Confessions of a Little Black Gown (2 page)

“You wretched little dog, are you listening to me? Come here!” She snapped her fingers, and after one last, great growling chew, Brutus let go of his prize and returned to his usual place, at the hem of her gown, his black eyes fixed on the man, or rather his boots, as if waiting for any sign that he could return for another good bite.

“I am so sorry, sir,” Tally began. “I fear his manners are terrible, but I assure you his pedigree is impeccable. His grandsire belonged to Marie Antoinette.” She snapped her lips shut even as she realized she was rambling like a fool. Going on about Brutus’s royal connections like the worst sort of pandering mushroom.

“No offense taken, miss,” he said.

Tally shivered at the rich, masculine tones of his
simple acceptance of her apology. It swept over her like a caress.

Then to her delight, he came closer, moving toward Thatcher’s desk with catlike grace, making her think of the men she’d imagined in her plays: prowling pirates and secretive spies. It was almost as if he was used to moving through shadows, aloof and confident in his own power.

Tally tamped down another shiver and leaned over to pick up Brutus, holding him tightly as if he could be the anchor she suddenly felt she needed.

Whatever was it about this man that had her feeling as if she were about to be swept away? That he was capable of catching her up in his arms and stealing her away to some secluded room where he’d lock them both away. Then he’d toss her atop the bed and he’d strip away his jacket, his shirt, his…

Tally gulped back her shock.

What the devil is wrong with me?
She hadn’t even met the man yet, and here she was imagining him nearly in his altogether.

Until this moment, she’d never understood her sister’s obsession with Hollindrake or Pippin’s for Captain Dashwell, but she’d joined their ranks in the blink of an eye and even before she’d spied more than a hint of this incomparable stranger.

Oh, dear heavens,
she prayed silently,
please say he is here for the house party. Please…

“I daresay we have met,” she continued on trying to lure him forward, force him to speak again, “but you’ll have to excuse me, I’m a terrible widgeon when it comes to remembering names.”

The man stepped closer, but stopped his progress
when the door opened and Staines arrived, a brace of candles in hand, making a
tsk, tsk
sound over the lack of light in the room. The butler shot the duke a withering glance that seemed to say,
You are supposed to ring for more light
.

Poor Thatcher
, Tally thought. He still had yet to find his footing as the Duke of Hollindrake and all that it entailed.

As the butler and the two footmen traveling in his wake went about the room lighting candles and illuminating the corners, Tally held her breath. Oh, just a few candles more and she’s see her future…

“Have we met?” she asked impatiently, and to further her cause, she shifted Brutus to one hip and stuck out her hand, which must compel the man, if he was a gentleman, to take the final steps into the circle of light.

“No, I don’t believe we have ever met, Miss—”

Oh, heavens, his voice was as smooth as the French brandy she and Felicity used to steal from their teacher’s wine cabinet. And it would be even better if he were whispering into her ear.

Tally, my love, what is it you desire most…

Oh, now you are being a complete widgeon
, she chided herself, closing her eyes, for she couldn’t believe she was having such thoughts over a perfect stranger. A man she’d never met. She only hoped this ridiculous tumult he was causing on her insides wasn’t showing on her face.

Taking a deep breath, she unshuttered her lashes and gaped in horror at the stranger before her. This was her future? Her destiny? No! It couldn’t be.

Certainly not this ordinary, rather dowdy-looking
fellow blinking owlishly at her from behind a pair of dirty spectacles, his shoulders stooped over as if he carried the burden of the world upon them.

Where had he come from? She leaned over to peer past him, searching for any sign of the man she’d expected, but there was no one else there.

Tally swayed a bit. Heavens, she was seeing things. If she didn’t know better, she’d say she was as jug-bitten as their London housekeeper, Mrs. Hutchinson.

But no, all the evidence was before her, for instead of some rakish character in a Weston jacket and perfectly polished boots, there stood a gentleman (well, she hoped he was at least a gentleman) in a coat that could best be described as lumpy, cut of some poorly dyed wool, with sleeves too short for his arms. Far too short, for his cuffs stuck out a good four inches. Then she glanced at his cravat, or rather where his cravat should be.

For in its place, to her horror, sat a vicar’s collar.

A vicar?

Tally’s heart stopped for a second time, and not for the same reasons as earlier. She looked at his throat again, convinced she’d been mistaken. He couldn’t be a…

Oh, gads, she’d nearly made a cake of herself over a…a…vicar.

She gulped back her mortification.
How could I have been so mistaken…?

And how so, for he stepped forward just then to take her hand in greeting—heavens, she’d forgotten she’d been holding it out now for what seemed like
an eternity—and his fingers wound around hers in a limp grasp, and he smiled patronizingly down at her as if she were some sort of simpleton.

In truth, she rather felt like one, and it was all she could do to return his greeting with a wan smile.

At this point, her brother-in-law rose abruptly, like a nervous cat. “Tally, how rude of me! This is my cousin…uh, um, Mr. Milo Ryder.” He paused for a second. “Mr. Ryder, this is my sister-in-law, Miss Thalia Langley.”

“Miss Langley,” he said, “a pleasure to meet you.” Then for just a moment, his fingers wound around hers, his grasp tightened and an unsettling shock of desire raced through her.

Tally glanced up at him and found herself looking into a pair of deep, brown eyes, a color akin to a pot of Turkish coffee like their Nanny Rana used to make for her and Felicity when they were children.

Mr. Ryder’s eyes held that same mysterious hue—a color that was rich, subtle, and tempting.

And as she looked again into his eyes, she found him searching her face, examining her, as if he sought the answer to some elusive question as well.

Tally trembled. Actually shivered, for she swore she felt him peer into her very soul. His fingers went from being flaccid to warm and hard, as they suddenly held hers with a steely determination that belied the meek collar around his throat.

Oh, dear heavens, whatever is happening?
she wondered, closing her eyes and trying desperately to still her beating heart, keep herself from babbling something completely ridiculous.

And then all her romantic imaginings were gone. His fingers dropped hers, and when she looked up again, she found to her dismay that his features were now masked over, the mystery in his eyes had vanished, and he had turned to ask Thatcher something about the stabling of his horses.

Yet the moment still held Tally in its grasp.

She shook her head over Nanny Jamilla’s advice. That a woman just knows when she’s about to fall in love.

Given that Jamilla, having been at the French court, had fallen in love enough times to fill the advertisement page of the
Morning Post
, Tally had to assume she knew of what she spoke, but this couldn’t be!

In love? With a vicar?!

Tally’s hand went to her mouth to cover the gasp that was about to escape, not that Mr. Ryder noticed overly much for he was blandly nodding at something Thatcher was saying about the pastures.

So he was staying? And for some time, by the sound of it.

Tally pressed her lips together. Oh, she could only imagine Felicity’s reaction to this uninvited guest. Even if he was Thatcher’s cousin.

Tally almost felt sorry him. Without even an “Honorable” or a “Sir Charles” or a “Sir John” attached to his name. Felicity would be cross as crabs over his arrival.

As if on cue, her sister, the Duchess of Hollindrake, breezed into the room. “Oh, Thatcher, there you are! I was about to call you to dinner, but I was delayed by—” She stopped in mid-sentence at the sight of her husband’s guest, and to her credit, she smiled
widely, that is until her sharp gaze landed on his less-than-fashionable cuffs.

“Felicity, how perfect. I was just about to send for you,” the duke said. “Look who has arrived: my cousin, Mr. Ryder.”

Tally took a step back, not that Felicity would make a scene in front of a guest, but, well, it was just best to be out of the line of fire where Felicity was concerned.

But to Tally’s shock the wide smile continued to spread across her face and she held out her hand in greeting. “Cousin Ryder! What a charming surprise! I must say, I thought you were going to arrive next week—”

Tally looked in shock at her sister and then back at Mr. Ryder.
He had been expected?

He moved forward without any measure of grace, nearly treading on Tally’s toes in the process. “Well, I—I—I—I…that is to say, I—I—I,” he stammered. “I hope my early arrival isn’t an—an—an inconvenience, for I arrived in London a week past, with the idea of staying with our cousin, Lady Bethsheba, but I discovered her suddenly out of town—imagine that! And with the costs too dear to stay on my own—for you cannot believe the prices associated with a stay in London and though I have inherited of late, I daresay parting with funds at such extortionate rates taxes my sensibilities unduly—so I made the unpardonable decision to impose myself upon your kindness earlier than I had been expected.”

Tally cringed.
Oh, goodness, he’s quite the mushroom, and a pinchpurse.

Good luck matching him, Duchess
, she thought, using not her sister’s title, but the childhood nickname Felicity had carried into adulthood.

Meanwhile, Felicity had wound her arm around Mr. Ryder’s and was leading him from the study. “Perhaps your early arrival is most fortuitous, sir. Since you are intent on finding a wife”—she looked him over again—“Yes, well, perhaps it is best you’ve come early, for I believe we do have our work cut out, if you don’t mind my saying. And there is no time like the present to begin.”

“Um, I…that is to say…” he stammered anew, glancing over his shoulder at Thatcher as if he expected the duke to step in and save the day.

Tally nearly smiled. Mr. Ryder had asked Felicity to find him a wife? Oh, the poor man. But she wouldn’t have been in a rush to pity Mr. Ryder if she had known what Felicity had in mind next.

The duchess glanced over at her sister. “Tally, I’ll need your help with Mr. Ryder.”

“
Me?
”

“Of course, you!” Felicity’s smile widened, which was never a good sign. Like a cat about to pounce. “Unless you have something better to do?”

She could think of a thousand things, quite frankly, for this situation had all the early warnings of an impending shipwreck. “I was actually about to—”

Not that her sister was listening, having already launched into her plans, explaining them in depth to her unlikely
parti
. “Now, Cousin Ryder, I’ll see you settled in your room and then once you’ve had a chance to clean up, please join us all for dinner.” She smiled at the poor vicar. “I’ll have you seated
next to me, so we can discuss which of the ladies I’ve invited might suit you best. Though I think you will be quite pleased with the one particular lady I have in mind. Have you heard of Miss Esmerelda DeFisser?”

Tally’s head spun. Miss DeFisser? Was her sister mad? Whatever made Felicity think that an heiress of rank and privilege would look twice at a vicar? And a scruffy one at that? Oh, he might be one of Thatcher’s relations, but the connection was hardly enough to entice Miss DeFisser into becoming a country parson’s wife.

But there it was, that look of unholy determination on Felicity’s face, and Tally knew there was nothing that could stop her sister from promoting the improbable match.

She glanced heavenward. She didn’t know who she pitied more. Mr. Ryder or Miss DeFisser. And further, for some odd reason, she found the idea of Mr. Ryder being matched to any woman quite disconcerting.

And why, she knew not, for it wasn’t as if she had the least bit of interest in him.

None whatsoever, she told herself as she followed him and Felicity out of the study. That is, until he passed through the shadows, and for a moment, she spied him as she had earlier—rakish and mysterious. Perhaps it was the ragged cut of his hair falling past his collar or the way for the tiniest second his shoulders straightened and he looked so much taller.

Then she blinked and the rake was gone, leaving Tally wondering for once at her own sanity more so than her sister’s.

M
iss, where do you want your trunk?” the footman asked as he and another fellow, recruited from the fields by the look of him, entered the suite of rooms that Felicity had set aside for Tally, Pippin, and Aunt Minty.

Tally glanced up from the desk where she’d been sitting sketching. The spot afforded her the last bit of evening light and a pretty view of the maze below. Over the past few days, she’d spent much
of her time (when Felicity didn’t have her running a thousand and one errands over the ducal estate) trying to sketch from memory the widow from the posting inn.

Pippin sat up smiling, for she’d been hunched over a letter to her errant brother, and wiped the ink from her fingers.

Finally
, Tally thought as the pair set the large black trunk down in the middle of the room with a heavy
thud
. Her luggage had been found.

Pippin and Tally both shot a hurried glance in the direction of Aunt Minty’s room, which adjoined theirs, hoping the noise hadn’t awakened their sleeping companion.

“Thank you both,” Tally whispered as the men left, and then opened her writing desk to fetch the trunk key. When she turned around, key in hand, she looked again at the trunk.

“Oh, heavens, that is not mine,” she said to Pippin, pointing at the battered piece now taking up a good part of the parlor they shared.

Certainly hers was similar—for didn’t all traveling trunks look alike?—but this one was not hers, of that she had no doubt.

Tally groaned. Of course it wasn’t Felicity’s trunks that had gone astray, but hers. Her only trunk. With all her new clothes.

“Do you want me to fetch them back?” Pippin asked, moving toward the door.

As much as she wanted to order the footmen to take it back downstairs and drop it on her sister’s head, she doubted there was much chance of them doing that. So instead Tally said, “No. Sit and finish
your letter. We’ll leave it be for now, and after dinner I’ll ask Thatcher to send someone back to the posting inn—yet again—and see if my trunk has been returned there.” She paced around the well-worn piece. “I could just strangle my sister,” she said. “Now I haven’t anything to wear tonight.”

Pippin glanced over at her. “What is so special about tonight?”

“Nothing!” Tally said, a little too adamantly, and even as she heard the note in her voice, she turned away from Pippin for fear her astute cousin would see the blush on her cheeks.

So that wasn’t the entire truth, she conceded silently.
He
was going to be there. In the hour since Mr. Ryder had arrived, Tally had been unable to shake a niggling notion that there was more to the man than met the eye.

No, she knew what she’d seen—a rakish, mysterious man. It wasn’t just what she thought she’d seen, but also what she’d heard. His voice. Not that tremulous stutter he’d fobbed off on her sister, but the one he’d used earlier.

No offense taken, miss.

He’d spoken like a man who’d been in command. Or was used to getting his way. Then there were his eyes, that searching, penetrating glance he’d cast over her like a net. He’d taken her measure in that moment, and she wondered down to her toes what he’d thought of her.

If he’d found her as maddeningly perplexing as she found him. Or worse, if he thought nothing more of her than Hollindrake’s very ill-mannered sister-in-law.

“Whatever is wrong, Tally?” Pippin asked.

“Nothing,” she said quickly. Then amending that to add, “It’s just that I am tired of wearing Felicity’s old gowns. I find it very vexing she won’t share one of her new ones and I am stuck wearing these old things.” She held out the fine muslin as if it were rags. “My sister is a wretched, interfering, pestilent—”

“Eh, eh, eh,” Pippin said, shaking her finger. “Remember, we agreed to go along with this…this…”

Tally knew exactly what her cousin was about to say, so she offered the kinder description. “House party?”

Pippin smiled. For privately they referred to it as “Felicity’s Infernal Folly.”

Tally paced a few more steps around the trunk. “If only Mr. Thurber would agree to produce our play—then we’d have money of our own and wouldn’t have to depend on her wretched charity.”

Or her meddling matchmaking
.

“Well, he hasn’t,” Pippin said, with her usual practicality. “And so we must make the best of our situation.”

“Harrumph!” Tally replied as she sat down on the beast of a trunk that had started her tirade.

“I wonder whose that is?” Pippin murmured as she eyed the large piece of luggage. “They are probably as unhappy as you are to have their belongings missing.” She paused for a second. “Perhaps we could try to discover who owns it and reunite them.

Tally glanced down at it. “There aren’t even any initials,” she said, shaking her head. “But there is
another way to find out.” She returned to her writing desk, tucked her own trunk key away and set to work rummaging around inside, eventually smiling as she discovered what she was looking for amidst the pen nibs, bits of charcoal, sealing wax, and other treasures she kept tucked inside.

When she held up her set of lock picks, Pippin’s eyes widened.

“Tally, you mustn’t!”

“Why not?” she said eyeing the thick lock on the front of the trunk. “I don’t see how else we can discover who this belongs to.” She knelt before it and took another gander at the lock before setting to work.

While the exclusive Bath school, Miss Emery’s Establishment for the Education of Genteel Ladies, that Pippin, Tally, and Felicity had attended was known for producing some of the most accomplished young ladies in Society, there were a few students whose…
ahem
…unusual upbringing had brought them to Bath with some scandalous skills, ones that they were all too happy to share with their fellow schoolmates, who welcomed the diversion from lessons on proper table settings and dance steps.

Always curious, Tally had learned how to pick locks from their former classmate, Miss Kathleen Escott—albeit only to open Miss Emery’s wine cabinet on occasion. Ironically, the skill had turned out to be handy over the years in getting past the occasional secured door, a jail cell padlock, or in this case, a mysterious trunk. A talent far more useful than Miss Emery’s countless lectures on subjects
such as how long one must wear black upon the death of a second cousin once removed.

“Do be still,” she admonished as Pippin paced behind her. “I can’t concentrate with you fluttering about.”

“Tally, this is wrong! What if the rightful owner takes offense to you having searched through their belongings? They might accuse you of stealing something.”

She paused and glanced over her shoulder. “You’re going to lecture me on larceny? Besides, it was your idea to find the owner. How else are we to discover who it belongs to if we don’t open it?”

Pippin had the good sense to blush and then held up her hands and backed away.

Tally laughed and went back to work. After a few more seconds of concentration the tumblers clicked into place, and the lock opened. She leaned back, grinning at her success. “You’d best leave if you don’t want to be part of this.”

Pippin glanced at the door, her lips pursed together. “Oh, bother. In for a penny, in for a pound.”

“So I thought,” Tally said, getting up and tugging open the lid.

Pippin peered over her shoulder. “How disappointing. I had rather hoped for something exciting. A gentleman’s secret treasure trove, or at the very least, an elegant lady’s collection of shoes and fans.”

Instead, the only thing that met their eyes was a length of jet bombazine that made up a standard widow’s gown.

“Hmm,” Tally said. “I wonder if this is
her
trunk.”

“Whose trunk?”

“The widow at the posting inn.” Tally ran her hand over the bombazine, and the silk wasn’t the cheap sort she’d expected, but a rich, dense fabric that was far too dear for just ordinary mourning, meant only to be donned for a few months.

“I don’t recall seeing a widow,” Pippin said, before an awed “O-o-oh” escaped her lips as she touched the silk. “This must have—”

“Cost a fortune,” Tally said, holding up the bombazine, and realizing it was about her size. Carefully she laid it on the bed, wondering what sort of woman would invest so much in a gown that would only be worn temporarily. “She must have loved him very much,” she said, more to herself than to her cousin, but Pippin, with her sharp ears had heard her.

“Maybe, or mayhap he left her a very rich portion.”

Tally giggled. “Then she’s honoring his memory quite splendidly by throwing away his fortune on elegant gowns.” She traced her hand over the silk again, only to whirl around when she heard Pippin gasp. “What is it?”

Then Tally gasped as well as she beheld the dress Pippin was holding. A gown the likes of which neither of them had ever seen.

Tally’s mouth fell open. “Golly sakes. Why I’ve never—”

But before she could say more, a voice that stopped them both in their tracks interrupted their search.

“Yes, yes, I know dinner is in a half hour. Please tell Staines to set a place for the duke’s cousin, Mr. Ryder. I would like him seated next to me.”

There was a murmured, “Yes, Your Grace,” before
Felicity’s determined footsteps echoed anew down the hall.

“Oh, dear, she’s coming,” Pippin whispered.

Without another word, they stuffed the priceless silk and the gown Pippin held back into the trunk, and closed the lid just as the door to their room swung open.

Felicity walked into the room with all her usual authority. It wasn’t as if becoming a duchess had made her this way, she’d been born to the role. “Tally! Pippin! You aren’t dressed!”

“Felicity, I hardly see why we must go to all this fuss when it is only family—” Tally began.

Her sister’s brow rose only a fraction but it was enough to stop her twin. “Yes, that may be so, but tomorrow it won’t be. Our guests will start arriving first thing in the afternoon and I want to make sure the staff and”—she shot a reproving glance at her sister and cousin—“everyone else is up to the task. I have too many hopes attached to this house party—aspirations for all of us…”

Which Tally knew meant finding them husbands. Eligible ones. Lofty ones. Dull ones.

Felicity, meanwhile, continued on, blithely ignorant of the anarchy brewing in her sister’s heart, “—and if this house party is a success, as I am sure it will be, imagine next Season, when we return to London—”

Tally and Pippin shared a glance. They both had other plans for next year—as long as Mr. Thurber bought their play——and those plans did not include spending their days being foisted upon Society by Felicity.

And they certainly didn’t involve finding themselves entangled with some dull viscount or…
vicar…

Tally shook that wayward thought of Mr. Ryder from her mind and tried hard to concentrate on what Felicity was nattering on about.

Not that it was hard to discern—for Felicity had only two subjects on her mind of late: making her house party a blazing social triumph, and successfully mining her
Bachelor Chronicles
for likely marital candidates for Tally and Pippin.

But even Felicity could be diverted on occasion, and this time she paused mid-sentence, tipped her head and spied the trunk behind Pippin and Tally. “Well, that is good news. Your trunk has arrived.”

“But it isn’t—” Pippin started to say before Tally nudged her sharply in the ribs to stop her from finishing.

“—isn’t too late for my clothes to arrive,” Tally said. “How fortunate for me.”

Pippin nodded wordlessly in agreement, flicking a sideways glance at Tally as if she wasn’t too sure what her cousin was up to.

Or that she wanted to be any part of it.

“Well now you can dress appropriately for dinner and I’ll hear no more complaints about you not having anything to wear,” Felicity said, waving her hands at them and turning to leave. “Don’t forget to include Mr. Ryder in your conversations, Tally. I expect your help in getting him up to snuff before Miss DeFisser arrives. Perhaps you can invite him to play cards after dinner or take him for a walk and see where his interests lie, so I can decide how
best to proceed with him.” Her sister heaved an aggrieved sigh. “I fear he is not the man I expected. I had thought that a cousin of Thatcher’s would be more…more…” She paused, for Tally knew exactly what she meant.

More promising.

Felicity sighed and continued by saying, “There is nothing to be done now except to make do. And for that, Tally, I need you to be most attentive to Mr. Ryder.”

“Me?!” Tally began to protest, but was cut off by a
tsk, tsk
from her twin.

“I am not asking all that much,” Felicity said. “Just discover if there is anything interesting about the man so we can use those details to entice Miss De Fisser into marrying him.”

Interesting…
the word brought images of her first impressions of him. Of a rake who could seduce a woman with barely a glance. A pirate out to steal a lady’s heart. A highwayman…