Royal Regard (12 page)

She stopped and held up her book again, arm’s
length between them, as a saint might hold up a Bible to ward away
a demon. “I really must get to
Ivanhoe
, Your Grace.”

He simply smiled and walked ahead a few
steps, and her ingrained comportment couldn’t help following when
he asked, clearly resolute, “Do you enjoy novels?”

She felt her feet fall into step with him
again, skittish, walking nearly sidelong in her attempt to keep
herself away, but still on the gravel path.

“I read on other topics, of course, but
fiction best passes the time. In the case of
Ivanhoe
, I’m
told there is an intriguing subtext. I am to meet the author, you
see, and one wants to have something intelligent to say.”

“I must admit, I am not one for imaginary
tales, although I understand how such frivolity might catch the
fancy of a lady. Do you study anything of interest?”

She looked around, hoping to see anyone she
knew, restraining the contrary parts of her nature from discussing
the political undertones of the book in her hand, if only to tweak
his outdated notions about a woman’s intellectual capacity. She
knew if she took that path, she would either offend him utterly—not
the worst result—or they would find their way into a fascinating
conversation, a risk she couldn’t take. If he were half as
interesting as he was eye-catching, she would have no defense at
all.

“I study architecture on occasion,” she
continued desperately, hoping he would think her too much a
bluestocking to pursue. “I have been very fortunate to see so many
different styles of edifice, and have always had an interest in the
construction.”

“
C’est bien!
We have this in common.
Have you seen the Eastern domes? I have never travelled there—I am
not so well travelled as you,
ma minette
—but I am amazed at
the assembly of such structures. I cannot imagine how they remain
upright.”

“I have seen them,” she said, for the first
time with genuine interest. “They are astonishing. The first time I
was under such a roof, I admit an unreasonable fear it would
collapse, even after hundreds of years staying aloft.”

She searched for something to say to end a
conversation that was beginning to spur unwelcome curiosity. “But
such topics are deemed too intellectual a pastime for a lady in
London, I am told.”

At that, she saw Charlotte’s husband
approaching on a riding horse. He hadn’t yet seen her, but she
would wave him down as soon as Alexander was close enough that he
might remove the man from her presence by any available means.

Lord Malbourne stopped and smiled, taking up
her hand once again. He kissed her fingertips, then turned her hand
and touched his lips, the tip of his tongue, to her wrist, just
above her glove. As she sucked in her breath, he said, “There are
too many pastimes deemed unfit for ladies in London,
ma
chère
. I leave you now to your reading, but I hope we may find
occasion to speak again.”

Bella needed everything.
Furnishings and fittings for every inch of the largest house in
Russell Square, as well as refurbishment of their shipboard rooms
and the royal guests’ quarters on the Arabella. Carriages and
horses for every occasion. Exotic ingredients for Myron’s meals,
since he preferred not to eat like an Englishman. Clothing for
herself and her husband from the inside out. As frivolous as it
seemed, she and Charlotte shopped every day, having, for the most
part, successfully stemmed the tide of gossipmongers by having her
new butler turn them away at the door.

The results of this avoidance were
immediately apparent in more dramatic and flowery
talk-behind-the-fan wherever she went, but thus far, no one had
given her the cut direct, either because other women’s husbands
relied on hers for the greater portion of their income, or because
she was a favorite of the king. With his implied sponsorship, she
received even better service in the shops than she would have
inspired as a new countess.

Now that Bella was safely in England to stay,
she could buy more pretty things than would fit in a sea chest, her
gowns needn’t be chosen for sensibility, and for the first time in
her adult life, she could spend her husband’s money on anything she
wanted, with no question of how she would get it home. While she
hoped she weren’t so shallow as to have her head turned, she had to
admit it was exhilarating.

Today, for the first time, Charlotte and
their purchases were entirely focused on Bella’s appearance. They
had been traveling amongst the shops since just after the morning
repast. First at the
modiste
, where Bella had ordered a
dozen new gowns with outerwear and accessories to match, Mrs.
Harman’s for stays, then the bootmaker for walking shoes, the
shoemaker for slippers, the milliner for hats and bonnets, and
Rundell, Bridge & Rundell for jewelry to match it all.

On their way to Gunter’s to meet Charlotte’s
children and their nurse for ices, Bella had stopped the driver
when she saw a flash in the window of an almost-hidden linen
draper, the perfect color tulle for the overskirt of one of her new
tea gowns. The driver had been sent to announce their delay, and
now, she and Charlotte were deep in discussion over a huge table
filled with fabric and ribbons and openwork, seated on low chairs,
a servile shop girl placing item after item out for their
inspection.

Bella was holding up fabric samples from the
mantua-maker against the trims in the tiny shop when the deep
rumble of Wellbridge’s voice sent shivers down her spine.

“The lavender would look lovely with your
coloring, Lady Huntleigh, especially against the green watered
silk.”

She and Charlotte both jumped up from their
chairs and curtsied quickly as he signaled the attendant. “Please
wrap up the spool of purple ribbon for Lady Huntleigh.”

Charlotte argued, “Sir, you cannot—”

He turned a critical eye toward Charlotte’s
selections. “Perhaps the navy with your dark hair, Lady Firthley.
Or do you prefer the
coquelicot
?” He tilted his head. “No,
definitely the red. Just a bit scandalous, and nearly as exquisite
as the lavender on Lady Huntleigh.” His eyes rested on Bella as he
held up the ribbon next to her face, and she was somehow unable to
look away.

Seemingly by accident, his thumb ran down her
cheek. She gasped, and he halfheartedly apologized, sheepish but
not contrite. He motioned to the shop girl, who added the red
ribbon to the order. Charlotte’s eyes twinkled at him, filled with
confirmed knowledge that might or might not make it into the round
of gossip, though Bella employed a cold stare to try to freeze out
her cousin’s opinion before it even left her mouth.

Bella whispered to him, heart pounding in her
raspy throat. “You cannot just buy things for married women.”

At the same time, Charlotte curtsied again,
no longer objecting, and said, “How very kind of you, Sir. I had
been hoping for a gentleman’s opinion, and of course, Lord Firthley
would rather be hanged than set foot in a dress shop.” When Bella
scowled, Charlotte poked her in the side and hissed, “Have you no
manners? The appropriate response is, ‘Thank you kindly, Sir.’”

Charlotte turned back to Wellbridge, who
seemed to be having a difficult time containing his merriment. “I
must apologize for my cousin’s rudeness. Apparently, she still
believes herself in the back alleys of Calcutta. You have exquisite
taste. I had been advising the lavender myself.”

“Not at all, Lady Firthley. I’m sure Lady
Huntleigh is perfectly right, questioning the intent of a man
buying her gifts. An inch of ribbon today, a mile of liberties
tomorrow.”

“Quite right,” Bella sniffed as she told the
shop girl, “You may put back the ribbon. I won’t be—”

“Oh, no. You may not want it, Lady Huntleigh,
but I do.” Wellbridge snatched the bag from the girl, handing her a
half-sovereign from his pocket and waving away any change. As
though she were afraid he would take it back, she slipped out of
the room.

Bella’s voice mocked him, “What are
you
going to do with ribbon?”

“I daresay someone will appreciate it.”

Annoyed and not afraid to show it, Bella
shrugged a cold shoulder and turned up her nose. No doubt he bought
dresses for dozens of different women, and there was no reason for
her day to be ruined by it. She started sifting through the
offerings on the table and forced her heart to slow its
beating.

Wellbridge uncurled the red ribbon from the
bag, twisting it neatly in his white-gloved fingers. He handed the
coil to Charlotte, bowing politely. “I hope you will give my most
abject apology to Lord Firthley for my impertinence, but I simply
cannot stand to see you leave without this. It is so perfect with
the black lace, for that bit of decadence to pique his
interest.”

Charlotte blushed from the top of her head to
the lace on her bodice, stammering, “Of course. I’m sure he will be
grateful not to be forced to give an opinion.”

Bella studiously stared away from them,
pretending a wholehearted interest in white eyelet, making no move
toward a curtsey, or even a nod. Charlotte stepped on her cousin’s
toe, but Bella pulled her foot away, stomped it like a child, and
ran her fingers over a bolt of rose-point lace, all while
pretending there were no dukes or marchionesses in the room.

Wellbridge tipped his hat to them, lips
twitching, disregarding Bella’s deliberate cut. “I hope you ladies
enjoy the rest of your shopping trip.” He placed the bag in the
pocket of his greatcoat and left.

Charlotte rounded on Bella. “I have never in
our lives seen you so rude! He is a duke, Bella,
a duke
, and
one of Myron’s investors!”

Bella growled, “Just because you entertain
lewd fantasies of the Duke of Wellbridge does not mean I do.” She
sat suddenly on the low stool she had been occupying before his
interruption and spat out between gritted teeth, “You are perfectly
free to follow him out onto the street and beg his favors.”

Charlotte smiled slyly, “Oh, it is you he
wants to follow along, not me, and I do hope he leads you a merry
chase.” Charlotte took her seat delicately, straightening her
skirt, organizing the small pile of fabric she would be purchasing,
setting aside the bolts and spools she had decided against.

“That is ridiculous,” Bella snapped, once it
was clear Charlotte would hold her tongue indefinitely. “Look at
him! A man like that cannot possibly be interested in me.”

Charlotte remained silent, carefully wrapping
a length of green silk piping, placing it in the pile of items she
would take with her, then moving it to those rejected, then back
again. Bella reached across, stole the trim and placed it in her
own pile of purchases.

While Bella set aside four sable pelts,
Charlotte took back the piping and tucked it underneath the ribbon
the duke had given her, then stared indecisively at a two-ell
remnant of fringe the same shade as the new walking dress she had
ordered.

“He is merely being polite,” Bella finally
posited, “if you can call it that.
Scandalous bit of
decadence
, indeed.”

“Polite, is he? He has never said more than
two words to me before. Now you are back in England, and he is
suddenly
polite
?”

Bella found herself slamming bolts of lace
until the shop girl came back to hover nervously, picking up
rejected items before they could be torn in a fit of temper.

“Perhaps he hadn’t made it to your name yet
on his long list of conquests,” Bella glared, “I shall have to warn
Alexander to be on his guard when you start wearing black lace and
red ribbons. Now, since that awful man has so rudely bought the
entire spool of lavender ribbon right out from under me, I have to
choose another color. I so dislike pink, but perhaps this salmon
isn’t so dreadful. It might call for a darker green silk for the
bodice, though.” Bella extended an olive branch before the argument
deteriorated any further. “What do you think?”

Charlotte snatched Bella’s olive branch and
poked her with it: “I think the Duke of Wellbridge likes the
lavender.”

Bella restrained herself to a genteel growl,
“Then the Duke of Wellbridge may have the lavender sewn onto his
own frocks.” A tense rumble caught in her throat. “It will look
bloody lovely with his thrice-damned eyes.”

Charlotte complained, “Must you speak like a
sailor?”

Bella motioned to the linen draper, now
overseeing the shop girl to ensure the fabrics were in good repair
before they left. “The entire spool of salmon trim, please, and
five ells of the
Point de Gaze
. No, six. And all of this,”
she indicated the additional pile of purchases, pointedly
separating it from Charlotte’s, but paying lip service to calming
the disagreement. “We will have to stop at the
modiste
again
to order Pomona green instead of Saxon.”