A Matter of Honor (6 page)

Bates nodded and smiled, “Yes, milord.”

Denby offered his arm to Cecilie and she took it with a slight but charming smile. Following behind them
,
Aggie was not at all fooled. When Cecilie turned on this much charm, it was always with some particular intent in mind; and today, Aggie knew, it was because of the gown. Cecilie had conceded in the matter of Lady Bakiston
,
but, precisely because she had, she would be less inclined to give in on the matter of the gown. Aggie foresaw a furious battle and more embarrassing and caustic comments from his lordship.

“Is Madame Dimond’s a very fashionable establishment?” inquired Cecilie.

The Earl nodded. “Fashionable enough; I believe the Duchess of York patronizes this shop. But then, perhaps
you
know.” His lordship sent a swift look in Aggie’s direction, a look that she pretended not to see.

“No,” replied Cecilie
,
just as evenly. “The last time I was at Oatlands we talked mostly of animals. The Duchess is quite fond of them, you know. It was she who told me where to buy Dillydums
.”

“I see.” The Earl’s tone revealed nothing, but Aggie could not help wondering. Did he think the child was lying to him? She herself had never accompanied Cecilie and her father to Oatlands
.
Indeed, she had been quite grateful for the brief periods of peace thus granted her. Life as Cecilie’s
companion left her little time for her own concerns. At f
i
rst, of course, that had been good. It left her less time to brood over deceptive looks in smoky gray eyes and whispered words that had meant nothing to the whisperer.

She shook herself out of this mood of reverie. Only a fool would believe that Cecilie and his lordship were going to agree on a gown. And Aggie was no fool.

The ride was a short one. Now and then Cecilie exclaimed over some sight on the teeming streets, but mostly they rode in silence. As they neared Bond Street more and more fashionable ladies began to appear on the pavement. Aggie grew suddenly aware of bonnets and was soon convinced that theirs were rather out of style. In her case this was of little moment. She would, however, have to speak to Denby
.
Cecilie would need new things, not only for the ball, but for other occasions that would follow. “Milord?”

He turned to her and she felt herself coloring up. “Yes, Miss Trimble
?”

“Since we are going to be at the dressmaker’s, perhaps it would be wise to order more than one gown. If Cecilie is to be going about, she will need some new things.”

The Earl regarded her gravely, then nodded. “That was also my thought,” he said. “Since we are here, we might as well attend to it all.” His eyes slid down over her gown, causing that strange quickening in her breast; and he seemed about to speak again. But he did not.

She watched him help Cecilie descend and then he offered her his hand. She did not want to touch him; she knew instinctively that to do so would be dangerous. But she could not very well ignore that outstretched hand, nor could she explain such rudeness on her part to the waiting Cecilie, who knew nothing at all concerning her previous acquaintance with his lordship. So Aggie laid her gloved hand in that which was offered her - and even through two pairs of gloves she felt the warmth of his f
i
ngers. As soon as her feet touched the ground she withdrew her hand with a mumbled, “Thank you, milord.”

Cecilie was fairly trembling with eagerness and Aggie smiled as Denby led his ward into the shop. This was Cecilie’s first visit to London, and one of her constant topics on the journey, and before, had been the gowns she was going to buy.

Madame Dimond herself met them inside the door, her round face beaming with delight.
“
Ahhhhh
,
Milord Denby. Such a long time I have not seen you. You are well,
n’est-ce pas
?”

The Earl nodded. “Quite well. This is my ward
.
Miss Cecilie Winthrop
.
And her companion Miss Agatha Trimble
.”

The little modiste, whose body was as round as her face, bobbed and nodded. “You will come this way,
s’il vous plait.
We will sit in the comfort.”

She led them into a small room furnished with comfortable chairs. Aggie meant to seat herself unobtrusively in the back, but somehow she ended up with the Earl on her left and Cecilie on her right.

“And now,” said Madame Dimond from her place between the Earl and Cecilie, “you will tell me for what you want this gown?”

“Miss Winthrop is coming out,” replied the Earl. “I think something in ivory satin. Not too décolleté. You understand.”

“
Ahhh yes,” murmured the dressmaker. “I have here the pattern book. Something like this. The little cap sleeves, the self-ruching at the neck and hem. It was a gown such as this that I made for Lady Alicia
Temple, some few years back.”

The Earl nodded, a strange look crossing his features. Aggie felt a shiver go over her. Denby knew this Lady Alicia, knew her in a very special way. That was instantly clear to her. But what else could she expect, she told herself severely. Long ago she had realized that she meant nothing to this man, that his whispered words of promise were nothing but lies. Naturally he had sought out other women; that was the way such men behaved.

She grew suddenly conscious that everyone was looking at her. “We are asking how you think about this pattern,” said the dressmaker. “You see how the skirt flounces here.” She pointed with a stubby foref
i
nger.

Aggie nodded. “I think perhaps we should ask Cecilie
,”
she replied. “She is the one who will wear it.”

The three of them turned to Cecilie, who responded with another too-sweet smile. “Is that what girls are accustomed to wear?”

The dressmaker nodded.
“
Oui
.
Most
jeunes filles
,
they wear such gowns.”

Cecilie nodded. “Then I suppose it will do. Now I’d like to see some stuff for other gowns.”

Aggie found herself holding her breath, but the Earl merely nodded. “We’ll see some stuff for some day gowns and several for evening.”

The choosing of these materials and patterns went so well that Aggie could scarcely believe it. Cecilie seemed entirely amenable to whatever his lordship suggested.

Aggie herself wished she already had the promised inheritance. Her own gowns were getting quite shabby and she did not have any idea what she could wear if they were to go to the theater, which seemed quite likely. In the country she had had no need for new gowns except as the old ones wore out. And even then she had not often replaced them. Consequently her wardrobe was not in very good condition.

She suppressed a sigh as she absently rubbed a pale peach silk between thumb and foref
i
nger. If her purse had not been so empty, she would have a gown of this stuff and perhaps one of that pale, pale green lame that the dressmaker now held. But such things were patently impossible.

She gave her attention to the materials that Cecilie and his lordship were discussing. Amazingly enough, it appeared that the two were on the most cordial of terms. And then Cecilie looked sweetly at the modiste and said, “Let me see your new French muslin, the very fine ones.”

There was a moment of absolute silence while the dressmaker’s eyes sought his lordship’s. Evidently she read assent there for she clapped her hands and summoned a shop girl. “Bring the new French muslin.”

“In blue-green
,
” said Cecilie softly.

Again the dressmaker sought his lordship’s eyes and so did the shop girl. His brief nod sent her scurrying away.

Silence lay heavy upon them as they waited. Aggie wondered if the Earl expected her to make some comment, but she had no idea what to say. Obviously there was something about this very fine muslin that she did not understand. There was nothing for it but to sit quietly and wait.

The girl returned with the bolt of material. Cecilie’s eyes lit up. “Yes, that’s it. That’s the color!”

The Earl reached out and took the end of the swath between his fingers. As he held it up, Aggie bit back a cry. Fine? This muslin was so thin she could see through it clearly. “Ah yes,” said his lordship dryly. “Very fine, indeed. And I collect you propose to damp your petticoat under it.” His tone was so easily conversational that Cecilie’s nod was automatic.

“You will not,” said Denby in the same even tones. “Take that stuff away. It may be fit for cyprians or their like
,
but not for a ward of mine.”

His eyes fastened on Aggie as he said this and immediately she felt the blood racing to her cheeks. Why must he always blame her?

“Mi-lo-rd!” Cecilie’s wail ended in a shriek that stopped the shop girl in alarm. “I want a gown in that stuff. Pl-e-ase. I won’t damp my petticoat. I promise.” Tears stood out in Cecilie’s wide eyes and her pink lips trembled as she begged again. “Please.”

The Earl shook his head. “No, I am surprised that you should consider such a thing.” His eyes raked over Aggie as though the whole episode had been her fault.

“You are a horrible
,
horrible man!” cried Cecilie
.
“I have done everything you wanted. Given in on every single thing. Now I want this gown.”

The Earl looked at her sternly. “Miss Winthrop
,
kindly remember where you are.”

Cecilie jumped to her feet and stood glaring down at him. “I don’t
care
where I am,” she yelled. “I - I want - that - gown!”

“Cecilie,” Aggie began, but the Earl sent her such a look of disgust that she gave up trying to reason with the girl. Let his high and mighty lordship handle this himself. If he could! He would soon discover that Cecilie was not the type to cry off.

“Miss Winthrop
,”
he began in tones obviously designed to placate, “you must be reasonable. A young woman such as yourself cannot afford to appear in public in such guise. It would give entirely the wrong impression.”

“I don’t care!” screamed Cecilie. “I want that gown!”

The Earl got to his feet, too, and Aggie, sitting between them, felt in imminent danger. Cecilie moved away, coming to a stop by a table that held patterns and sewing paraphernalia.

The Earl’s face darkened almost imperceptibly. “That will be enough,” he said sharply, so sharply that the shop girl cringed and Madame Dimond winced.

“It’s not enough at all!” screamed Cecilie, by now thoroughly out of control. “I - want –that  - gown!”

Aggie got to her feet and moved off to one side. The Earl could not know that the best thing would be to walk out and leave Cecilie without any audience for this performance. And she could hardly suggest it to him at the moment. She stood quietly, waiting to see what he would do.

For a long moment there was silence in the room
,
then Madame Dimond sent the shop girl a look and the two of them quietly departed, shutting the door behind them. Aggie considered following suit, but two things held her back. The f
i
rst was recognition of the fact that her departure might be misconstrued by the Earl as an admission of defeat or a dereliction of duty. Strong as this motive for remaining was, however, even stronger was her desire to see what would happen in the ensuing battle. She was quite sure that Cecilie had never met such an opponent before and it seemed equally unlikely that his lordship had ever previously faced a screeching young woman.

“Cecilie,” said the Earl, in tones of great authority. “You are disgracing yourself. You must stop this very instant.” He paused as though waiting for a reply, but Cecilie’s only response was to glare at him. “Such a gown would be unsuitable. Any decent person would tell you that.” Again Aggie felt that the words were directed at her. “Now, we will just walk calmly out to the carriage and go home.”

Cecilie’s hand closed over a pincushion. “I am not going anywhere until I get my gown!”

The Earl’s back stiffened. “This is doing it up too brown!” he thundered. “You will come home and right now.”

“No!” Cecilie emphasized this by throwing the pincushion with all her might. It bounced off his lordship’s waistcoat and fell to the floor, scattering pins in every direction.

Aggie felt her knees begin to go weak. Cecilie had no idea what kind of opponent she had engaged with.

“That does it!” roared the Earl. “I am going to discuss some matters with Madame
Dimond
.
I shall give you exactly ten minutes to compose yourself and get into the carriage. If you are not there by that time, I shall drive immediately home and dispose of that monkey!” He turned on his heel and stormed out
,
his brows drawn together in a terrible frown
,
his eyes blazing.

Aggie took one look at the girl, who stood mouth open in amazement. Then she did what should have been done long before. She, too, left the room, depriving Cecilie of her last spectator.

As she took her seat in the carriage, Aggie wondered if the Earl’s ploy would work. Cecilie loved that monkey; it was her dearest friend. For the Earl to threaten it like that -Would he really follow through on such a threat? Aggie wondered.

She settled herself on the squabs and tried to stay calm. She would need all her wits about her for the moment when his lordship saw f
i
t to discuss this matter. She was sure he would read her a real scold; more than likely he believed that she had been in collusion with Cecilie
.
Wherever had the girl learned about that French muslin? Aggie wondered. Probably from one of the young maidservants. They were usually quite conversant on the latest fashions.

As the moments passed slowly by
,
Aggie grew more anxious. She really did not doubt that his lordship would get rid of the monkey if Cecilie failed to obey. But it was not what
she
thought that mattered
,
the important thing was what Cecilie thought.