a moment, wondering if she was doing the right thing. She’d accepted Jeanette’s invitation to tea knowing full well that she was going to try to dissuade her friend from marrying a scoundrel.
The door opened as she ascended the steps
. The butler bowed. “Good afternoon, my lady. Miss Belkin is expecting you. If you will follow me?”
Jeanette had been staying with her godmother, Lady Spencer, during her time in London. Mary and Jeanette hadn’t had the opportunity to talk, since every time she’d seen her, Claremont had been at her side. Except for the Ashbourne’s ball when he had inexplicably sent word with Redgrave that an emergency had arisen and he needed to leave barely five minutes after they’d arrived.
Claremont had seemed to change his attitude toward her since then. He no longer looked at her as though she were his next meal. His demeanor was, if anything, cool, and for that she was most grateful.
When Mary had received the invitation from Jeanette that stated tea with “just the two of us,” she had accepted immediately, hoping she could lay out her case without revealing what had happened between her and Claremont.
The past week she hadn’t been feeling too benevolent toward the male gender, anyway. Redgrave certainly had her at sixes and sevens. After the almost-disaster in her bedchamber at the Billingsley house party when she’d allowed him to touch her inappropriately, he’d been cool and distant that evening at the ball. Despite having asked her earlier to save all her waltzes for him, he’d barely talked to her. After a brief good evening, and marking his name on her dance card for a cotillion, he sauntered off and spent the rest of the night dancing with every other young lady there.
Not that it had bothered, her, of course. She’d had plenty of dance partners. At first, she’d been confused, then hurt. Lastly, justified in her opinion of men. They were scoundrels, all of them. Took what they could from a woman, then wandered away to the next conquest. Why she had such a hard time remembering it, was vexing.
The butler led her to a charming drawing room where Jeanette sat, an embroidery hoop in her lap. She jumped up, the hoop forgotten, and gave Mary a hug. “Thank you so much for coming.”
Mary regarded her friend. Jeanette had never looked more content. Her face glowed, and her entire body shone with happiness. Perhaps she ought to give her mission second thoughts. On the other hand, she had to at least try to convince her that marriage to Claremont would not be the best thing for her. “I am thrilled to be here.”
To her dismay, Jeanette’s godmother sat in a chair next to where Jeanette had been sitting. The older woman leaned heavily on her cane, her aged eyes scrutinizing Mary. The woman had always made her uncomfortable. She could not discuss Claremont with Lady Spencer present.
Mary curtsied to the woman. “Good afternoon, my lady.”
“Don’t worry, Mary, I am not here to usurp my goddaughter’s tea. I merely wanted to say hello to you since I haven’t seen you in quite some time.” The older woman held out her hands, which Mary took.
“Not at all, my lady. It is lovely to see you again.”
Once Mary was settled on a comfortable blue and white striped chair, Lady Spencer asked, “How is your dear mother?”
“Quite well, thank you. She keeps herself busy visiting her numerous grandchildren.”
Her face softened, and she smiled. “Ah, grandchildren. The blessing of a long life. How many does Her Grace have now?”
Mary began ticking off on her fingers. “Manchester and Penelope have a daughter and a son, with another on the way. Abigail and Joseph have twin boys; Marion and Tristen have a little girl; Sybil and Liam have twins, also a boy and a girl; and Sarah and Braeden have a little boy. So, altogether, eight, with one more arriving later this year.”
“Oh my. Your family is exploding!” She lowered her chin and glared at her from under raised eyebrows. “And when will it be your turn?”
Why did people always ask that? Especially the older ladies. No one seemed satisfied unless every single person in London was paired off, like animals trudging up the gangway to Noah’s Ark.
“Not yet, my lady.”
She thumped her cane on the floor. “You are not getting any younger, miss.”
“No, my lady.”
“You young girls are so foolish.” Lady Spencer waved her hand. “I suppose you’re expecting love?”
Wishing it were acceptable to tell one’s elders to mind their own business, Mary gave her a strained smile and said, “One hopes.”
“Nonsense. Look at my goddaughter here. Rusticating in the country until I took it upon myself to encourage Claremont to offer for her. Now she’s ready to marry and have a fulfilling life. Her foolish father denied her a Season, so the girl was fortunate I stepped in.”
Since she’d spent so little time alone with Jeanette once she’d arrived in London, now Mary understood how this arrangement had come about. She also wondered what had been dangled in front of Claremont to have him accept Jeanette. Not that Jeanette wasn’t lovely, with a sweet disposition, but being the devil he was, for sure Claremont would have needed some type of boon. He’d made it quite clear that his major interest in Mary had been her dowry and family connections. Unfortunately, he had been one of more than a few who had vied for her attention for similar reasons.
“I am sure Jeanette is truly happy that you took matters into your own hands, my lady.”
She leaned forward. “I could do the same for you, too, miss.”
Mary’s heart faltered. Visions of Lady Spencer bearing down on Drake, placing marriage papers on his desk, demanding he do right by his sister and get her married, had her breaking into a sweat. The older ladies of the ton, particularly this one, could be quite formidable.
“While I appreciate your offer, my lady, I believe I will wait another Season or two. Who knows? My true love may very well appear.”
“Bah!” Lady Spencer stood and leaned on her cane. “Plain old foolishness. Mark my words, you will be a sorry miss in a few years.
“I will leave you two now. Enjoy your tea.” She hobbled off, allowing Jeanette and Mary to take a deep breath.
“She means well, but sometimes she scares me to death,” Jeanette whispered, apparently afraid her godmother’s ears were as sharp as her tongue. “I’ll ring for tea.” She wandered over to the bellpull, then returned, sitting gracefully on the chair across from Mary.
“I am so glad you came today. Even though I’ve been in London for weeks now, we never seem to have time to speak.”
Mary felt her nervousness growing and decided to take the plunge. “So, I assume you are happy with your betrothal?”
“Yes, I am quite happy.” She hesitated for a moment and tilted her head to the side. “That seems to be a strange question.”
Luckily, at that moment, the door to the drawing room opened, and a footman entered carrying a large tray. He set it on the low table between the two women, bowed, and took his leave.
The tray held two teacups and saucers, a pot of tea, cream, sugar, and an array of dainty sandwiches and tarts. Jeanette poured tea for the two of them, handing Mary a cup and saucer.
Mary stirred her tea. “I want to be sure you are satisfied with the match Lady Spencer has made for you.”
“Why wouldn’t I be? As my godmother stated, my father was remiss in denying me a Season. Unlike the women in your family, I never had an expectation of love.” She sipped her tea. “Claremont is handsome, titled, and promised to be a good husband.”
Mary chewed her lip. “But how well do you know him?”
Jeanette shrugged and reached for a tart. “How well does anyone know a husband or wife before marriage?”
If she were going to make an impression upon Jeanette at all, she would have to come closer to the point. She stared down at her tea. “I have heard rumors.”
To Mary’s surprise, Jeanette smiled and waved her hand. “I have heard them, as well. But aren’t all men libertines to some extent?”
“You don’t mind?”
“Mary, I am a realist.” Jeanette set her teacup down. “I am four and twenty. I have no prospects other than Claremont. And I wouldn’t have had him, either, if it weren’t for my godmother and my dowry.” She raised her chin. “Yes. I see the
surprise and condemnation in your eyes. And even pity. Well, I don’t need it. I will have a home of my own and children one day.
“I will enjoy time in London every year and go to parties, balls, the theater, and museums. All the things I have heard about for years but never experienced. I will run my own household, not my father’s, and raise my own children.” She picked up her teacup and took a sip. “Yes, Mary, I am—if not happy—at least content.”
If she wished to continue with Jeanette’s friendship, it would be best at this point to leave her opinions to herself. Nothing she could say would change her friend’s mind. The fact that she made the attempt to dissuade her would have to be enough.
Jeanette reached over and took Mary’s hand. “Please be happy for me, Mary. And please say you will be at my wedding? ’Tis only in two weeks.” Her bright smile was genuine.
“Of course I will be there. I would never miss such an important day for you.”
“Thank you.”
They continued to chat while Mary wondered how she would get through the wedding without worrying about what her friend’s wedding night would be like. Would he be so crass as to force his own wife if she was shy and reluctant? How careful and gentle would he be with Jeanette’s sensibilities?
She had to keep reminding herself it was not her concern. Her friend was happy, and all Mary could do was pray she remained so.
…
Redgrave slumped in the chair in his office, tapping his pen on the desk. He’d been trying for days to reconcile the report from his estate manager and getting absolutely nowhere. Every time he looked at the page, he didn’t see numbers, but Mary’s face. How she had looked when he wrote his name next to a cotillion at the Billingsley’s ball, then hied off to dance with other women. The surprise, confusion, then hurt.
God, how he’d hated to upset her. But ruining another of Manchester’s sisters, whom the duke would never consent to him courting anyway, was a waste of the valuable time he had in London. Despite his attraction to Mary, he had to look elsewhere.
His would be a typical ton marriage with friendship, caring, and heirs. No foolishness like love to obscure the relationship.
The Earl's Return (Marriage Mart Mayhem) Page 13
