by Candace Camp
"I don't understand. What would be the point of inviting me then?"
"To help me," Francesca replied, a triumphant expression on her face. "I would explain to them that you were adamant about not marrying Lord Radbourne—though I would, perhaps, couch it in a more general way than your intense dislike of the man. But you see, Lady Pencully wishes me to arrive a week earlier than the other guests and see what I can do about making Lord Radbourne more acceptable to a lady."
"How do you intend to accomplish that?" Irene asked.
"Of course I cannot change his character. But I think there are things that we could do to make him more appealing to a less discerning lady than yourself."
"Less critical, I believe you mean," Irene countered, smiling to take away any sting from her words.
"Lady Odelia says his dancing is poor. We can practice with him on that, and it would be much easier with two of us. We can school him in etiquette and making social chatter and such."
"Well, he certainly is in need of schooling in that regard," Irene said. "Although there are those who would tell you that I am scarcely a good example of those qualities."
Francesca shrugged. "Ah, but I am, and I shall use you for making blunt appraisals of his abilities and progress. He will have to be told what he is doing wrong, and I may rely on you for that, may I not?"
She cast a roguish little smile at Irene, who gave her a grin in return. "Yes, you may. I would be most willing to inform Lord Radbourne of his missteps."
"There. You see how well we would work together? I think you really could be of value in improving his lordship. I realize that you would have to spend a fair amount of time in his company, but surely it would not be so bad as long as he was aware that you had no intention of marrying him. I shall make it clear to him, and to Lady Odelia, that he is not to importune you to change your mind."
Irene hesitated. The idea appealed to her. Perhaps it was the thought of getting to point out to the irritating earl his innumerable faults. Or perhaps it was simply the idea of getting away from her sister-in-law—and all the baby plans—for two weeks. Or of spending time with Francesca, whom she was unexpectedly growing to like. Irene was not sure why, but she could feel her spirits rise at the prospect of going to Radbourne Park.
"I'm not sure," she said slowly. "It sounds reasonable enough, but I am not certain that Lord Radbourne is the sort of man who would necessarily accept my refusal."
Francesca shrugged. "Oh, he might hold to the idea that he could persuade you to change your mind, but I do not think that he would use any force. I do not think he is a bad sort of man, only ... inelegant."
"No! Oh, no," Irene agreed quickly. "He is not wicked. Merely stubborn, I think. And confident in himself. Those are not bad qualities."
"And you, I am sure, would be quite able to resist his attempts at persuasion," Francesca went on.
"Of course." Irene grinned again at the other woman. "I would venture to hold my stubbornness up against anyone's."
"I have no doubt of that," Francesca replied. "And, you know, once the other young women are there, you would not have to be around him a great deal. He will doubtless spend most of his time talking to them, and they will all be eager to capture his interest."
"I suppose." Irene's smile slipped a little.
"I do wish you would come as my assistant. You would get to be away from your sister-in-law, and if you would like, you could bring your mother with you, as well."
"Mother would enjoy it, I am sure," Irene said, looking thoughtful.
"Of course. Both Lady Pencully and Lady Radbourne will be there, and though they are older than she is, I think that she would enjoy their company. Lady Odelia can be quite entertaining. And it would be a great help to me."
"Really?" Irene turned a penetrating look on Francesca.
"Oh, yes," Francesca answered honestly. "I think that your presence would greatly enhance the possibility of Radbourne getting a wife. I have not dealt with him, really. Certainly not in the way he deals with prospective brides. You have. You know all the things he does that irritate and offend. You can direct us in exactly where he needs to improve. Moreover, your presence will take a great deal of the burden from me. You can introduce him to the other girls when they arrive, and assist me in setting up situations where he can talk to them. It is always much easier if one has more than one chaperone, after all."
"Yes, of course it would be. Though I refuse to try to influence any young woman to accept his suit. I cannot in good conscience recommend him to anyone, particularly a young and vulnerable girl."
"Oh, no, I would not suggest such a thing!" Francesca answered, looking horrified. "The last thing that he needs for a wife is a weak girl. She must be strong, and well able to deal with him and his family. In any case, it would be quite wrong to try to persuade someone against her will. But allowing him the opportunity to endear himself to a woman is quite another thing."
"I see little likelihood of that," Irene said in a skeptical tone.
"Perhaps not. But I think it is worth a try. I cannot help but feel a trifle sorry for the man, given the horrible things that have happened to him over the years. Torn from his family, forced into a life of poverty and neglect. It is a wonder he even survived, much less that he was restored to his title and inheritance. And of course, that inheritance cannot make up for the fact that he grew up not knowing his mother and father. So much of his life has been stolen from him."
Irene felt a tug of sympathy in her heart. "You are right. It must have been very hard. No doubt it is wrong of me to be so critical of his manners and address. I should look beyond them. They are, after all, the result of things beyond his control." Her gaze turned thoughtfully inward.
"True." Francesca looked over at her companion. "So tell me, will you come with me to Radbourne Park? It would be such a favor to me."
Irene turned to her and smiled. "Yes. I think that I will. I should like to help you, as long as it is made clear to Lord Radbourne that I am not one of the girls competing for the honor of becoming his wife."
"Of course," Francesca agreed quickly. "I shall make it perfectly clear to him and to Lady Odelia."
Irene's smile widened. "Very well, then. It is settled."
The carriage had reached Irene's house and stopped. Swiftly they agreed to meet again to make arrangements for the actual journey after Francesca had discussed the whole affair again with Lady Pencully. Then Irene climbed lightly down from the carriage and, with a little wave of her hand to Francesca, went up the front steps of her house and in the door.
Francesca watched her as she walked away, her brain busy with plans. She had told Irene the truth: she would make it quite clear to those involved that Irene had no intention of agreeing to marry Lord Radbourne.
Of course, that would not be the end of the matter. His lordship was not one who readily accepted defeat. And given Irene's detailed description of the man she professed to dislike, Francesca was inclined to think Irene was not really aware of the workings of her own heart.
Francesca did not mean to apply pressure to Irene to marry the man. But that did not mean she could not present the younger woman with ample opportunity to change her mind.
She gestured to her driver to take her home. It was time to get to work.
Chapter Seven
The heavy old carriage rolled along the road, carrying the three women into the village of Wooton Beck. It was a quiet little town, with a village green, an unremarkable stone church, and rows of shops and cottages that marched up the rising slope. It was significant, however, to the occupants of the carriage, because only a mile or so past Wooton Beck lay the sprawling home of the Bankes family.
Lady Odelia had provided Francesca, Irene and Lady Claire with her own carriage for the journey. Although old-fashioned, it was well-sprung and luxurious. No effort had been spared to provide for their comfort. There was a basket of food and drink if they became hungry or thirsty. And there were lap robes to lay across
their knees if it became too cool.
Irene glanced across at her mother, who was napping, her head nestled into the corner of the carriage, and wondered whether she ought to wake her. Lady Claire, she knew, would want to have enough time to put herself to rights before she met Lord Radbourne and his family. Still, she hated to interrupt her slumber. Between the excitement of the coming visit and the added work of getting ready for it, Irene's mother had been missing sleep the last ten days.
In Irene's opinion, there had been little need for the multitude of preparations that Lady Claire and the others had so enthusiastically embraced. First, there had been the apparent necessity for new clothes. Irene had argued against it, pointing out that she had ample garments, but her mother and, somewhat to her surprise, her sister-in-law had agreed that she could not face the house party without at least two or three new frocks.
"You must have a good evening gown—one that hasn't been seen time after time this past Season," Lady Maura had insisted, her interest diverted for the moment from her plans for her upcoming baby. "And a few new day dresses, as well. Do you not think so, Lady Claire? We cannot have Irene looking dowdy at Radbourne Park."
Irene had been so shocked by such a generous gesture from her brother's wife that she had agreed to the trip to the dressmaker's shop, and Humphrey had been so pleased at the sight of his little family basking in such seeming harmony that he had opened up his purse, giving Lady Maura free rein for their purchases.
Of course, Irene had quickly realized that Lady Maura's eagerness to get rid of her troublesome sister-in-law through marriage lay behind her sudden burst of goodwill, but it had nevertheless been pleasant indeed to go on an outing with Maura in which there was almost no verbal sparring between the two of them. Francesca, when told of the trip to the mantua makers, had decided to come along, and her presence had, of course, enlivened the excursion. Somehow, amidst all the laughter and chatter and unaccustomed bonhomie, Irene had found herself purchasing far more than she usually did and, moreover, purchasing dresses that were softer and more attractive than those she normally wore.
Francesca had insisted that only the gold satin ball gown would do, and indeed, Irene had been so swayed by the soft golden glow of the material that she had at last agreed, though she insisted that there be only one row of festooned flounces, not three, around the bottom of the skirt and that the low neckline be raised an inch. Then there had to be soft dancing slippers to match and a gold-tissue wrap to drape around her bare arms, not to mention ribbons and flowers for her hair.
After that, it had been a quick slide into agreeing to the gray bombazine carriage dress trimmed with black gauze, a hunter-green evening dress, and two new day dresses of jaconet muslin, as well as the accessories that the other women agreed were absolutely necessary to complement the clothes.
Sated and tired, they had then retired for the day, but Maura, dazzled by this newfound friendship with one of the leading lights of the ton, jumped at Lady Haughston's offer to come by the following day and help them go through Irene's closet to select the rest of her clothes for the trip. Irene, tired as she was and rather embarrassed by her strong affection for the gold ball gown, put up only a faint protest.
The next day, Francesca had descended on the house, accompanied by Maisie, whom she proclaimed was a wizard with a needle, and all the women repaired to Irene's room, where her entire wardrobe was sifted through and talked over. No one could deny that Francesca's eye for fashion was impeccable, and her maid's prowess with a needle and thread was equally impressive. Almost before Irene knew it, with an added ruffle here or a ribbon there, a lowered neckline, lengthened or shortened sleeves, a bit of lace or a row of satin knots, her dresses were transformed into something altogether more flattering and fashionable.
She protested a little at their ruthless handling of her clothing, but the results were so attractive that she could not bring herself to make them return the dresses to their former state. What did it matter, she asked herself, if she did not dress as severely as she usually did? After all, she had made it plain to Lord Radbourne that she was not interested in being his wife, and in any case, he clearly was a man who sought a wife only for the most practical of reasons, not for her appearance. It would not matter if she looked her best; she did not need to deter his suit.
Moreover, in general there was no longer any actual need to look quite so ... plain, she thought later that evening as she studied her reflection in the mirror. She had established herself as a spinster; she was past the age when most men would even look her way if they were considering a wife. So there was really no need to downplay her looks. She could, for instance, loosen the plain knot in which she normally wore her hair. It would not hurt to try the French style of a cascade of curls that Maisie had suggested, or to put an ornament in her hair.
And even though she was wont to consider the time and effort that females spent on clothes as a foolish waste, she had to admit that the last few days had been the most pleasant she had ever spent around her sister-in-law; she had, in fact, quite enjoyed the laughter and gossip and camaraderie that the women had shared as they worked on her clothes. The pleasant atmosphere was, she knew, largely the result of Lady Haughston's efforts.
Things had not continued so pleasantly, of course. Maura could not spend ten days in an uncritical mood, nor could Irene refrain from resenting the other woman's advice and, worse, her rule-making. But the prospect of escaping Maura's presence in a few days made it much more bearable, as did the arrival of her new clothes. She could not resist trying them all on and preening, just a little, before the mirror. Nor could she resist the little spurt of pleasure she felt at thinking about the surprise with which the other young ladies would regard her when they saw her in the unaccustomed finery.
After all, while Irene was perfectly happy with being a spinster, she could not help but feel a bit of resentment at the way other young women consigned her to the social rubbish pile because of it.
Excitement had built in her over the last week and a half while she worked on her clothes, making sure they were clean and pressed, with every loose button resewn and any torn bow or ripped-out hem mended. Just packing them required a great deal of time and effort.
Although she expected to be at Radbourne Park for no more than two weeks, such a visit required a large wardrobe. She must take slippers for dancing, and an extra pair in case the first was damaged in some way. There must be riding boots in case there was an opportunity to ride, as well as sturdy walking boots in the more likely event that she decided to take a tramp through the countryside. And, of course, there must be less elegant slippers to wear during the days, at least two or three to go with her different frocks. All the shoes must be cleaned and inspected and wrapped carefully in cloth, then packed away. And that took care of only the footwear.
A large number of dresses must be packed, for she could not be seen wearing the same few garments every day. She must also take a riding habit, a carriage dress for traveling, a walking dress or two made of heavier material for the long walks she was looking forward to taking in the country, several day dresses, evening dresses for the formal suppers, and of course, two of her very best ball gowns for whatever elegant parties the Bankes might have during the two-week visit.
Then there were nightgowns, petticoats, chemises, and stockings of differing quality and weight, as well as a practical flannel petticoat in case it turned chilly and the Radbourne house was drafty. On top of that there were outer garments. It was, after all, almost September, and the weather was likely to get cooler while she was at Radbourne Park. She must have her best long velvet cloak to wear if she had to venture outside in one of her evening or ball gowns, as well as a couple of pelisses for daytime wear.
Last, but certainly not least, a number of accessories must be taken: gloves, both long and short, everyday and elegant, including leather riding gloves; ribbons and other hair ornaments; her small amount of jewelry; fans; and, of course, a number of hats.
And Maura, much to Irene's astonishment, had lent Irene her own small sable muff to keep her hands warm.
"It's not yet cold enough for it, of course," she had told Irene. "But you might get a bit of cold weather by the end of your stay. And nothing makes a woman look so elegant and fragile as carrying a fur muff for her hands. You do have quite passable hands. You should play up that feature."
"Thank you," Irene had stammered in surprise. "I shall take very good care of it."
"See that you do," Maura had retorted, her brows drawing together, and Irene had hastily tucked the fur away in her trunk before her sister-in-law could change her mind.
There had been so much to do that Irene had managed to keep her excitement tamped down, but finally the day before, as she watched all their trunks being loaded onto the wagon in which Lady Haughston's maid and coachman would follow them, Irene had at last allowed the suppressed excitement to blossom within her.
She was leaving London and the stifling constraints of the ton for the freedom of the country. She and her mother would be free for weeks from the carping and antagonism of Lady Maura. There would be no talk of Maura's "delicate condition" or the months of sacrifice that lay before her, or the faintness, nausea and a dozen other ills that afflicted a woman during this time. And her mother would blossom once outside of Maura's clutches. That fact alone was enough to make Irene very glad that she had agreed to accompany Francesca to Radbourne Park.
Irene thought of Lord Radbourne; he would probably be there to greet them when they arrived. She wondered if he would be frosty in tone toward her and stubbornly sure that he would be able to change her mind. He would not woo her, of course; Irene doubted that the man was capable of something as socially skilled as wooing. But she suspected that he would in some way or another attempt to convince her that she should marry him. After all, he still needed a wife, and she did not think he was a man who gave up easily.
