Candice Hern (19 page)

“And what, may I ask, are you doing here, Flora?”

Tony stood in the entry hall where he awaited Edwina’s appearance with eager anticipation. He could hardly wait to see what his wager had challenged her to accomplish. “I had better not see anything I recognize from your wardrobe when she comes down.”

“You should know her better than that, my dear. I wanted to take her to Madame Lancaster. After all, how would you know whether or not it was something new? When have you ever seen her in evening dress? But no, she would honor the terms of your idiot wager.”

“I am happy to hear it. Buy why, then, are you here? A little moral support?”

“Prudence and I have some work to do for the
Cabinet
,” she said, “so you may mind your own business, if you please.”

“Work?” He looked up at the sound of movement on the stairs. “What sort of—”

The vision that met his eyes caught him some
where beneath the ribs and stole the breath right out of him. Edwina descended the stairs looking for all the world like an ethereal deity coming down from the heavens to grace the humble earth with her magnificence. Tony could only stare. He couldn’t speak. He could barely breathe. He was marginally aware that his mouth hung open, but he did not care.

She was quite simply glorious.

Every movement sent light shimmering in all directions, as though she were wrapped in moonbeams. Silver glistened everywhere, from embroidery and spangles and cording and paste to a cunning little crescent moon in her hair. And all that brilliant white was set off to perfection by the black hair and brows and eyes.

He held out a hand to her as she reached the lower steps. When she took it, he was sorely tempted to pull her forward and straight into his arms, to wrap himself around all that silvery whiteness.

Later. He hoped.

She stood on the bottom step and arched a brow.

Tony managed to find his voice. “Madam, I am ravished by your beauty.” Keeping hold of her hand, he swept her an elegant bow with the other. “You are magnificent.”

Edwina looked him straight in the eye, studied him for a moment, then gave him a smile that shot right through him and out the other side, leaving him breathless.

“Thank you, Anthony. You look quite splendid yourself.”

A soft sigh from above had him looking toward the top of the stairs, where Prudence stood with hands clasped to her breast and a dreamy look in her eye.

“Anthony is the perfect foil for you,” Flora said. “He is all golden to your silver, the sun to your moon. The pair of you will dazzle the crowd.”

Tony had taken care to look as fine as he could, but then one always felt a bit fine in evening dress. Although men’s fashion had become more conservative in the last few years, Tony still liked to add a bit of flash. His blue coat and white breeches were standard wear, but his gold-embroidered waistcoat, white silk under-waistcoat, and frilled shirt added a certain dash. And, of course, there were the fobs. Rather elaborate ones tonight, with diamonds and sapphires set in gleaming gold.

But his own radiance paled next to Edwina.

He helped her with her wrap, a shawl of fine Indian pongee silk in emerald green woven with silver dots. It looked like it had once been part of an Indian sari. Very clever, and very becoming against the white dress.

“Oh, there is one more thing,” Flora said. “You must take these, my dear.”

She handed Edwina a tiny ivory notebook with matching pencil, and a collapsible pair of gold opera glasses. Edwina looked up in question.

“You must get a good look at everyone,” Flora went on, “and take notes on the fashions. I will work it into the next report.”

“You want
me
to take notes on the fashions?
Me?
”

“Of course, my dear. It is sure to be a grand occasion with every woman there dressed to the nines. Anthony can tell you their names, if you do not know who they are. Then just make brief notes about their dresses, their jewels, their headdresses. That sort of thing.”

Edwina looked at the notebook as though it were something slimy and unpleasant, but she dutifully put it into her reticule.

When they were finally in his carriage and on their way, Tony couldn’t take his eyes off her. And in the close confines of the carriage, he became aware of her perfume, a slightly exotic, spicy scent with a musky undercurrent that suited her well. And was liable to drive him to madness.

He could not wait to see the stir she would cause at the theater.

“You’re staring,” she said.

He grinned. “I can’t help it. You look so beautiful. I am ready to concede our wager right now, for I have no doubt you will stoke the flames of jealousy in the hearts of every woman in attendance. Not to mention earning the admiration of every gentleman.”

“You are very gallant to say so. But I fear we may
never find out if this traffic does not let up. We are barely moving.”

Tony didn’t care if they ever got to the theater. He would be happy to spend the entire evening inside the carriage with Edwina. And he knew just how he would use that time.

“But Flora will never forgive you,” he said, “if you don’t come back with notes for her fashion report.”

She gave a contemptuous little snort. “She will be even sorrier when she sees what I give her.”

“What’s this? Defeated before you begin? Can this be the Edwina I know, the one who rises to every challenge, who never says no?”

“Well…”

“The Edwina I know would never give up before she’d begun. And I’ll bet she would do a fine job.”

“Yes, but it is well known that you will bet on anything.”

“And just as well known that you will never reject a challenge.”

“Are you suggesting yet another wager, sir?”

“Yes, I believe I am. I will wager that you can provide Flora with a creditable set of notes on the fashions seen at tonight’s performance.”

“But I am sure to lose. Why should I accept such a wager?”

“Perhaps to even out the results. I am just as sure to lose the wager about your dress.”

“And what stakes this time?”

“Oh, the same, I think. A boon of the winner’s choice, to be named at claiming. Same restrictions.”

“So, if by some odd chance I win both wagers—”

“You get two boons of your own choosing. Or I could win two boons—unlikely, considering the success you made of your supposedly paltry wardrobe—or we could each win a boon. Whatever the results, it should be an interesting evening, don’t you think?”

They locked gazes, and he could swear she was thinking exactly what he was, that the personal boons could prove more than merely interesting. He knew what his boon would be. Would hers be the same?

“Yes,” she said at last, her voice a notch huskier than usual, and he wondered if she was responding to his silent question. “Very interesting. All right, I accept. If I am able to make decent notes for Flora, then I win a boon. If not, you win. Shall we record it in your little book?”

“Oh, I don’t think that is necessary.” He took her chin in his hand. “We can simply seal our bargain in the usual manner.” He leaned forward and kissed her.

Her lips met his softly and with a small sigh. That sigh, almost his undoing, sent a surge of desire rushing through his blood as fiery and sweet as a shot of brandy. But now was not the time to lose control. Instead, he kept it unhurried, soft, and delicate.

They savored each other slowly and deliberately,
without hunger or urgency. It was a kiss of exploration and wonder, each testing and tasting and relishing the other in ways unlike their other kisses, as though a new kind of acceptance had evolved between them. Tony dined on her lush mouth for long moments before leaving it, to skate his lips along her jaw and down the elegant length of her throat. At the base of her neck he found a tantalizing pulse beneath the fine white skin and pressed a kiss against it.

He had made his way back to her mouth, deepening the kiss, when the carriage lurched forward and brought them both to their senses. Tony pulled back, reluctantly, and set her away from him. It was one of the most difficult things he’d ever done.

“As much as I would like to continue such delightful activity,” he said, “I fear for your beautiful dress and your charming coiffure. It would be a shame if you were to lose your wager—the first one, that is—because your gown is hanging askew and your headdress is listing westward.”

She smiled and checked her dress, making slight adjustments. “Thank you,” she said.

“For kissing you, or for stopping kissing you?”

“Both.”

“Ah. Well, I do feel as if I may have claimed my boon before it was earned. Forgive me. You are simply irresistible this evening. At any time, actually, but the closed carriage emboldened me.”

She smiled again, but said nothing. Her eyes
seemed to have grown even darker, however.

“Once again,” he said, “you have convinced me that you know how to please a man. I find myself wondering who taught you. You said you’d been in love before.”

“Yes, a long time ago.”

“Tell me about him.”

He felt her stiffen slightly beside him. Perhaps he should not have broached so personal a subject, but he really wanted to know. If there was some ideal he was being measured against, he wanted to know what, or who, it was.

“He was a Frenchman,” she said at last. “I met him in London and followed him to France. He was one of the leaders of the Gironde, and I had hoped to be involved in bringing about the republic they envisioned. Of course, that was not to be.”

Tony’s gut tensed up into a tight knot. This was not what he’d expected. He ought not to have asked.

“He was among the Girondins sent to the guillotine?”

“Yes.”

Tony took her hand and held it between both of his. “I’m so sorry, Edwina. It must be very painful for you still. It was very intrusive of me to ask.”

“It’s all right,” she said, and gave him a weak smile. “It was a long time ago.”

“What a dreadful way to lose someone you love.”

“I do not suppose there is any easy way, but yes, it was quite dreadful.”

“What was it like to be in Paris then?” he asked, genuinely curious.

And she told him—with some reticence at first, but she grew more voluble as he asked specific questions about events and people and politics. He tried to keep the conversation away from the topic of Gervaise de Champdivers, the man she’d loved. But he had been an integral part of the events and climate of the time, so it was impossible to avoid mention of him. Yet Edwina seemed composed as she spoke of him, almost serene. Tony was not made to feel as though he intruded. She spoke to him as a friend, and that warmed his heart.

He was stunned to learn she’d been imprisoned. And his heart ached for what she must have felt when the cheering crowds outside the prison announced her lover’s death. She had not, of course, admitted they had been lovers, only that they had planned to marry one day but had been too involved in more important matters to get around to it. But Tony knew. Gervaise had been her lover and the great love of her life, and she’d lost him in the most cruel manner imaginable.

He wanted to enfold her in his arms when she spoke of that frightful October, but she didn’t need his arms. She was strong and she had survived, despite a broken heart and broken dreams. He didn’t
know another woman, except perhaps Flora, who could have endured as much and risen above it. Edwina Parrish was quite a remarkable woman, and he could no longer deny he was falling in love with her.

He understood now her need for restraint and control in her life, after seeing what havoc could be wreaked when passions turned to unbridled chaos. He was more determined than ever to help her break free of those restraints, to see the caged bird fly again.

And he wanted to fly with her when she did.

“I am sorry your dreams were shattered so violently,” he said. “But I also hope you have not stopped dreaming. Life goes on.”

“Yes, it does. I do not often indulge in dreams anymore.” She gazed at him with sharp interest in her fine dark eyes, as though seeing him in some way for the first time. “But sometimes something new and unexpected comes along to give me hope to dream again.”

His heart soared to think he was the new and unexpected thing in her life.

“There is the peace, for example.”

And his heart plummeted back to earth with a thud. He ought to have known her dreams would be selfless and on a grand scale. He looked away so she would not see the disappointment in his eyes, and pretended to flick a bit of lint from his coat sleeve.

“You think it will last?” he asked. “This new peace? You trust this Bonaparte fellow?”

“I hope it will last. We have been too long at war and our people have suffered too much for it. As for Bonaparte, he has at least brought stability to a nation that had almost destroyed itself.”

“I don’t trust the little blackguard for one moment,” Tony said, “and think he duped the government into signing a treaty favorable only to himself. But I, too, am weary of war and ready to celebrate peace. Ah, and here we are.”

The carriage had finally made its way to the front of the line and come to a stop at the Bow Street entrance of the Covent Garden Theatre. The columned portico was filled with a fashionable crowd of people waiting to go inside. There was an air of excitement in the din of voices heard above the clatter of carriages.

“Let us begin tonight’s celebration.”

A
nthony handed her out of the carriage. She made a quick adjustment to the cording that held her tunic in place, flicked the tasseled ends, and was ready to face the crowd. The first thing to meet her eye was a woman swathed in pink silk, with a head wrapped in a complicated turban sporting a huge topaz brooch. She stood only a few feet away and scowled at Edwina as though she were some loathsome swamp creature who’d just slithered ashore. She made a great show of lifting her chin in haughty disdain and tugged on the arm of the gentleman at her side. As they walked up the few steps to the portico, the gentleman turned. When he saw Edwina, his brows lifted and his lips curved up into a smile. The woman spoke sharply
to him and he turned back to her and led her inside.

“Now, I would call that a clear win,” Anthony said. “Congratulations, my dear. I owe you a boon. What shall it be?”

“I think it best that we wait until after the performance to discuss boons.”

He gave her a seductive grin and offered his arm to lead her inside. “How shall I bear the wait? That was Lady Craig, by the way. If you’re taking notes.”

“Oh. Please remind me when we’re seated. Lady Craig wearing pink silk.”

“It was a rose crepe Russian tunic. I shall remind you.”

They jostled their way through the crowd into the large vestibule, where stoves were lit against the chill autumn air and several large groups mingled before making their way to boxes or galleries. Anthony discreetly pointed out several women of note as they headed toward the grand double staircase leading to the upper boxes. Edwina tried to commit to memory every name and dress style, but heavens, there were so many. It was a splendid occasion that boasted almost every member of the
ton
who was in Town. She wondered how Anthony had managed it. Perhaps they had all lost wagers to him and this was his payment.

But that was not fair. From what Flora had said, he had kept his name out of the endowment and the
benefit. He was doing it to please himself, because it was a fine and generous thing to do, not to publicly flaunt a grand charitable gesture. He must be very proud.

And so was she. It warmed her heart to know he had done all this in support of a class of people so often overlooked. The widows and orphans of soldiers were frequently left in the most desperate levels of poverty. He could not have chosen a more deserving group in need of a charitable endowment. At some point, she would like to know more about it, to understand exactly what services the endowment monies would provide, and to know how she might be of help. But she would first wait to see if he admitted his involvement.

It was the least he could do, after all she had admitted to him.

Edwina could still not believe how easy it had been to tell him about France and about Gervaise. Easier even than telling Flora. She had felt so close to him in that moment, after that lovely long interlude when they had kissed and kissed. Something had changed between them during that kiss. It was as if they had each laid themselves bare before the other in an act of mutual revelation. How odd that such a seemingly momentous thing should happen during a kiss, or series of kisses, that was more gentle than passionate.

Without fanfare or upheaval, he had unlocked yet another little piece of her heart. She feared it
would not be long before he had taken full possession of it, and that notion shook her to the core.

“Edwina!”

The familiar voice pulled her from her reverie. “Simon! And Eleanor. Oh, how wonderful to see you.”

She threw her arms around both her friends, then stood back holding a hand of each. “You both look radiant. Marriage certainly agrees with you. When did you get back?”

“Only yesterday, in fact,” Simon said. “We’ve not even had a chance to come by and see you and Nick. But my father had secured a box for this performance and asked us to come along.”

“And I have never heard Mrs. Billington,” Eleanor said, “so here we are at the theater before we’ve even unpacked. I am looking forward to it. My goodness, don’t you look stunning.”

“I am sure I cannot compare to the newly wedded radiance that glows all about you. Oh! Heavens, how rude of me.” She turned to Anthony and brought him forward with a touch on his sleeve. “Allow me to introduce Mr. Anthony Morehouse. Anthony, these are my very good friends, Simon and Eleanor Westover.”

Anthony took Eleanor’s outstretched hand and kissed it. “Your servant, madam.” Then he took Simon’s hand and gave it a quick, manly shake.

“Morehouse?” Simon asked. “Could you be the same Morehouse—”

“—who now owns the
Cabinet
,” Edwina said. “Yes, Simon, this is my new employer.”

“And I believe,” Anthony said, “that I am addressing the infamous Busybody?”

Simon cast a questioning look at Edwina. At her nod, he smiled. “Egad, keep your voice down, sir. I should not like the whole audience to know that little secret.”

“Don’t worry, Westover, it serves no one to have it known that the old woman they hold dear is really a very tall young man.”

“Morehouse! You dog!”

A voice from the crowd beckoned Anthony, and he rolled his eyes. “If you will excuse me a moment, Edwina, I shall be right back.”

He edged his way through the crowd to stand by a fair-haired gentleman who was eyeing Edwina through his quizzing glass. Eleanor, unaware of the man’s brazen scrutiny, grabbed Edwina by the arm and lowered her voice.

“My dear, he’s gorgeous!” At a significant look from her husband, she added, “I’m sorry, Simon, but just because we’re married doesn’t mean I’m blind. The man is a golden idol, Edwina. Not at all the ogre I expected when I heard the magazine had a new owner.”

“Nick wrote me about the wager,” Simon said. “I’m surprised to see you with him. I’d have thought you’d be scratching his eyes out at every
opportunity. But you look to be getting along…rather well.”

Edwina felt her cheeks color. “We’ve become good friends, that’s all. And I still intend to win the wager and have the
Cabinet
all to myself.”

Simon cupped Edwina’s cheek and said, “My God, you are blushing. Do not tell me you have finally fallen in love again after all these years?”

Edwina shrugged, unwilling to commit one way or the other.

“Oh, Edwina. How marvelous.” Eleanor bent closer and lowered her voice to a whisper. “And I can tell you from personal experience that when you find someone to love, someone who loves you in return, don’t waste another moment grieving over the past. Carpe diem, and all that.”

“It is time,” Simon said. “Long past time. Gervaise would agree, my dear, that you have kept to yourself long enough. It is time you started living again.”

“My sentiments exactly.”

Edwina jumped at Anthony’s voice. She had not seen him come up behind her and was mortified to think how much he’d heard.

“That is why I invited her this evening,” he said. “She spends much too much time cooped up in that house working on the
Cabinet
. Now, however, I think we must make our way to our box. It is an honor to meet you both.”

“A moment, please.” Edwina looked at Simon. “Can you have the next installment of ‘The Hermitage’ ready next week? I need five thousand words, if possible.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Simon said and gave her a wink.

“And one more thing,” she said. “Eleanor, how would you describe the dress you are wearing?”

Eleanor gave her a puzzled look. “My dress?”

“Yes. What do you call that style with the drapery over one shoulder?”

“Oh. It’s called a mantle of Venus. It’s just a long piece of lutestring pinned up here—see?—and twisted around the back. It’s very simple. My cousin, Mrs. Poole, showed me how to do it. She is passionate for the antique look.”

“Very clever. Remind me to tell you one day how my own dress came to be.”

“Oh, you must. It’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.”

“And what do you call that sort of sawtooth border along the underdress and the edge of the sleeves?”

“Vandyke trimming.”

“And the band twisted in your hair?”

“A fillet.”

“And the feather thing?”

“An esprit.”

“Come, Eleanor,” Simon said, “You two can talk fashion some other time. My parents are waiting.
I’ll come by and drop off ‘The Hermitage’ in a few days, Ed. Good to meet you, Morehouse.”

“Now, that was very well done,” Anthony said, as he led her up the stairs to his box. “You can mention your friend in the fashion report, and you have the accurate description as well. Very smart, my dear.”

“Let’s hurry, Anthony, so I can write down my notes before I forget everything. And by the way, who was that man staring at me through his quizzing glass?”

“That was Lord Skiffington. He had apparently wagered against you showing up.”

“So, I am now the object of wagers other than your own? That is rather unsettling, if you must know.”

“It is to me, too. And so I told Skiffy, in no uncertain terms. Look to your right, my dear. That is the Viscountess Downe—wearing a petticoat of Italian gauze under a rose satin robe trimmed in festoons of lace.”

Edwina stopped and stared at him. “How do you
know
these things?”

“I read
The Ladies’ Fashionable Cabinet
.”

Edwina laughed aloud, causing more than a few withering glances to be cast in her direction. Anthony tucked her arm under his and hurried up the stairs.

When they were finally settled in their box near
the stage, Edwina took only a moment to admire her surroundings, all white and gilt with beautiful plasterwork above the stage. She loved the opera, but had never had the pleasure of such an excellent vantage.

She wasted no time, though, in retrieving the little notebook Flora had given her. She dashed off a few lines about Lady Craig, Lady Downe, and Mrs. Simon Westover before turning her attention to the fashionably dressed people filling the three tiers of boxes. Plumed heads bobbed and jewels glittered in the candlelight of small chandeliers placed at intervals along the box circles.

“Oh, look,” she said. “There is the Duchess of Devonshire in the box opposite. And Lady Bessborough.”

“Flora will be pleased to have them mentioned in her report.”

“Let me see. The duchess appears to be wearing a white dress—oh, dear. I can’t tell what sort of fabric it is. Is it muslin?”

“Worked muslin.”

Edwina turned to find Anthony peering through Flora’s opera glasses straight at the duchess.

“Put those down,” she hissed.

“Why? Everyone else is doing the same. She is accustomed to it, probably expects it. And just for your information, there are quite a few glasses turned on you at the moment.”

“Me?” Edwina looked about the three circles of
boxes, the galleries above, and the pit below. He was right. Several gentlemen, and a few ladies, were frankly staring at her, with and without opera glasses.

“I must be some sort of novelty,” she said.

“They are drawn to your beauty, my dear. You outshine everyone here, and they are all dying to know who you are. Does it make you uncomfortable?”

“A little. But I have been stared at most of my life, so I am somewhat used to it. I just never could understand the sheer brazenness of the way it is done at the theater. But it makes it easier for me to justify staring back, if I need to see a dress close up. Now, back to the duchess. A worked muslin dress and a brown sash.”

“Not brown, my dear. It’s Egyptian earth. Last year it was
feuille morte
, dead leaves. But never, never simply brown.”

“All right, then. An Egyptian earth sash crossed in the back and hanging loose in the front.”

“A fine girdle of Egyptian earth sarsnet worn in an elegant cross behind and tied with a graceful negligence in front.”

She stared at him again. “And a white cap with pink feathers.”

“A capote of white satin with a spray of small pink ostrich feathers inclining to the right.”

“Heavens.” She quickly scribbled Anthony’s description. “How do you
do
that?”

“It’s all in the language, my dear. You see that woman over there in the turban with its tail dangling down? That’s Mrs. Whitney-Legge, by the way. Well, to my mind, that turban is a mess. Looks like it would fall apart if you jostled her. But you might easily describe it as twisted with stylish carelessness and finished off with a long end draped boldly over one shoulder. You see?”

“I think so. Let me try with the woman in the next box over. She is wearing a yellow dress—”

“Jonquil.”

“—with a decorated hem.”

“A narrow flounce.”

“She is wearing a sort of turban—”

“A demi-turban.”

“—made of the same
jonquil
fabric twisted with a shiny silver fabric—”

“Silver tissue.”

“—adorned with short white feathers.”

“A plumette of white heron feathers.”

Edwina looked at him and grinned. “You have missed your calling, sir. I ought to have asked you to write the fashion reports.”

“No, thank you. I am only showing you how it can be done. Once you have a few basic terms. Try again. There, in the third box over, second tier, are Colonel and Mrs. Hamilton. Have a go at her hat.”

“All right.” She lifted the glasses and studied the woman. “It’s a cap of beige satin—”

“Buff.”

“—buff satin covered in lace. The crown is full and confined with a white ribbon, and adorned with a cunning little white rosette at the side.”

“Perfect. See how easy it is? Now, across from us and up one box is Lady Julia Howard. She’s the dark-haired one on the left. Tell me about her dress.”

Edwina held up the glasses and found the lady in question. “It’s a petticoat of white satin under a robe of clear striped muslin. Plaiting at the sleeves. The bodice trimmed in ribbons of bright red…no, ribbons of coquelicot.” She turned to Anthony and beamed in triumph. “What do you think of that?”

“I think I am going to lose another wager.”

Edwina hummed softly as she sat beside him in the carriage. He could not be sure, but he thought the tune was meant to be Mandane’s great aria, “The Soldier Tir’d of War’s Alarms,” sung with such passion earlier by Mrs. Billington. Unfortunately, Edwina’s musical ear was somewhat less developed than Mrs. Billington’s.