The Duchess (6 page)

Allegra stared at herself in the mirror. How grown-up she looked. The faintly cream-colored silk with its silver lace overskirt was certainly the most beautiful gown she had ever possessed. She turned her head this way and that, admiring the image reflected back at her. The color of the gown brought out the translucence in her skin. Her mahogany hair looked richer, her eyes more violet. “Yes,” she said. Nothing more, but Madame Paul understood perfectly.

“You will have a shawl, silver and cream, woven as if by spiders themselves, cream kid gloves that will come to the elbow, a very small reticule made from cloth of silver, and silver kid dancing slippers. You must wear only pearls with this gown, Mademoiselle Morgan. The impression you will give is that of elegance and utmost purity.”

“Yes,” Allegra answered the modiste, unable to take her eyes off her image. What would Rupert think if he could see her in this gown, she wondered. Then, smiling, she turned to her aunt, questioningly.

Lady Abbott nodded her approval.

The gown was removed, and set aside to be returned to madame's studio for the final finishing. Now it was Sirena's turn. The dress for her cousin was equally wonderful. In the same style, it was of palest sky blue silk brocade with a narrow sapphire blue velvet ribbon belting the waist. The lace on the sleeves of Sirena's garment was cream color, but there was no overskirt, making the dress quite different. The bottom three inches of the hem were pleated tightly. Sirena squealed with delight when she saw herself in the glass.

“A cream lace shawl and elbow length gloves, a reticule and slippers the color of your belt, and for you also, pearls, Lady Sirena. The effect is delicate and fragile as is your blond beauty. Your mama will have to fend the gentlemen off, m'lady.”

Both girls laughed at this pronouncement, and even Lady Abbott could not restrain a smile.

“Ohh, Madame,” Sirena said, “If the rest of the wardrobes are as wonderful as these two gowns, we shall be the envy of London!”

The modiste smiled archly. “And they will be, and you will be,” she replied.

“What of the court gowns?” Lady Abbott asked.

“Cecile, bring the hoops,” Madame said. “They are so awkward. I do not understand why your King George is so insistent upon them. Most young girls do not know how to wear hoops, and they certainly dare not sit in them.”

“It is his custom, and he is a man who doesn't move easily with change,” Lady Abbott said.

“Are not all men like that?” Madame Paul responded with a shrug of her narrow shoulders. “Why should a king be any different? They bleed like any other as we
discovered when they lopped poor King Louis's head off his shoulders.” She shuddered. “Praise
le bon Dieu
that I had the presence of mind to escape France before that happened!”

“Surely a respectable modiste woman would not be harassed,” Allegra said.

“Mademoiselle, I created
only
for the aristocracy,” Madame Paul explained. “I worked with my sister and my niece. Francine came with me, but Hortense refused to leave France. She was killed along with many other innocents whose only crime was that they toiled for the nobility.”

“I am sorry, madame,” Allegra replied.

“As am I, Mademoiselle Morgan. I miss my sister.” Then the modiste was all business again.

“These gowns must be ready for the Bellingham ball,” Lady Abbott told the Frenchwoman again.

“Both wardrobes in their entirety will be ready two days before,” she promised Lady Abbott. “Your young ladies can then put on their new day dresses and parade about the park with the other misses.”

“My daughter and my niece will not appear until the night of the ball,” Lady Abbott responded.

“Ahh, how clever!” Madame Paul chuckled, looking with new respect upon Lady Abbott. The dowager marchioness was obviously not such a fool as she might appear. She chuckled again.

True to her word, the girls' new collection of wearing apparel arrived exactly when madame had promised them. They were brought by Mademoiselle Francine, who, having directed the footmen in unloading her carriage and the accompanying cart, presented her bill to Mr. Trent. She was mightily surprised to be
paid immediately, and in full. Usually it took the rest of the season, and sometimes months afterwards to collect all that was owed them. Often her aunt would withhold the court presentation dress from each collection in order to obtain at least something of what was owed her. Mademoiselle departed smiling, and was distinctly heard to be humming beneath her breath.

Allegra and Sirena could scarce contain themselves. Everything from the skin out was new and fresh. There were chemise dresses, and tunic dresses in fine cotton fabrics, striped and watered silks. There were shawls from India, velvet mantles, bonnets, a dozen ball gowns for each of them, matching shoes and gloves. There were silk petticoats, and fine lawn chemises as well as both silk stockings and tights. Honor and Damaris were kept busy the entire day putting away their mistresses' new wardrobes.

Lady Abbott encouraged her charges to rest until the night of their first ball. “You'll get little rest once you have entered into society. You are already invited to a number of other balls, card parties, picnics, and teas. Mr. Trent has been kept quite busy going over all your invitations. Do you not find it amusing that although no one has yet seen either of you, you are already quite popular?”

“I find it terrifying,” Allegra told her aunt. “My invitations are based upon my wealth. I could be as ugly as sin, Aunt, and with a face covered in warts, yet I should still be a succès fou among the gentlemen. They don't know me. They don't want to know me. They just want to marry my father's heiress. Is it possible, given my circumstances, to find a man who will love me? I think not. Whatever match I make must be made for practical reasons. But I vow that while I must go to the highest
bidder, he will have to be a man with whom I can get along.”

“Oh, Allegra, do not say such awful things!” Sirena begged.

Lady Abbott, however, sighed. Her niece was absolutely right in her assessment of her situation. “I am glad you are so prudent, and cognizant of your situation, Allegra,” she told her. “It is possible, however, to make a match with a good man in spite of your circumstances. Often, in time, love enters such a marriage, but if it doesn't, at least affection and respect will do nicely, I think.”

“That is terrible!” Sirena cried. “To go through life unloved by one's mate? I could not survive it!”

“You had best become more practical, daughter,” Lady Abbott said. “Once the bloom is off the rose, and you have filled the nursery with a new generation, your husband is, in all likelihood, going to return to London, and to the little mistress he has kept hidden away in a house near the park. That is the way of the world, Sirena. Not all men are like your late father or your Uncle Septimius.”

Sirena's eyes filled with tears, and her lower lip trembled, but she said nothing more. She was going to find a man who would love her forever. There was no use arguing with her mama about it. Mama just didn't understand at all. She never had.

The night of the Bellingham ball came, and at a quarter to ten o'clock in the evening Lord Morgan's town carriage drew up before the door of his house. Lord Morgan and Charles Trent emerged dressed in fawn knee breeches with three silver buttons at each side of their legs, dark double-breasted tailcoats which
were left open to reveal elegant waistcoats, ruffled shirt fronts, and beautifully tied white silk cravats. Their hose were striped black and white, and their black kid pumps sported silver buckles. They were followed by Lady Abbott who was wearing a rich plum-colored watered silk gown, a large powdered wig upon her head decorated with several white plumes sprinkled with gold dust and a diamond hair ornament. Lastly came Allegra and Sirena in their new gowns. The ladies entered the coach first, followed by Lord Morgan and Mister Trent. The vehicle then moved off.

When they reached the Bellingham mansion on Traleigh Square, they found themselves in a long queue of carriages slowly snaking their way to the town house's front door. As each coach reached its destination, footmen quickly opened the door, lowered the steps, and aided the passengers in disembarking the vehicle. Once inside there were more footmen to take the gentlemen's cloaks, and maids to take the ladies' mantles. The house, Allegra noted, was quite fine, but smaller than her father's. Ascending the stairs they reached the ballroom where they again joined a queue waiting to be announced. As they reached the majordomo, Charles Trent leaned over, and murmured in his ear.

“Olympia, Dowager Marchioness of Rowley, Lady Sirena Abbott,” the majordomo boomed, and then as Sirena and her mother entered the ballroom he announced, “Lord Septimius Morgan, Miss Allegra Morgan, Mr. Charles Trent.”

Zounds! Allegra thought to herself as her father escorted her to the reception line to greet her hosts, I have actually arrived. She was suddenly very aware of the many eyes upon her, then she caught herself, and curtsying said, “Good evening, Lady Bellingham.”

“Good evening, m'dear,” her hostess replied, and then introduced her spouse, who smiled at Allegra.

“Pandora's gel, eh? But more your gel, I'm thinking, Septimius,” Lord Bellingham said frankly.

“Indeed she is,” Lord Morgan replied proudly, and then with a bow moved on with his daughter to join Lady Abbott and Sirena.

Allegra didn't know where to look next. The ballroom was utterly magnificent. It seemed hardly possible that a house of this size could contain such a large chamber. The woodwork was all gold and white rococo. The chandeliers were sparkling crystal with gold fittings. The beeswax tapers burning in them were scented with honeysuckle. At one end of the room was an ornate gold baroque balcony thrusting out from the wall. Musicians, garbed in dark blue velvet knee breeches and matching coats, were seated on the balcony playing. The walls were covered in pale blue silk brocade and paneled with mirrors. Before each mirror was a gilded pedestal upon which rested a large blue Wedgwood urn filled with multicolored flowers. The floors were of polished wood. About the room were rose velvet settees and small gold chairs with sky blue velvet seats. Looking up, Allegra saw the ceiling of the ballroom was filled with gamboling cherubs.

Lady Abbott led her daughter and her niece to a settee, and sat down. “Now,” she said softly, “we await the bees to come to the flowers displayed so prettily before them.”

“Where did Papa and Charles go?” Allegra asked.

“To drink or play at cards with other like-minded gentlemen,” Lady Abbott replied. “Balls are for you young people.” She smiled.

About them the other mothers and guardians viewed
with discreet side glances the two young women who were said to be the season's greatest beauties, even though neither had been seen until tonight.

“Well, what do you think?” Viscount Pickford asked the Duke of Sedgwick.

“Which one is she? I was not looking when they were announced,” the duke replied. “The fragile little blonde?”

“No, the brunette with the pale skin, and the arrogant tilt to her head. God, she really is a great beauty, Quint! She'll wear the family jewels with elegance,” the viscount finished.

Quinton Hunter laughed. “We have not yet met. I may need a rich wife, Ocky, but we must suit.”

“Come on!” the viscount said enthusiastically. “The dowager and my mother were friends in their youth. I can use that as an entrée. You get the heiress, but I want to be introduced to that delicious thing who is the dowager's youngest daughter.”

“You haven't stopped gathering gossip since we got to London,” the duke teased his friend as they walked around the crowded ballroom.

“Good evening, Lady Abbott,” Octavian Baird said. “I am Viscount Pickford. I believe you knew my mother, Laura Beauley, when you were girls together in Hereford.” He bowed politely.

“Of course,” Lady Abbott gushed. “May I introduce my niece, Miss Allegra Morgan. Allegra, this is Viscount Pickford. And of course, my daughter, Lady Sirena.”

“And may I introduce my friend, Quinton Hunter, the Duke of Sedgwick,” the viscount continued. Then he turned to Sirena. “Have you room on your dance card for me, Lady Sirena?”

Sirena blushed, and perused her card, which until
now was empty. “I believe I have the third dance open, sir,” she said, quickly writing his name down. Thank you for asking.”

“No,” he quickly responded, “Thank you.”

“Sedgwick,”
Lady Abbott said thoughtfully. “Your father was Charles Hunter, wasn't he? And your mother Vanessa Tarleton?”

“Yes, Lady Abbott,” the duke answered.

“Your mother and I were distant cousins. We shared a great-grandparent, although I don't know which one,” she told him.

“Indeed, madame,” he replied. Then he turned to Allegra. “Would you have a dance available for me, Miss Morgan?”

“Alas, Your Grace,” she quickly replied, “but my card is full tonight. If we meet again during the season, I shall promise you the last dance on my card.” She gave him a faint smile.

He bowed, and without another word walked away with Viscount Pickford.

“Are you mad?” her aunt demanded. “No one at all has asked you to dance yet.
He is a duke!
At least Sirena pretended that while she was engaged, she could still fit Viscount Pickford onto her card.”

“I did not like the way he looked at me, Aunt. As if I were a horse and he were judging my points,” Allegra said.

“Perhaps he is shortsighted,” her aunt replied. “I can only hope you haven't insulted him so badly that he will not dance with you next time. You are just suffering from nerves, m'dear.”

Across the ballroom the Duke of Sedgwick watched Allegra and her aunt in their spirited conversation, a sardonic smile upon his face. “She had not yet accepted a single dance,” he said to his friend, Viscount Pickford.

“But she said her card was full,” Ocky replied.

“She lied,” the duke answered him. “Her open card was in full view.” Nonetheless he was amused more than insulted. This beautiful girl with her fabulous wealth and unimportant background had sent him away. She would, of course, pay for insulting him; and she would be aware she was being punished. He murmured something to Ocky.