The Bridemaker

by Rexanne Becnel

  But Dulcie’s family had been invited to an afternoon event there, the fortieth birthday celebration of Mr. Bennett’s brother who was recently wed to a flighty young woman with a penchant for extravagant parties. Though Mrs. Bennett held a haughty disdain for “that silly goose my brother-in-law married,” she was not one to miss a party that featured tigers, bears, jugglers, and fire-eaters.

  The party was to conclude with a candlelit supper al fresco, and at Dulcie’s insistence, Hester was to accompany them.

  They’d both decided Horace would attend as well, as a sort of test for him. Unfortunately, he’d secured his invitation through Adrian Hawke, who seemed to be on everyone’s guest list these days—Adrian Hawke to whom she’d not spoken during the past three days.

  As was becoming altogether too common, her stomach turned into a twisty knot of confusing emotions at the thought of the man.

  She faced her armoire frowning. What was she to wear? Nothing too dark, not for an outdoor afternoon event. She could wear the gray dress again, but she’d been wearing it so much lately. Perhaps a lace shawl to give it a different look. And white gloves for a change. A straw hat?

  No. That would be too dramatic a change. After all, she was supposed to be a widow. Of course, after six years no one expected widows to continue even in half-mourning garb, not unless they had one foot in the grave themselves.

  Holding the walnut doors wide, she scowled at the limited choices. Two weeks ago she would not have had this dilemma. Two weeks ago she would have pulled out whichever dress was next in rotation. Her hair would be twisted tight, her gloves dark, and with spectacles firmly in place her demeanor would be as serious and sober as ever.

  But that was before Adrian Hawke had come on the scene, capturing Dulcie’s heart and starting a war of wills with George; before he’d forced Hester to dance with him and started her behaving as foolishly as silly, smitten Dulcie. It was also before he’d hired her to polish her own brother into a dashing man about town.

  In two short weeks Adrian Hawke had tilted her neat little world right off its axis. And so she stood here, uncertain what to wear, how to style her hair, and how to behave should he approach her.

  He hadn’t approached at the opera, though. He’d seen her, but when Horace came to greet her, he’d stayed to converse with Mrs. Eversham and that overendowed daughter of hers. Chesty Betsy, she was called behind her back, though she’d probably laugh if she knew. The way the girl thrust those huge things in everyone’s face, she seemed awfully proud of them.

  Hester sucked in a deep breath, then eyed her inflated profile in the tailor’s mirror. Not so bad. Then she let it out in a loud whoosh and frowned at her more ordinary proportions. This was idiotic. She had no desire whatsoever to attract a man. That was why she’d assembled this selection of such severe dresses in the first place. Certainly she did not wish to attract the likes of Adrian Hawke.

  Wasn’t it just such vanity that had been the ruination of her own mother? Isabelle had been obsessive about her appearance. Dresses, shawls, and capes; jewelry, combs, and hats; gloves and shoes without number. Parties and men and constant, constant attention. But it still had not been enough for Isabelle.

  Long ago Hester had vowed never to succumb to her mother’s weaknesses. But wasn’t that exactly what she was on the verge of doing, dressing in a manner to attract some man’s attention?

  An inappropriate man, at that.

  So she snatched the burgundy dress from its hook and vowed never to suffer this indecision again. Her pretty frocks were for her own time and her own, private world. Today was about business and she would dress accordingly.

  Adrian saw Hester before Horace did. She stood a little apart from Dulcie Bennett, in the afternoon shade of an avenue of pollarded elms. Unlit paper lanterns dangled from the branches around her, waiting for dusk and the lamplighters. Just like her, he thought, dangling there, waiting for the right time to light up and glow.

  Adrian shook his head at such a fanciful thought. Hester Poitevant was not interested in glowing. If she was, she certainly wouldn’t dress the way she did.

  He hadn’t spoken to her since the morning at her house when he’d departed with that unbelievably stupid erection. He’d barely made it home; the ride had been that painful. Worse, he’d had variations of the same problem off and on ever since. Off when he wanted it on, and on when he least wanted it there.

  In frustration he’d visited a discreet house on Mortimer Street, an establishment quietly recommended to him by his uncle’s butler. Unfortunately he’d seen no women appealing enough to take upstairs. The blatant ones were too blatant. The floozies repulsed him. The seductive ones were just too coy. Everything about the women there seemed false and contrived. The madam had even offered him a special treat, a very young girl, she’d said. Neither brazen nor coy.

  He’d departed then, completely disgusted, both with the madam and himself. No fake virgins for him. No women of any sort, it seemed. Instead he’d lain in his lonely bed, servicing himself—and not very happily either.

  He didn’t understand it. This had never been a problem in Boston. He stared around him now, everywhere but at Hester Poitevant.

  He lusted after her.

  He’d finally come to accept that. He lusted after a rigid biddy of a woman who did everything she could to make herself unattractive to men.

  Except when she was in Cheapside. There she dressed as the incredibly feminine, desirable woman that she was.

  He gritted his teeth. She must have a lover there.

  Last night while he was tossing and turning in his bed, he’d decided that was the only logical answer. Why else would she dress so beguilingly except for some man.

  The thought of her indulging her passions with some faceless man had tormented him further, not even allowing him the meager pleasure of his pitiful release. He’d been in a temper when he finally slept, and in a temper when he’d awakened as well.

  Seeing her now, scraped back and buttoned down, stoked that temper all the more. She looked less likely to have a secret lover than any other woman in the Gardens. Than any other woman he’d ever known. But on some level she was a fake, and he knew it.

  And for some reason he wanted her to know that he knew.

  “I say, Hawke,” Horace said, coming up beside him, interrupting his sour thoughts. “What d’you think? Been to Vauxhall before? I’d wager there’s nothing like this in that Boston of yours.”

  Welcoming the distraction, Adrian turned to the man. His brows went up at the sight that met his eyes, however. Horace Vasterling was barely recognizable.

  Horace gave him a sheepish grin and looked down at himself. “Not so much the country squire, eh?” He took off his hat and smoothed a hand over his neatly shorn hair. “Mrs. P made me do it.”

  Mrs. P, was it?

  “She had me cut my hair and reshape my whiskers. And then I purchased two new waistcoats. What do you think of this knot?” he asked, fiddling with his neatly tied stock. “It’s called the Eagle’s Nest. Very fashionable, she said. You ought to try it.”

  “Maybe I will,” Adrian responded, still staring at his friend. It was more than a knot, a waistcoat, and a haircut that had changed Horace. The man seemed to stand taller today, and he was noticeably thinner.

  Seeing the direction of Adrian’s gaze, Horace leaned nearer. “A corset,” he whispered. “A corset until I’ve shed a pound or two. Taken up fencing, you know. Good exercise, since I’m not a man for boxing.”

  “You look like a new man,” Adrian said, impressed despite himself.

  “I owe it all to Mrs. P,” Horace reiterated. “And to you for convincing me to go to her.” He glanced around, then spying Hester, straightened further. “There she is. I believe I’ll go and make my address to her. Will you join me?”

  It took forever to traverse the short distance between them and Hester. Several of Adrian’s new investers greeted them, much to Adrian’s impatience. It annoyed him all the more to
realize how completely Hester had distracted him. He’d come to London to prove he was his own man, a success despite society’s initial rejection of him. But here he was, dancing attendance on a woman who wanted nothing to do with him.

  He’d shaken off the last of the investors when George Bennett tried to gain his attention. With a scowl, Adrian warned him off. But the man wouldn’t take a hint. He reminded Adrian of a braying foxhound, determined to corner his prey no matter the obstacle. But unlike a fox, Adrian was not afraid of his pursuer.

  “Hello, Bennett,” he said when the man approached him. “Nice party. We’ll talk later.” All without pausing as he made his way toward Hester.

  Fortunately Dulcie Bennett spied him and after she nudged Hester several times, the two of them began their approach as well, Miss Bennett in the lead, Hester trailing reluctantly behind.

  Adrian braced himself. Given George Bennett’s single-minded pursuit, Adrian suspected that the man was now encouraging his sister to chase after him—not that she needed much encouragement. It was plain the girl had formed some sort of infatuation for him. Meanwhile, he had developed a perverse interest in Hester. But Horace also harbored warm feelings for Hester.

  The question was, who was Hester interested in?

  And who was her mystery “friend” in Cheapside?

  “Miss Bennett. Mrs. Poitevant.” Horace gave them a crisp bow, then grinned at Hester, an eager puppy anxious to please his owner. “I was hoping to see you here.”

  After a fleeting glance at Adrian, Hester focused on Horace, smiling at him with such genuine pleasure Adrian had to resist the urge to scowl.

  “Mr. Vasterling,” she said in that husky tone, so much more feminine than the girlish trills around them. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

  “I was hoping you might allow me to escort you on a stroll around the park. And you as well,” he added to Dulcie.

  “That would be lovely,” Hester replied, hooking her arm in Horace’s proffered one. Adrian could hardly believe the performance, though he witnessed it with his eyes. How had she banished the shy bumbler and turned Horace so smooth in such a short time?

  Finally she turned her gaze on him, her smile fading. “Perhaps you will accompany us as well, Mr. Hawke?”

  “My pleasure,” he answered. He smiled at her, holding her eyes a long moment before deliberately dropping his gaze to her mouth with its full lower lip and enticingly curved upper bow. Damn, but he wanted to kiss her!

  As if she sensed the wayward turn of his thoughts, her cheeks flared with faint color and she looked away. Then Dulcie sidled nearer and he knew the role he was supposed to play in this little farce. With Hester already arm in arm with Horace, he had no choice but to extend his arm to Dulcie, and to carry on the strained sort of conversation with her that silly young girls always engaged in.

  It took a good half hour to meander the South Walk, passing beneath the three grand arches, then under the elms along the Grand Walk and back to the tents that marked the birthday celebrations. Ahead of them Hester and Horace carried on animated conversation punctuated by laughter and smiles and exclamations of glee.

  Adrian told himself he should be satisfied that his plan was working. Hester was warming to the amiable Horace, just as he’d known she would.

  But what he felt was a growing fury. It made no sense of course, but he didn’t care. He’d changed his mind, and now he wanted Hester Poitevant for himself, not for Horace.

  Three paces ahead of him Hester’s skirts swayed with every step she took. He could envision the slender waist beneath the stiff fabric. He could picture that delicious hair spilling free from its confining net to bounce and coil down her back.

  He wanted to push Horace aside and take his place, then drag the annoying woman into the nearest shelter where they could be alone—

  “—I so wish to go riding.” He caught the last of Dulcie Bennett’s words.

  He gave her a tight smile. “I’m sure you do.” How was he to discourage her? Then an idea occurred to him. “You know, Horace is a great one for riding. Isn’t that so, Vasterling?”

  “What’s that?” When Horace paused and turned back, Adrian took that opportunity to disengage his arm from Dulcie’s grasp.

  “Miss Bennett has been looking for a companion to go riding and I recalled that you enjoy a daily ride. What’s your favorite route here in town?”

  “I would have to say Hyde Park. The northern green is wonderful for a hard run.” He glanced at Hester whose brows were raised in the barest arch. It had an effect on Horace, though, for he added to Miss Bennett, “Of course, you may prefer a more sedate ride.”

  Dulcie’s eyes had widened and she addressed Horace, greatly animated. “I am not at all opposed to a smart gallop.”

  “Indeed?” Horace took a step closer to Dulcie.

  “Oh, yes. At home what I like best, though, is a good, long ramble. You know, fields and forests. Along the Stour River.” She clasped her hands fervently to her breast. “Riding is truly my greatest pleasure in life.”

  “I feel the same way,” Horace said.

  As Horace engaged Dulcie, Adrian sidled nearer Hester whose gaze remained fixed on Horace. “Do you ride?” he asked. Look at me.

  Slowly she turned his way. “Not often, especially in recent years.”

  He drew nearer still. “Perhaps I could entice you to try it again.”

  “Thank you, but no.”

  “Then perhaps I could take you driving. I’ve yet to see the full extent of the park. Perhaps you could be my tour guide.”

  She averted her gaze. “Thank you, but—”

  “But no. Tell me, Hester, what would you like to do?” Look at me!

  She did, and there were sparks in her eyes, like the fire inside emeralds. “You do not have leave to address me so familiarly.”

  “That could be remedied.”

  She turned abruptly away, ostensibly to address Horace and Dulcie. But Adrian saw the pulse racing in her throat, the little throb in the hollow of her pale, elegant neck. He’d wager a small fortune that her pulse did not race like that for Horace.

  He had to grit his teeth as she caught Horace’s arm and prompted him on. Dulcie slipped her hand in the crook of Adrian’s arm, and manners demanded he address his attentions back to her.

  “I would be so pleased should you join us as well,” she said to him. “Mr. Vasterling assures me that if one rides early enough, before the crowds are about, one could almost mistake the park for the countryside. After a month and a half in town, I anticipate the ride with great joy.” She paused and looked up at him, thrusting her chest out and batting her eyes. “I do so wish you could join us.”

  If not for the embarrassed blush that accompanied her awkward attempts to attract him, Adrian would have thought her a brazen hussy. But that blush reminded him that she was only an awkward pawn in her brother’s scheme. So he chose to be gentle.

  “Thank you for the invitation, Miss Bennett, but I have business matters to attend. Perhaps another time.”

  He should not have added that last part, for the initial disappointment on her face turned instantly to hopefulness. Good God, how was a man to discourage a naive girl without insulting her?

  By the time Adrian and Horace took their leave of the two women, his temper was in a worse state than ever.

  “I am to circulate,” Horace said. “Mrs. P instructed me to greet everyone I know, and attempt at least three new introductions. I must report my success to her on the morrow.” His eyes scanned the shifting birthday crowd, the revelers and the entertainers. “Is there anyone new you can introduce me to?” he added hopefully.

  “I’m sure there is.” Adrian paused, then went on. “You are satisfied with Mrs. Poitevant’s instruction, I take it.”

  “Oh, yes. She is quite astute, and she has a way of dispelling all your doubts. Or at least, most of them.”

  “I see.” Another pause. “Ever since we saw her in Cheapside I’ve wondered w
hy she chooses to dress so plainly in society.”

  Horace shrugged. “It is curious.” Then he sighed and added, “She is quite marvelous, don’t you think?”

  Adrian didn’t bother to answer. But there was such a wealth of admiration in Horace’s eyes that Adrian felt guilty. In his determined effort to force Hester Poitevant to abandon her snobbish ways, he’d ignored Horace’s feelings on the matter. Horace was sure to be hurt if Hester did not return his affection. Somewhat like his own predicament with Miss Bennett.

  At the same time, Adrian had become equally determined to have Hester respond only to him. It was the damnedest, most inexplicable thing. He wanted Hester Poitevant and he was willing to fight both Horace and her mystery lover to have her—meanwhile, business could wait.

  He shook his head at his own perversity. Then consoling himself that he was saving Horace a world of heartache, he said, “I hope you aren’t foolish enough to form an attachment to Mrs. Poitevant.”

  “Well, I’m not certain I would call it an attachment of the sort you imply. But if it were, why would that be foolish? She is, after all, a lady.”

  Adrian gazed idly about, affecting a blase attitude. “She’s in trade. She has no resources to speak of. How likely is your father to approve of her?”

  Horace’s resigned frown was clear answer. Though Adrian felt like a louse, he went on. “Anyway, Mrs. Poitevant does not strike me as a woman currently considering remarriage. You saw her that day in Cheapside, how stunning she looked. If she wanted to attract men’s attention, she would dress like that all the time.”

  A mulish expression came over Horace’s face. “I don’t care about how she dresses.”

  An admirable response. Adrian’s esteem for Horace, already high, rose higher still. “Nor do I,” he said. “But she must have her reasons for choosing so plain an image. To ignore her wishes would not be the gentlemanly thing to do.”

  Then wanting to lift the man’s spirits, he slapped him on the back. “Come on, now. She’s given you your instructions. You won’t meet anybody standing here just talking with me.”

  Always amiable, Horace followed his lead. The subject of Hester Poitevant did not come up again.