by Laura Landon
“Her ball gowns?” The puzzled look on her face was almost comical.
“Yes. Her gowns. The gowns she wears when she goes out.”
“Oh.” The maid clasped her hands at her waist. “The mistress hardly ever goes out.”
“I know,” Simon admitted in frustration, “but surely she has something else to wear other than what is hanging in her room. Every woman has spare closets filled with useless clothing.”
“Not the mistress, my lord. She is very frugal.”
“She does not have another room where she stores her gowns?”
The maid shook her head.
Simon looked down the hall and saw only rooms with doors standing open. He knew what was in each. All except the room at the end of the hall. He walked down the long corridor and lifted the latch. It was locked.
“What does your mistress keep in this room?”
Beatrice’s eyes opened wide, and she twisted her hands in her apron. “Things, my lord. Just the mistress’s things.”
“Things?” Simon raised his brows and leveled the nervous maid with an icy glare. “What sort of things, Beatrice?”
“Oh, I’m not at liberty to say, my lord. They’re the mistress’s personal things.”
“Do you have a key?”
“Oh no, my lord. Only the mistress has a key.” Beatrice twisted her apron tighter. “But the mistress keeps none of her gowns in the room. Just her personal things.”
“No gowns?”
“No, my lord.”
Simon turned on his heel and walked back to his room. Where did his wife keep the rest of her clothes? Surely she had some. And exactly what sort of personal things did she have that had to be kept under lock and key?
Simon turned back to face the wide-eyed maid. “Beatrice. Have a hot bath sent up for your mistress and a cup of chocolate.”
“Yes, my lord. Right away.”
Before Simon could tell the flighty maid to have the cook make Jessica a slice of toast, she was halfway down the stairs, well out of earshot.
Simon walked back to his wife. When he entered the room, Jessica was just waking. She stretched her arms above her head like a lazy cat stirring after a long nap, then rolled to the other side of the bed. The sunlight shone on her coffee-colored hair that was fanned out on the pillow like it had been last night. Simon held the breath that caught in his chest and pushed away the urge to pull off his clothes and climb back in bed with her.
Bloody hell. She was a sight to wake up to.
“Are you looking for something?” Her gaze scanned the open wardrobe doors as she covered her mouth to hide a yawn. She modestly pulled the covers under her chin and sat up in bed.
She looked irresistible. “Yes. I’m looking for your gowns.”
She pointed to the other wardrobe. The one with the six dresses hanging in it.
“No. Your good gowns. The ones that might be appropriate to wear to the Milebankes’ on Friday.”
“Those are the only gowns I own.” She sat straighter and tucked her knees close to her chest. She looked back at the wardrobe containing the pathetic collection of gowns at the same time he did.
Simon stared at her in disbelief. He remembered her request for a monthly allowance of fifteen pounds to purchase a new gown upon occasion. Jessica Warland, Countess of Northcote, one of the richest women in England, had six dresses to her name, none of which were appropriate to wear out of the house.
The temper he usually kept well under control threatened to show itself. “What do you plan to wear to the Milebankes’ on Friday, Jessica?”
Her eyes sparked with a hint of anger. “If I go, I will wear the navy gown. It’s the newest.”
“That is your best gown?”
“Yes. When I go out in public, I sit where I’m not noticed and stay only a little while. I hardly need an expensive gown to sit off to the side.”
Simon raised his gaze to the ceiling. He locked his jaw and took a breath of air that hissed through his clenched teeth. “That is what you intend to wear when I introduce you to society?”
She hesitated. “I have not decided whether or not I will go.”
“You have not decided?” A flash of anger exploded in him as violent as a shot from a cannon. “The decision is not yours to make, my lady. I have decided you will go, and by God, you will.”
She stared at him, the gleam in her eyes dangerous. “Be careful how much you demand, my lord. You seem to be making all the decisions concerning our future, and I do not appreciate the double intent of your actions.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Really? Do you think I do not know the real reason we took that ride in the park yesterday?”
She fisted her hands at her side in a show of anger. “And you accomplished your goal, didn’t you, my lord? You acquired a number of invitations yesterday and will undoubtedly receive more before the day is over. You may accept as many of them as you wish.” She lifted her chin in defiance, but Simon saw her hands tremble at her sides. “But I do not plan to go with you. Surely you do not expect me to?”
Simon raised his brows and stared at her. Bloody hell. “You did not think I would expect you to go with me?”
“No. I thought you would see how foolish it was to risk the ton finding out you had married a—”
“You are my wife!”
“I’m deaf!” She slammed her fist on the bed at her side. “I cannot take the risk. I will go as I always have, alone and unnoticed.”
“Bloody hell, woman! You are the Countess of Northcote. You will no longer go anywhere alone and unnoticed.”
With one hand, she anchored the sheet beneath her chin. She slammed her other fist down again at her side. “You cannot expect me to change the way I have lived just because we’re married. That is not what I thought you wanted in a wife.” Her cheeks flushed a deep shade of crimson.
“Then you misunderstood.” Simon paced back and forth at the foot of the bed, stopping only when he had his temper under control. “On Friday evening, you and I will take our rightful place in society. Our entrance will be well marked by the ton, and we will be afforded the respect and honor due an earl and his countess.”
Simon ignored the pale coloring of his wife’s face and the white-knuckled fists clenching the covers on the bed. “You will be adorned in a stunning new gown that will cause a remarkable sensation. We will dance each dance together, save the one waltz you promised Lord Milebanke, and mingle with the other guests as if neither of our pasts had ever been in question.”
Her face paled even more.
Simon took a step closer to the bed and towered over her with daunting ferocity. He clenched his teeth and took a deep breath. He had always been proud of who he was. Even when his father and the greedy wife he married squandered and gambled away what was rightfully his, it was never the Northcote name that caused him embarrassment.
He leveled his gaze and made sure his wife could understand each word he said. “I will not stop until I have restored the Earl and Countess of Northcote to their rightful places in society. Our presence at the Milebankes’ on Friday is the first step in attaining that goal.”
Simon stared at her. She had three days to outfit herself in a gown. A gown that would set London on its heels.
He fought the wave of concern and frustration that washed over him. They would be accepted by society. He would flaunt his wife and his riches before the ton so that when Tanhill came back, his and Jessica’s acceptance would be so solid he would not be able to touch either of them.
Without Jessica’s wealth, Tanhill’s hands would be tied. He would be nothing more than a pauper sporting a title—and a lesser one at that.
His wife was the key to his plan. Simon intended to use her wealth to destroy her stepbrother. He owed it to himself and to the son he would someday have. He owed it to Sarai.
After Friday, the ton would know he had returned to take his rightful place. And Jessica would realize the life
he offered her was a damn sight better than the reclusive existence she’d lived the last few years.
Simon took a few deep, calming breaths and tried to hold his temper in check. “Do you know the identity of this elusive dress designer everyone is talking about?”
Her eyes opened wide. “What?” Her voice sounded strained.
“Do you know who she is?”
She wrapped her arms around her knees and tightened her grip. She was obviously nervous about even searching out a dress designer. “No one knows her name. She is very secretive.”
“I don’t care how closely she guards her identity,” Simon bellowed. “You will have one of her creations. You are the Countess of Northcote. Who is the best dressmaker in London?”
“Madame Lamont.”
Simon turned from her and paced the room, his mind racing to find the most expedient way to proceed. “How long does it take to make a gown?” He was prepared to hire as many seamstresses as necessary. “Do you have a style you like? A color?” Although he didn’t know a lot about women’s clothing, he obviously knew a damn sight more than his wife. It was important that she have a stunning gown by Friday night.
“Simon?”
Her voice cut through his rambling, and he turned to face her.
“Are you talking?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Then look at me.”
Simon hissed a rude expletive and then sat down on the bed and faced her. “I’m sorry. I will learn in time.” He took her hand in his. It was chilled. He held it close and looked into her eyes. “Ira and Collingsworth will be here shortly. We have some important business to discuss that cannot wait. As soon as we are finished, I will take you to this Madame Lamont.”
She pulled her hands out of his grasp, her wide eyes filled with terror. “No.”
“Why? You said she was good. Is there some reason—”
“No. She is the best, but…”
“But what?”
“I…I don’t want to bother you when you’re so busy. I can attend to this myself.”
Simon looked again at the pathetic dresses hanging in her wardrobe and shuddered. He really could not afford to take time out of his busy day to sit in a dressmaker’s shop and pick out material, but he sure as hell wasn’t about to let his wife go by herself. If the six ugly dresses she already owned were any example of her taste in clothing, he could never allow her to choose a gown by herself.
Simon stood. “I will let you go without me only if you promise to take the Duchess of Collingsworth with you. You obviously have a lot to learn about what is fashionable, a talent with which Her Grace is already quite proficient.”
Jessica nodded. “Very well. I will take the duchess with me.”
“You will learn about fashion in time, Jesse. It’s only because you have gone out so little that you lack the sense to know what is in style.”
Simon clasped his hands behind his back. “Spare no expense. Trust Her Grace’s judgment on the design and instruct this Madame Lamont to hire as many seamstresses as necessary. The gown must be ready by Friday night.”
Jessica nodded again. “I will find the perfect ball gown. Don’t worry that you’ll be embarrassed, Simon.”
The breath caught in his throat. “It’s not just for me that this is important, Jesse. Society will not turn their backs on the Northcote name. They will not turn their backs on you. I will not let them.”
“And when society finds out I’m deaf?”
“You are my wife. The Countess of Northcote. Society has no choice but to accept you.”
The panic-stricken look in her eyes stopped him from releasing his breath. He turned before he could see more doubt on her face and walked to the door just as someone knocked softly from the other side.
“The water is ready for the mistress’s bath,” Martha said, carrying a tray over to the table beside Jessica’s bed. “It’s in the next room. The Duke of Collingsworth and Mr. Ira Cambden are waiting for you downstairs, my lord.”
“Thank you, Martha. Tell them I will be right down.”
“Yes, my lord.” Martha turned to Jessica. “I’ll return shortly to help you with your bath, my lady.”
Simon watched the servant leave the room and then turned back to Jessica. “Are you sure you don’t need my help selecting a gown? I’d be more than willing to postpone my meeting to help you.”
“No. That’s not necessary. Her Grace will go with me. She can no doubt teach me which designs are best.”
Simon looked at the somber expression on her face, and a twinge of guilt slammed him in the gut. She sat on the bed, the inflexible stiffness of her back regally straight, the dignified lift of her head high, and the determined look in her eyes hardened and level. With a slow nod she acquiesced to his demands. Only the hands she clenched tightly in the covers around her knees indicated her trepidation.
“You have nothing to fear, my lady.”
“If you say so, my lord.” The tone of her voice lacked conviction.
A gnarled fist twisted around his heart. Simon held her gaze for a long time, refusing to admit he was the least bit nervous about the ton’s initial reaction to them. He slapped his fist on his thigh and released the breath trapped in his chest. “Stop by the study before you leave,” he said, facing her from the doorway. “Ira will undoubtedly be anxious to see you.”
The look in her eyes was fat. “Of course.”
He turned away before the expression on her face could bother him more than it already did. His wife would have a stunning gown for their entrance into society, and the Duchess of Collingsworth would go to help her select something to wear, or he would.
Obviously, his wife did not know the first thing about fashion.
Chapter 13
Jessica stood before the door to Simon’s study and smoothed the pleats to her navy gown. She was ready to go to Madame Lamont’s.
She thought of the look on her husband’s face when he’d insisted she present herself to society, and another tremor of anger swelled within her. He’d done nothing but turn her life upside down since he’d recovered from his illness. Now he expected her to go to Madame Lamont’s where half the women of the ton might be.
Jessica fought the urge to run back upstairs and hide in her room.
She patted the folded paper in her pocket, satisfied that her design was well hidden. The design was a special gown she’d created weeks ago, one she hadn’t been able to part with. Now it would be hers.
It was magnificent. As she’d drawn the lines, she’d envisioned someone special wearing her gown. Someone elegant and graceful, like Melinda. Someone who would do her creation justice.
Never had she dreamt she would wear the gown herself.
She breathed a heavy sigh. Perhaps the beauty of the design would overshadow some of her many faults.
She patted her pocket again. Somehow, she would have to find a way to secretly give Madame Lamont the design. At least her husband wouldn’t be there.
She didn’t want to think what might happen if Simon found out that his wife, the Countess of Northcote, designed gowns like a common laborer. Without a doubt, he would forbid her to sketch another design ever again.
She wouldn’t do it. She couldn’t. Creating beautiful gowns was all that gave meaning to her life. She couldn’t give up that part of herself.
A cold shiver shattered her resolve. Life before Simon had been so simple. So uncomplicated.
So empty.
Jessica thought of the night she’d spent in his arms, and a rush of warmth surged through her veins. She stubbornly brushed the feeling aside. She could never let herself forget the reason he’d married her. He already had her money. If all went well, after Friday night he would be repositioned in society, and once he was certain she carried his child, it was likely he would never come to her bed again. Once that happened, she would eventually be left with only her talent to create. She would always find comfort in her designs.
She touched
the drawing hidden in her pocket and reached for the latch to the study door. She didn’t think to knock. It would do no good. She couldn’t hear the command to enter, and she didn’t want to disturb her husband from his business.
She stepped inside the room. Both Simon and Ira were behind the massive oak desk, Simon sitting in his chair and Ira standing behind his shoulder, pointing to some papers spread out in front of them.
The Duke of Collingsworth sat in a chair in front of the desk with his back to Jessica. All three were so engrossed in their discussion that none of them heard her enter.
Rather than disturb them, she sat in a chair against the near wall and waited for them to notice her.
She watched her husband, unable to keep her gaze away from the long, sturdy fingers that held his pen. The same fingers that had held her and stroked her flesh. She looked at his shoulders, unmistakably broad beneath his snow-white shirt and forest-green jacket. Her hands could still feel the warmth of his flesh atop hers.
She closed her eyes and turned away from his powerful physique. Just the sight of him made her remember what they’d shared last night, and a torrid sensation revived deep within her stomach. She took a long, slow breath and focused on his face.
He seemed angry. A muscle at the side of his jaw twitched as he listened to Ira talk. His teeth remained clenched when he breathed.
“These are the only notes you’ve been able to acquire?” he asked, holding two pieces of paper in his left hand. “The deed to this town house and the creditors’ notes to Northcote Shipping?”
“Yes.” Ira shifted to the side and moved another paper in front of Simon. “And they didn’t come cheaply.” He pointed to the bottom of the paper on the desk. “Mottley is buying up every company with a ship that can sail.”
“I don’t give a bloody fig how much it costs. I can recoup the money once Northcote Shipping becomes profitable. But I can do nothing if I don’t have a company to run.” Simon lifted another paper and then handed it to James. “What about Ravenscroft, Ira? Who has acquired the notes to Ravenscroft and the other Northcote estates?”
