by Dorothy Mack
“Oh, it’s lovely!” she exclaimed involuntarily, watching the play of shadows among the folds with each movement of her body in the glass.
“Ah yes,” Madame allowed with smug satisfaction. “Your ladyship has the type of figure that enhances the simple lines, slim and smooth, and with a naturally regal carriage. The length must be adjusted, but otherwise it is perfect.”
She pulled aside the curtain and preceded Marianne into the other room, assured that the gown would find favor with the fashionable Miss Carstairs.
In this assumption however, she was proved overconfident. For a long moment Miss Carstairs simply stared at her cousin, her lovely eyes widening briefly, then narrowing slightly as Marianne pirouetted at Madame Louise’s direction to display the gown from all angles.
“What do you think, Claire?” Marianne asked eagerly.
“Well, it is indeed a lovely color, my dear, but do you not think it a trifle tight-fitting and, ah, revealing?” She paused delicately, but went on almost immediately, before Madame could express the protest so obviously rising to her lips. “Your situation is rather ... tenuous at the moment, is it not? Though of course I perfectly agree with the marchioness that it is unnecessary to wear black amongst the family, the vicar and his wife will be among those present tonight, and you would not wish to give any least hint of disrespect. But you must use your own judgment, of course,” she finished apologetically.
“Oh, no, I am persuaded you are quite correct,” Marianne said quickly, concealing her disappointment. “You will know the thing to do. I’ll try the other one now.”
The yellow dress, though a bit fussy in Marianne’s private judgment, with a triple frill descending from the moderately cut neckline and another at the hem, met with Claire’s unqualified approval. Certainly there was no question of a too snug fit, in fact the bodice tended to hang a bit loosely around the high waistline, but when Madame Louise indicated a simple alteration to make it lie more smoothly, Claire laughingly declared it perfect as it was, and reminded Marianne that the dress wanted hemming also and must be ready by the time they had finished the luncheon the marquess had promised to provide, or they would be guilty of abusing his generosity. Not surprisingly, this decided Marianne to take the dress with the minimum of adjustment deemed necessary. She cast a lingering glance at the blue velvet while changing out of the silk, and was heartened to hear Madame Louise promise to save the gown until Lady Marianne should return with Lady Lunswick. In quiet accents she confided her intentions of making any adjustments the marchioness should require.
“The gown was meant for your ladyship,” she finished, still in that confidential tone with a rather enigmatic expression on her face.
Marianne gazed thoughtfully at the modiste for a long moment, then smiled with unaffected friendliness and agreed that she would like to try the gown on for the marchioness’ viewing the following week when they should have more time to begin ordering a complete wardrobe.
The girls took their leave then, hastening to a shop where Marianne might purchase a new reticule to carry with the yellow dress, before it was time to meet the marquess. Claire chatted away animatedly, pointing out places of interest. She made a lovely picture in her deep green pelisse and Marianne, noting the number of admiring glances her graceful figure drew, felt utterly drab beside her sparkling cousin. She reflected wryly that for someone who had not given her appearance a second thought until that pregnant moment scarcely a sennight ago when the marquess had glanced at and through her as though she were invisible, she was rapidly becoming immersed in a condition of personal vanity to the total exclusion of all other concerns. She took herself to task and began to concentrate on her surroundings, appreciating, as the marchioness had predicted, the charm and cleanliness of Bath. The air was crisp and the sunshine enhanced her favorable impression of the city. While they walked up Milsome Street to George Street where the hotel at which they had agreed to join the marquess was located, she listened to Claire’s mingled snippets of gossip and opinion on current fashion as represented by the people they passed, with a show of courteous attention that left the better part of her mind free to form impressions of the passing scene. There was not time to stroll by the famous Pump Room, but she was quite content to await another visit in the company of the marchioness.
Claire was nothing if not lively company, and as the two girls entered the hotel, the marquess, rising from a chair to saunter indolently toward them, noticed that despite her dowdy clothing, Marianne’s flushed and laughing countenance was vibrant enough to warrant her legitimate inclusion in the low-voiced compliment of the old gentleman with whom he had been chatting idly while he awaited their arrival.
“An attractive pair, by Jove!”
“By Jove, they are!” he thought, grinning to himself as he led his guests to the private parlor he had engaged. If his smile had an element of smugness in it, this was due to the fact that his tiresome ward had so far forgotten her determinedly aloof politeness in the excitement of the shopping trip as to greet him with absentminded affability. Deciding to test the depth of her forgetfulness, he turned a smiling face to her when they were comfortably seated and quizzed her gently.
“By the air of satisfaction emanating from the two of you may I venture to guess that your excursion proved fruitful?”
“Oh ... yes, yes, of course.”
It was slightly disconcerting to see the carefree smile fade as she replied a shade too quickly, and his gaze sharpened as Claire said gaily:
“We were fortunate enough to find the most ravishing dress and Madame Louise promised to have it delivered here within the hour, so we need not impose on your good nature any longer than necessary.”
He bowed gracefully. “It is a pleasure, my dear Miss Carstairs, not an imposition, to be of some slight service to my ward.” His voice remained suave as he turned again to the latter, but the golden brown eyes were watchful.
“And are you equally thrilled with your purchase, Lady Marianne?”
“I trust it will prove suitable and that Lady Lunswick will approve,” she answered composedly, but his increasing sensitivity to her moods detected a shade of doubt.
Claire’s laughter was slightly edged. “Of course it is suitable, Marianne. Madame Louise is the best modiste in Bath.”
“And since it is widely known that Miss Carstairs has exquisite taste,” Lord Lunswick inserted smoothly, “your ladyship may rest assured that your gown will be both suitable and attractive.” Apparently tiring of the subject of feminine apparel, he inquired pointedly into Marianne’s impressions of Bath, and the conversation became general for the remainder of the luncheon. And since in the art of entertaining young females, the marquess was an experienced and charming host, it was indeed a pleasant interlude for both young ladies.
It was not until early evening, when Marianne made her appearance in the saloon wearing the new gown, that Justin recalled that his compliment to Miss Carstairs’ taste in fashion had been received by that young woman in uncharacteristic silence, accompanied by a swift lowering of long lashes.
As he stared expressionlessly at his ward, attired in the one color absolutely guaranteed to cause a fading tan to appear sallow, he wondered somewhat grimly if it would be his fate to spend his life protecting this strong but strangely vulnerable girl from the disingenuous attentions of her relatives. Although the gown could not be faulted as demodée, a subtle excess of fabric in strategic areas completely disguised the graceful curves of what he knew to be a perfectly balanced figure as thoroughly as though she were enveloped from head to toe in a cloak.
He had to concede a grudging admiration for Claire Carstairs’ single-minded determination to dim her cousin’s light, as he appreciatively witnessed the effect of her own tardy entrance a half hour later. She swept into the room on a wave of French scent and pretty apologies, wearing a softly draped gown that clung lovingly to her exquisite form. Justin quirked one eyebrow in a mocking tribute to her choice of color. The dense
rich jonquil hue completely cast into the shade Marianne’s pale buttercup yellow while softly flattering Claire’s white skin and red-lit curls. His eyes gleamed with amusement as he observed his mother’s comprehensive study of her young guest, and he acknowledged the rueful twist of her lips as she turned involuntarily to him with a wicked half-wink of his own that prompted an unwilling smile and a somewhat hasty greeting to the earl who had entered behind his sister.
The marquess, although genuinely appreciative of the humor of the situation, was aware of an instinct he dimly recognized as protectiveness toward this awkward, faintly hostile, but unaffectedly genuine ward of his, and this hitherto unknown force derived a fierce satisfaction from the fact that no calculated spite on her cousin’s part could diminish the glory of that magnificent quantity of black hair skillfully arranged by someone who had seen its possibilities as a lovely frame for her incredible violet-blue eyes. It was drawn back smoothly from that center point on her forehead that caused her face to appear heart-shaped. The unusual length allowed of its being twisted into a shining coronet around her head, lending a regal air to her naturally graceful carriage. Two shorter locks had been curled and permitted to fall free in front of flat, well-shaped ears, softening the effect of the severe classical style. A magnificent setting for diamond clips, he mused idly, and wondered if the earl of Melford’s thoughts were running in the same direction. Certainly he had not taken his eyes from his cousin since entering the room a moment before, and the tinge of pink creeping over Marianne’s cheeks did not go unremarked by her trustee, who decided to bestir himself and initiate a general conversation while they awaited the call to dine.
The only other guests, the vicar and Mrs. Huntingdon, were accompanied by their daughter, Miss Sophia. Marianne found herself drawn to this quiet girl whose retiring manner did not quite conceal a thoughtful active mind. Everything about Miss Huntingdon’s appearance was moderate—average height, slightly plump as to figure, neither dark nor fair as to hair and coloring. Until she smiled a severe critic might dismiss her as nothing out of the ordinary, but her rare smile illuminated her pleasant face, perfectly revealing the essential sweetness of her nature. She was talking serenely now with Marianne, who was curious as to the countryside immediately surrounding the Hall which she had so far had no time to explore, when the marchioness’ light voice floated into a sudden lull in the nearby conversation between the marquess and the earl and his sister. Mrs. Huntingdon had expressed concern over her hostess’ slight limp and the marchioness had been describing her morning mishap:
“I shudder to contemplate the results if Marianne had not had the presence of mind to act swiftly,” she concluded seriously. “She hung on tenaciously until Justin appeared to catch me.”
Miss Carstairs turned impulsively to her cousin. “How fortunate for her ladyship that you are so strong,” she declared, gazing with exaggerated respect at the taller girl. “I never could have saved her.” She looked helplessly at her small, beautifully kept white hands, sparkling with rings, and all eyes followed the direction of her gaze.
“Yes, my hands are unusually strong for a woman,” Marianne conceded coolly. “It comes from milking the cows and handling the reins.”
In the small silence this non sequitur gave birth to, Justin fixed his thoughtful gaze on the ceiling. Well, that was one vague worry he need not have entertained. He had recognized the shuttered blankness of his ward’s face when answering her cousin as her habitual expression when dealing with himself, and knew she had taken the measure of Claire’s spuriously affectionate pose. However, his original concern that this tiresome girl would contrive to resist efforts to introduce her successfully to the Ton was reinforced by the deliberate reference to her past life on the farm. The marchioness had gracefully filled the conversational breech, but her son, transferring his gaze to his ward’s expressionless mien, was uncomfortably aware of a challenging gleam in the dark blue depths before she lowered her eyes.
The numbers were necessarily uneven, but as this was by the way of introducing Marianne to the people she would be most intimate with for the present, it was not allowed to matter. She was seated at the right of her host and found her attention nicely taken up by him and by Mr. Huntingdon on her other side. Although a younger and more vigorous man than the dear rector to whom she was sincerely attached, the vicar obviously possessed the same gentle human kindness, and by the time the ladies left the gentlemen to their port, her initial stiffness had relaxed considerably. The smallness of the party had assured that in some measure the conversation would remain general, and this circumstance plus the duty she owed her other partner adequately concealed the fact that her attentions to the marquess were confined to half smiles and minimal responses to direct questions.
Later the marchioness skillfully promoted an amiable discussion among the ladies while they waited for the gentlemen to join them in the saloon. Although she devoted herself principally to Mrs. Huntingdon, she was unobtrusively aware of the easy chatter of the three young girls. Miss Carstairs was doing the lion’s share of the talking,’ but as it was perfectly obvious by their eager faces that the other two were enjoying her tales of London parties, their hostess tactfully left them undisturbed. The arrival of the men after a very reasonable interval should have been a welcome interruption had not their attention remained on a topic evidently begun in the dining room. As the gist of the rather heated discussion between Mr. Huntingdon and the earl became clear, Marianne’s attention left the ladies and focused intently on the gentlemen.
“How can you say that so callously?”
The Misses Huntingdon and Carstairs, unaware that Lady Marianne’s interest had strayed from their conversation, jerked up their heads in surprise at the sharp exclamation. Their startled eyes flew to their companion’s face to find her own magnificent orbs flashing tempestuously at the equally startled earl.
“How can you sit here in this comfortable room and dismiss the problems of huge numbers of people so callously?” she repeated, controlling her voice with a visible effort.
“Oh, but really, my dear cousin,” he protested, “although your tender heart does great credit to your womanly nature, this is a matter of economic and political necessity. A mere woman cannot be expected to understand that the state must make an example of these rioters and root out all the troublemakers or there will be anarchy in the factories and in the streets whenever a measure is unpopular. It is necessary to squash this Luddite movement now and make an example of it.”
“I beg your pardon, cousin, but as a mere woman I find no difficulty at all in comprehending the situation. The Combination Act purported to forbid associations of employers and employees alike, but can you deny that there have never been any real efforts to curb the employers? Only the workers have been prosecuted for attempting to organize, and why should they not? Do the magistrates ever exercise their authority in fixing a fair minimum wage? Does the government show any concern over the high price of bread or the starvation wages or wretched conditions existing in the majority of manufactories?” Her eyes challenged her cousin’s as she paused to gulp some air, suddenly uneasily aware that she had the full attention of everyone in the room, although the two elder ladies had not heard the entirety of her remarks and were looking expectantly at the group surrounding the guest of honor. Ah, well, she shrugged, preparing to further expound her views on the plight of the great army of underpaid factory workers.
“Bravo, cousin! Your eyes are absolutely magnificent when you are enraged, are they not, Lunswick?” the earl blurted admiringly, turning to his host for confirmation of this irrelevant observation.
Absolutely astounded at his evasion of her challenge to defend his position on governmental handling of the Luddite violence, she simply stared at him as though he represented a strange new species, unaware of the appreciative twitch her unbelieving disdain had brought to the lips of her trustee.
“What would you advocate, Lady Marianne?” the latter slipped in qui
etly.
“Repeal of the Combination Act of 1800,” she replied promptly, “and the legalization of trade unions. What other recourse do the workers have but to use the strength of their numbers to bargain for better conditions?”
The vicar mentioned Sir Robert Peel’s efforts to alleviate the distressing conditions of children and apprentices in industry, deploring the greed and lack of conscience that prevented more than a handful of employers from following his enlightened example. Soon he and Marianne were immersed in a discussion of Robert Owen’s New Lanark mills which might serve as a model for others, if only the government could be persuaded to accept its responsibilities to its poorer citizens.
They had long since lost the attention of the others. Miss Carstairs had declared with a charming pout that she and Miss Huntingdon were in danger of being neglected for the ubiquitous poor, and her host had laughingly acquiesced to her demand for a change of topic. Although he was debonairly attentive, from time to time Miss Carstairs had the distinct impression that he was straining to follow the quiet conversation of the vicar and this amazing new cousin who actually seemed to prefer talking politics with an old man to conducting a pleasant flirtation with two handsome young ones.
She might be a lot better looking than she had first appeared, but with that attitude she just won’t take, Claire concluded complacently. Of course that huge fortune made her decidedly eligible, but thank heavens the marquess did not need to repair his fortunes by making a rich marriage. She experienced no difficulty in dismissing her cousin from her mind in favor of continuing her attack on this flatteringly responsive but so far infuriatingly unimpressionable prize on the Marriage Mart. Miss Carstairs, after two seasons, was far too shrewd to attach any real significance to his willingness to follow her lead; indeed, she suspected he would encourage her to any desperate degree of flirtation and calmly accept any and all favors while remaining untouched emotionally. Strangely enough, this impregnability to feminine wiles only stiffened her determination to capture this matrimonial prize, whether or not she captured his heart, if indeed he possessed such an organ. Someday he must marry to provide an heir. No matter how cold-blooded he appeared, she had no doubts as to his eventual carrying out of his clear duty, and she meant this to be sooner rather than later. Such bad luck that she and Aubrey were to be away paying a tiresome visit just at this particular time when their new cousin provided the perfect excuse for her to see the marquess more frequently. Ah, well, they would be back by Christmas and by then he should be grateful for a change from the company of this bluestocking ward of his. Having observed them together on two occasions today, she was easily able to dismiss an initial fear that Marianne’s patent indifference to his charm might pique his interest and bring out the hunter in his nature. Men like responsive females and this girl seemed to have a cold disposition, at least as far as the masculine persuasion was concerned.
