Madame Ormond regarded her with narrowed eyes. “The new color is yellow, as you know, milord. But with her hair— No, it simply will not do.”
The earl’s eyes also rested on Fiona specula-lively. “No, I think not. I shall leave most of the patterning to you. Just remember what I have told you.”
Madame inclined her head in acknowledgment.
“But I have in mind several gowns for the evening,” Dreyford continued. “One of this green silk. Low on the shoulders. Décolletage to here.”
The indication of his fingers across her bosom, though they did not actually touch her, caused Fiona to draw in her breath.
But the earl continued. “A bodice fitting to the waist. Her normal waist. None of that high-waisted foolishness. And a skirt that flows out from the waist. Without a train. Do as you please in decorating it. I can never remember the names for those gewgaws. But leave the bodice plain.”
Madame frowned in concentration. “A little puffed sleeve, milord?”
“Very small. Nothing to detract from the purity of the line.”
Madame nodded. “Yes, indeed. Very effective, milord.”
“And the other, of a similar cut, though you may train the skirt. It should be of pale peach satin, trimmed in dark brown. You will know how to do it. The rest I leave to your discretion. Oh, and two morning robes in the same colors. I have a fancy for her in them. You choose the materials. I believe that’s all for now. But perhaps you should read over the list.”
Madame read. And Fiona, listening, lost track of how many gowns he had ordered. How could this be happening to her?
“One last thing,” said the earl, rising to his feet and pulling Fiona to hers. “If it is at all possible, I should like to have the green silk by tomorrow, late in the day. Kemble is doing Othello tomorrow night. And I wish to take my new lady.”
Madame Ormond’s eyes narrowed as she calculated. “I have several girls I can put on the job. However, if I could hire two extra ones, I should be more certain of finishing in time.”
“I shall pay the extra wages, of course,” replied the earl as he led Fiona toward the doorway. “We’ll expect the gown in the afternoon.”
“Yes, milord. And the others will be done within the fortnight.”
Then the earl ushered Fiona out through the shop and into the carriage which carried them to the bootmaker, the glovemaker, the milliner, and others.
By the time they had finished, Fiona felt wilted with fatigue. This shopping was more tiring than any task Cousin Charles had ever set her.
The bottom of the carriage was littered with boxes: gloves, bonnets, several Indian shawls, nightdresses, and even, to Fiona’s acute embarrassment, a dozen new chemises. His Lordship’s aplomb as he assisted her in the acquisition of these last items had been incomparable.
When finally he announced, “That’s the last of it, now we can go home,” she was exhausted. She was also inclined to look upon him with more friendliness.
The earl was not unaware of her change of feeling. The afternoon had been entertaining. And so had her company, especially as they had not had occasion to quarrel.
He also admitted to himself that he had enjoyed her simulated looks of adoration. Perhaps someday . . .
He came close to chuckling when he realized that he was actually wishing for his wife to become besotted with him! What hilarity that piece of information would raise at White’s. But of course it would never be known there.
What went on in her boudoir was private. And tonight something would go on. He smiled at her warmly.
Wearily, Fiona returned the smile. Gratitude, though Cousin Charles had not done much to nourish it, was no stranger to her. It was clear to her that the earl’s behavior had been exemplary. All in all, she was inclined to be kind to him. “I must thank you, milord, for your concern today. It was generous of you to accompany me. I should have had no idea how to proceed.”
The earl smiled. “I was well aware of that fact. But no thanks are required. When you know me better, you will realize that I have sound reasons for everything I do. And kindness is seldom one of them.”
His eyes grew suddenly veiled. “I have chosen a wife unknown to the ton. All eyes will be upon her. For my sake it is imperative that she appear a diamond of the first water. I have never appreciated being the butt of jokes. And I do not intend to begin by presenting a country bumpkin as my wife.”
All this was said in his usual dry dispassionate tone, but Fiona felt her newfound kindness toward him rapidly vanishing. How absolutely arrogant the man could be!
* * * *
The memory of those dispassionate words returned to her that evening when she retired to her room. His Lordship had informed her of an engagement, one made previous to their nuptials, he said. And one that he found it necessary to keep.
So Fiona stood alone in the lovely room she was now convinced he had had decorated for her. She let Millie ready her for bed and then dismissed her. Several hours alone stretched ahead. She was not yet used to these long hours in which no demands were made on her. It was, in its own way, quite unsettling.
First, she opened all the wardrobe doors and chest drawers and examined her new purchases, marveling as a child might at such bounty. Then she sat down before her dressing table and began to brush out her hair.
The nightdress she wore, a wonder of softness and whiteness, was one of that day’s purchases. But the silver-handled brush and comb set had been on the dressing table when she had first arrived. He had provided so much for her. Far more than was necessary.
She sighed. But he was not Lonigan. He was not the man she still regarded as her husband. She wanted someone to love her. And in spite of Cousin Charles’s caustic remarks and Lonigan’s failure to return, she had never been able to believe that her handsome Irishman, with his fair hair and laughing eyes, had left her of his own free will.
The two of them hadn’t had much. His fortunes were at the ebb, Lonigan said. Soon, though, they would turn. Everything good would come their way. But for Fiona, everything good was already there. Having Lonigan she had no need of anything else.
With a sigh, she put down the brush and moved to the window. In the fading light she could just make out the courtyard garden where the flowers of spring were beginning to bloom. How strange to have a garden, to have a room that was her own.
How many weary times she’d dreamt of her homeplace. Though she’d never been there, she’d imagined fields lush with green grass, trees towering to the sky. A pleasant place where a child’s tired body could lie in the grass and rest, where refreshment could be found for body and soul.
But she was a child no longer. And the earl had taken her land.
With a sigh, she crossed the room to turn the key in the door to the hall. Of course, some would say that she had not really lost the land, that what was the earl’s was also hers.
But Fiona knew better. Everything she had— from the new nightdress on her body to the flesh it covered—belonged to His Lordship. What she had, she had purely on his sufferance.
She glanced toward the connecting door, and then, as though compelled by some force outside herself, she scurried across the room to lock it. Shivering, she blew out the candle and crept between the curtains into the great bed.
It was not unfamiliar, this feeling of being owned. But with Cousin Charles it had not taken quite the same direction. Certainly she was better off here. Yet there she had had a certain freedom of spirit. Every day could be the day Lonigan returned. Now even that would not matter, could not matter, because she belonged to another. Not even Lonigan, if he were by some miracle still alive, would dare to confront the Earl of Dreyford.
The closing of a nearby door made her sit bolt upright and clutch at the covers with trembling fingers. The earl had returned. And it was not late.
Trembling from head to toe, she slid silently down into the bed and pulled the covers up around her neck. Every footstep in th
e next room threatened to stop her breath.
She bit her bottom lip to stop its trembling. It must come eventually, this consummation she so dreaded. But tonight, with Lonigan so bright in her memory, she could not bear it.
She eased her breath out in a long soundless sigh. And it came—the sound her ears had been straining to hear. Her body went rigid as footsteps crossed his floor and a knock sounded on her door. “Fiona.” His voice was muffled by the thickness of the door. But she could hear the urgency in it. “Fiona. Open this door.”
Hardly daring to breathe, she kept silent. And finally, incredibly, his footsteps receded and utter silence reigned in the room.
* * *
Chapter 4
The next morning found a bewildered Fiona at the table in the breakfast room. His Lordship did not seem at all the type to take the thwarting of his wishes lightly. Cousin Charles would have long ago been purple in the face.
Now, regarding the ample meal placed before her, Fiona was puzzled. Somehow she had expected more from the earl than the jovial good morning with which he had greeted her. So eminently civil had he been, so beaming and cheerful, that the servants, too, were beaming. But Fiona had cause to suspect such false cheerfulness in a man so completely accustomed to having his own way.
It was not that she did not recognize his point of view. She was fully aware of it. It was only that last night the thought of him striding through that door and finding her in her nightdress had thrown her into a fit of the terrors.
It was for this reason that she had judged it expedient to rise and dress immediately upon awakening. She did not want to repeat the performance of the previous morning when His Lordship had found her yet abed.
But his hearty cheerfulness as he finished his meal and rose, reminding her of their theater engagement for the evening before striding off in boots so polished that direct sunlight on them produced a glare, was very unsettling. Perhaps it was because she knew he had no reason for such cheerfulness, indeed, had reason to feel quite otherwise, that she found her appetite small and the rest of the day most irritatingly long.
When it was time to dress for the theater, she was heartily pleased that for a while at least she would have something to occupy her mind other than His Lordship’s strange behavior. Millie was in absolute raptures of delight over the new gown. Fiona had to admit to herself that she found it very attractive.
The cut His Lordship had commanded for the bodice, combined with the dropped waist of the gown, served to emphasize the swelling curve of her bosom. And although it left her neck and shoulders bare, it was not actually immodest. After all, she was now a married woman, long past the age of innocence and white muslin.
Its deep green silk brought out the hue of her hair, which Millie had pulled up high in the back, then allowed to cascade down in a riot of curls. “That there’s the antique style,” she said proudly, standing in rapt attention before the vision she had created. “La, milady, there won’t be no more magnificent lady in the whole of Covent Garden.”
Fiona, already flushed with pleasure over the reflection in her glass, allowed herself a small smile. “I do look rather well,” she said. At least the sharp-tongued members of the ton could find nothing to criticize in her appearance.
“Rather well!” exclaimed Millie. “Why, if His Lordship wasn’t already daft about you, he’d fall top over heels tonight. That’s for sure.”
Fiona accepted this compliment with a smile she felt looked as false as it felt. Then, taking a deep breath, she moved slowly out. Toward the stairs—and him.
Dreyford waited at the foot of the stairs. Would she ever get used to him watching her descend? Would she ever get used to him?
To occupy her mind, she made a mental inventory of his appearance. Coat of corbeau color, black silk Florentine breeches, black stockings and slippers. That he had a magnificent leg could hardly escape her notice. Nor, she supposed, would it escape that of the numerous ladies whose consciences were as easy as their virtue. His cravat glistened whitely in the light of the candles and all in all she could not find a single thing to fault him on. Except, of course, that he was not Lonigan.
As she came to a stop before him, the earl smiled. “I have chosen a veritable beauty,” he said in a tone so warm that Millie sighed audibly.
“Thank you, milord.”
Dreyford considered his wife. Why would her eyes not meet his? Was she thinking of last night and that locked door? He put down the sense of outrage that threatened him. Last night he had not given in to his rage and broken down the door that stood between him and the woman he wanted. The woman who was his. He was a man of breeding. There were other ways to attain his ends and he knew how to use them.
“I have some accessories to your gown,” he said pleasantly. “They have been in the family for some years. It will please me greatly to have you wear them.”
She looked up then, a hesitant smile on her lips.
He opened the box, showing her the heavy necklace of square-cut emeralds, the matching bracelet, and eardrops.
Her reaction was all he could wish. “Oh! They’re beautiful!”
“Allow me to put them on you. I thought they would go well with this gown. In fact, I had them in mind when I ordered it.”
Putting the box in Berkins’s waiting hands, he extracted the necklace from its bed of black velvet and laid it around her neck.
He let his fingers linger there, on her nape, on the tender spot where tonight he would drop a little kiss.
She was so beautiful, far more attractive now than in that first moment he’d thought she was Katie. He was going to enjoy the married condition. And he would see that she did too.
Fiona’s body quivered. There was something so intimate about the touch of his fingers. The heated blood rose to her cheeks. Fortunately, when he came around to clasp the bracelet, his attention was on her wrist and she had time to calm herself. Then he was smiling down at her. “I’m afraid I’m no hand at fastening eardrops. We’ll let Millie do that for you.”
Millie’s nimble fingers moved swiftly and soon she stood back, an expression of gratified awe rounding her big gray eyes. “I ain’t never seen such a beautiful lady,” she declared stoutly. And then, clapping a hand over her mouth at her temerity, she gave His Lordship a terrified glance and scurried up the stairs.
The earl chuckled. “An excellent choice, that Millie,” he told the butler, who was not quite successful in holding back his smile. “You may tell her that I am not displeased.”
Berkins nodded. “Thank you, milord.”
Then His Lordship tucked Fiona’s arm through his and led her to the carriage. When he had settled her comfortably there, she turned to him. “What had Berkins to do with your choice of Millie as my maid?”
The earl shrugged. “The girl is the daughter of his widowed sister. The family is in hard straits. Millie had just lost her position through no fault of her own.” He smiled. “I had thought to get you an older woman, an accomplished lady’s maid. But I could find none without fault. To a woman they were all overbearing and rude. Not to me, of course. But to Berkins and the rest of the staff.”
His eyes searched hers. “I shall replace her if she proves incompetent,” he said softly. “But I thought you might be more comfortable with a young woman.”
“I am,” Fiona replied. “I enjoy her.” She lowered her eyes. “Of course, she does flatter me.”
His Lordship chuckled. “My, how quickly you have become a society lady.”
“I?” Fiona’s amazement was quite genuine. She did not think of herself as a lady at all. In fact, she had spent a good deal of that very long day wondering how she was going to react to the oglers who stared and the snobs who cut people dead.
His smile was warm. She could see that even in the dim light of the carriage lamps. “See?” he said. “You are already fishing for compliments. If you looked in your glass before you came down, you saw the same thing I saw. A very be
autiful woman.” His eyes gleamed and he tapped her cheek playfully. “False modesty is not a virtue, lady wife. You are a beautiful woman and you know it well.”
For a long moment his eyes held hers, their green turning to glowing fires. A woman could sink, could lose herself in those eyes. Did he really find her beautiful? She felt something within her responding to him. When he looked at her like that . . . Suddenly his face was gone, obliterated by a picture of Lonigan’s laughing one. And the moment was gone too.
The earl’s eyes turned formal again. “Have you ever been to the theater?” he inquired politely.
Fiona shook her head. “Cousin Charles never brought us to the city. It would have cost him too much.”
“Of course. I never saw a more miserly man.” His eyes searched hers. “You are not sorry to have left his establishment?”
“No, milord, I am not sorry.” Now, now he would mention the key, remind her of all she owed him, tell her not to lock him out again.
But he did not. Instead he turned the conversation to the evening ahead. “I am curious as to your reaction to Kemble’s Othello.”
“Does he do Iago also?”
The earl nodded, his eyes inquiring. “The story is familiar to you?”
“Yes, milord. Cousin Charles’s library was large and impressive. He never read in it, of course. But after the last governess left, I spent many a rainy day reading to Constance. We found Shakespeare’s work very interesting.”
An increase of noise outside the closed carriage caused Fiona to lean toward the window. She drew back in alarm. “My word, Dreyford, the streets are thronged. What can be going on to make such a crowd?”
The earl’s smile was amused. “It is nothing, my love. We are nearing Covent Garden. And it is the fashionable hour. The crush will be whispered about all tonnish London tomorrow.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Ladies will report that it was too much for their delicate spirits. I trust that you are not given to the vapors.”
Design for Love Page 5
