Birds of a Feather (18 page)

“Very well. I will try not to embarrass you, but you know how pressure affects me.”

He shuddered. “We must contrive a way to cure that, but for now, we have arrived. Smile. Gossips like Lady Beatrice learn much of their news from modistes and servants, so watch your tongue.”

Glendale House was the largest in Grosvenor Square, occupying the same frontage as five average houses. She tried not to stare at the marble walls and Corinthian columns decorating its opulent hall. A magnificent split staircase provided access to two wings. What had she gotten into? This grandeur was more typical of country estates. The Glendale wealth must be greater than she had imagined.

Lord Sedgewick introduced the butler and housekeeper, but spared her a formal welcome from the rest of the staff.

She felt more out of place with every step as he led her upstairs. Each new feature was more elegant than the last, overwhelming her senses. Intricately carved banisters, ornate ceiling, a life-size statue of Zeus on the landing, smaller sculptures in exquisite niches… Marble flowed into painted paneling as they continued up a second flight. By the time they reached the upper floor, she was trembling so badly that she stumbled, knocking a Chinese vase from a table.

“Oh, no!” Shattering glass nearly drowned her exclamation.

“Are you hurt?” Lord Sedgewick’s hold kept her upright.

Tears threatened to fall. “Forgive me, my lord.”

He stared for what felt like hours, but was probably only an instant, then tucked her arm firmly through his own. “Of course. This has been a difficult day, and you are not yet recovered from your fall.”

“That is not what I m-meant. I should have warned you that I am prone to c-clumsiness,” she admitted, wishing she had thought to reveal that failing earlier. Perhaps it would have convinced him to forgo this disaster.

His arm stiffened, but his voice remained calm. “We will contrive to cope.” He inhaled deeply several times, then opened a door. “This will be your bedchamber, with your dressing room through here.”

She flushed, for his words raised the specter of marriage duties.

He continued without pause. “On this side is our sitting room. My room lies beyond. The modiste awaits us in the sitting room. Are you ready?”

She managed a nod. He was outwardly ignoring her confession, though his intensity had increased. Or perhaps he was merely postponing a confrontation until the modiste left.

Mademoiselle Jeanette had brought three assistants and what seemed like mountains of fabric.

“This is Lady Sedgewick,” he announced, leading her into the center of the room. “She needs a complete wardrobe.”

“Oui
, my lord. We will start with the most urgent.” Her snapping fingers sent an assistant scurrying. “An afternoon gown, a walking dress, and an evening gown for the opera.”

Joanna nearly gasped at the splendid clothing produced for his approval – no one asked her opinion, but that hardly surprised her. The lemon afternoon gown was of finer fabric than anything Harriet owned. Guessing the cost made her cringe. The sprigged muslin walking dress included a matching green pelisse. But the rose silk opera gown left her speechless. Delicate embroidery traced the low-cut bodice before flowing across the skirt and around the flounce. It was as elegant as anything she had seen.

“Excellent,” said Lord Sedgewick. “Lucy can manage the fittings while we check your pattern cards.”

Lucy dragged Joanna into her room and stripped her.

“
Mais oui
,” she exclaimed when Joanna stood numbly before her clad only in a corset and shift. “I feared that we would need to do much alteration. But that other gown, it did not show you to advantage. I should have known the monsieur would never misjudge size.”

Michelle’s cough closed her mouth on further discourse. Only then did Joanna realize that Mademoiselle Jeanette must also have outfitted Sedgewick’s mistresses. She stifled the memory of Mary’s costume. Sometime during the wee hours of the morning, she had realized Mary’s position. It explained her furious denial and also why she had never brought her family to Cavuscul Hill. They were probably figments of her imagination. Had her marriage also been false, or had her husband abandoned her? But how typical of Mary to hide her failure, even if doing so meant cutting off the very people who loved her most.

She banished Mary from her mind.

How had Sedgewick known her measurements? Her clothing was shapeless. Yet he had held her more than once. She doubted that he had noticed her figure last night, but there had been that first meeting. He had jerked her out of harm’s way so quickly that she had been pressed against his body for several seconds. But why would he remember the encounter so clearly? She couldn’t have made a favorable impression, especially since she was so much taller than Mary. If that was the sort of companion he preferred, she was in bigger trouble than she’d thought.

She stifled Mary’s image yet again, concentrating on her own size and weight. She was not petite, so their encounters had revealed Sedgewick’s unexpected strength. How had he managed to lift her?

Lucy flung the afternoon gown over her head, recalling her to the present. She must practice appearing content.

“It is beautiful,” she said, trying to keep the awe from her voice.

“
Merci
, but it needs adjusting.” She tucked and pinned, then whipped the gown off and handed it to Michelle, who immediately sat down to make the alterations.

Ten minutes later, they had disposed of the other two, and Lucy began the interminable process of measuring her in every conceivable direction. She then threw a wrapper around her and ordered her back to the sitting room. Lucy remained to work on the opera gown.

“There you are, my dear,” said Lord Sedgewick, smiling warmly when she appeared in the doorway. “Tell me what you think of these designs.”

She nearly stumbled at the affection in his voice. Any man who could act this well belonged on a stage. Only his gray eyes revealed the truth.

“This should do for tomorrow’s ball,” he continued. “It is not as elegant as some, but it will be easy to make up.”

“Lovely,” she said, surprised that he considered Jeanette’s problems. “Perhaps in a willow green silk.”

That startled a genuine smile from him – and a flash of twinkling blue that closed her throat. “Perfect. With lace edging the neckline and hem.”

She nodded.

“Excellent. Now for the other ball gowns…” He picked up a dozen cards.

Joanna bit back a protest. The Season was so advanced, she could hardly need all this.

But the comment died unspoken. The ultimate arbiter of fashion would care more for appearance than anyone else. Never would he allow his wife to appear in anything but the best. As he had reminded her only an hour ago, any lack in her appearance or behavior would reflect poorly on him.

Shivers raised the hair on her arms. She knew little of the nuances of fashion. How was she to manage without embarrassing him? She hardly knew what to wear for which event. Harriet’s maid had dressed the girl. Her own choices had been among three gowns that varied only in color.

This was another aspect of her changed status that she had not considered, though it was too late to back out. Had he deliberately rushed her into marriage before she could develop even colder feet?

His touch broke through her abstraction. She had been murmuring agreement to every question without taking in anything he said. But now he leaned forward to reach another stack of cards, setting his hand on her shoulder.

“Do you ride?” he whispered into her ear.

“Yes.”

“Cross-country?”

She nodded.

“You will want two or three habits,” he said aloud. “These for use in town, and this for the country.” Again he dove into details with Jeanette.

Blinking, she realized that an enormous mound of fabric had been set aside, along with dozens of pattern cards. Jeanette’s order book was rapidly filling as she noted details.

“Nightrails.” He lifted another stack of cards.

Joanna blushed.

On and on it went. She was ready to collapse by the time Lucy returned with the completed gowns. Whipping off the wrapper, the girl flung the opera gown over her head. Only the fact that Sedgewick was bent over yet another pattern card kept her from swooning.

“
Magnifique
, Lady Sedgewick,” exclaimed Jeanette as Lucy fastened the last pin. “I love dressing beautiful women.”

Joanna nearly protested, but Sedgewick’s stunned expression stopped her. It was his most honest face yet. His eyes were actually blue – brilliant blue; heart-stopping blue; the warmest blue she had ever seen.

“As usual, you have outdone yourself, Jeanette,” he drawled. “I believe we have accomplished enough for today. Will eleven be suitable for delivering the ball gown?”

“
Oui
.”

Joanna held her tongue until Jeanette and her assistants had gone. Then she turned on her husband. “You expect her to make up a ball gown by morning?”

His voice froze her marrow now that they were alone. No trace of blue remained. “It is a simple design, and she will have half a dozen women working on it. We have no choice, as you would realize if you took a moment to think. You must have a ball gown by tomorrow night. Since you must also be at home to callers, morning is the only time you can schedule a fitting. And you had best be prepared for a crowd. Nearly everyone in town will call tomorrow. We will drive out for the fashionable hour, then dine here before attending Lady Jersey’s rout and the Stafford ball.”

“So much.”

“And all of it essential.” He paused as if searching for words, finally shaking his head. “It grows late. Morton will be waiting to dress your hair. We dine in half an hour.”

“Morton?” Somehow she got the question out. It would be fatal to let him cow her, for allowing him to play the dictator would eliminate any hope of a comfortable future.

“Your maid.” He left. But at least this solved the problem of choosing proper dress.

* * * *

Sedge stared blindly at the stage, deaf to Mozart’s
Cóssi Fan Tutte.
Duty, honor, and determination had carried him through the last twenty-four hours, helped by the numbness that had descended at Mrs. Drummond-Burrell’s first gasp of shock. But the numbness was wearing off.

How was he to survive this disaster?

There were a few bright spots, of course. She cleaned up quite nicely, her body even more delectable than he had surmised. But thinking about that would only lead to frustration. He had felt a burst of healthy lust when Lucy first called attention to the fit of this gown. It hugged her bosom to bare an enticing swell of breast, then swirled teasingly around long legs. The effect was now enhanced by an elegant hairstyle and the pearls he had presented before dinner.

A shiver had shaken her shoulders as he’d fastened the clasp. Desire? Or regret that he was not Reggie?

The question doused his own desire in a cold bucket of memories – laughter erasing ten years of care from Reggie’s face; the love and concern blazing from Reggie’s eyes when she fell; her own eyes locked on Reggie’s soulful gaze as they twirled around Lady Warburton’s ballroom. It was the first time Reggie had waltzed all Season. But the most painful image of all was their wedding. She had looked at Reggie during the entire ceremony.

So her desirability sliced new pain through his heart, though at least her appearance made his tale seem believable. But he could not bear intimacy with a woman who should have wed his brother. Nor could he bed a woman who wished him out of her life.

Her intelligence was acute, yet befriending her could only lead to frustration. Despite avoiding the indiscriminate raking some of his friends enjoyed, he was a healthy male who already felt a strong tug toward that delectable body. Spending time in her company would only make it worse, fostering a mental war that would tear him apart.

Her reluctance to wed him still rankled, though he was convinced that she did not understand the consequences of refusing him. She had no concept of how lonely her life would be once Society ostracized her. She might not have been born to its ballrooms and drawing rooms, but she had depended on Society’s good will for her support. Without a position, she would have nothing.

The curtain rang down on the first act. He had arranged for his closest friends to call during this interval, filling the box to keep the curious and catty at bay until his wife found her footing.

His wife.
The phrase sent a shudder down his back. If only Randolph were in town. His good sense might help him through this trial. His own mind was in such chaos that he could hardly think. Nothing could penetrate the pain and anger engendered by trapping himself through his own stupidity.

But Randolph was out of reach. And now that the moment of truth was at hand, new fears paralyzed him. She stammered whenever she was nervous. The problem intensified with embarrassment – an inevitable product of stammering, even if nothing else happened. And she admitted to clumsiness – which explained how she had managed to splash lemonade on every piece of clothing he had been wearing that night. He had frozen upon hearing her confession, though only now was he realizing the potential consequences. Reggie had also hinted that she sometimes forgot her surroundings, worsening her other problems. Charm might relax her, but he was too nervous to attempt it. Fear of her mistakes threatened his own control.

But he must persevere, he reminded himself. No matter how bad the ordeal became, he must make the best of it if he was to salvage their place in Society. If he failed to pull this off, he might as well put a gun to his head. He could not tolerate becoming an object of ridicule.

Stifling a shudder, he set an expression of pride on his face and welcomed the first callers.

* * * *

Joanna nearly jumped out of her skin when the first rap sounded on the door to their box. The sight of Lord and Lady Hartford did little to calm her nerves, though both had helped her introduce Harriet into Society, and Lady Hartford had stood up for her in church.