Regency Brides Series: A Historical Regency Romance Box Set

by Laura Locke

  “Help you? Yes, of course!” Alexandra nodded briskly. “I like you, Cornelia. I would like to see you stand out.”

  “Th...thank you,” Cornelia murmured. All the inadequacy and the shame transformed inside her into an eagerness to please this woman and her brother. With her help, she could become like them: sophisticated and aloof. She would be one of this elite group around Lady Marckel. She would shine.

  “Of course! Now, we ought to go and listen to the reading, and then we shall make our plans! Tomorrow, you must visit me at Northend House, and we shall make a beauty of you.”

  “Thank you,” Cornelia said faintly. She followed the rest of the group to an area where seats were arranged artfully around an open space. A man was there, some rising poetic star, and she listened absently to the words. Her mind was working quickly.

  I never want to feel so plain and wretched again. This woman offers me the key. And she is friendly. I will accept the invitation.

  Who knew? If Lady Alexandra really could work her magic on her, she would be more than obliged to her. Mama would like it too, she was sure, and Aunt would approve heartily. Anything to rid herself of that awful taint of being a country mouse. She was feeling excited and eager for the next day to dawn.

  “You look cheerful,” Lucas commented as they rode back in the carriage two hours later. He was almost asleep, dark prints of sleeplessness under his eyes.

  “I am,” Cornelia smiled. “May I borrow the coach tomorrow morning? I'm going out.”

  “Oh.” Lucas looked pleased. “I'm glad you're settling down,cousin. Might I ask where you're going? And if I should accompany you?”

  “I'm going to Northend House. Lady Alexandra invited me for morning tea. And I think I'll be safe. After all, it's just me and her.”

  “Oh. Well, then. That sounds capital.”

  Cornelia swallowed, her hands clasped in nervous excitement. She felt her stomach twist, anticipation mixing with anxiety. Whatever happened, she would leave Lady Alexandra's house with her transformation begun.

  Chapter 7

  Northend house was tall and imposing, though not as grand as Marckel Place, for which Cornelia was grateful. She lifted the bronze door-knocker and rapped out a beat or two, then waited, feeling anxious.

  I hope I look good enough. This new white muslin is the best dress I own...

  She was wringing her hands together when the door opened abruptly. The lean, lined face of a steward looked out warily.

  “Name, my lady?”

  “Um...Lady Cornelia. I'm here to see Lady Alexandra.” Cornelia smiled, then bit her lip in vexation. She was probably making a fool of herself again. Lady Alexandra wouldn't talk like that and smile at a servant so ingratiatingly.

  The steward disappeared and returned a moment later. “Follow me.”

  Cornelia stepped into the stone entrance hall, feeling apprehensive as her thin soled shoes whispered across the marble floor. The floor was magnificent – red and black marble, inlaid in a pattern of interlocked circles, the marble cut in wedges and arrayed like the points of interlacing stars.

  It must have cost a fortune to make that.

  She breathed in tensely, following the man. She stood in the door while he announced her, feeling more intimidated by the moment.

  “Lady Cornelia, madam.”

  “Ah! Cornelia!” the voice purred. Lady Alexandra stood up slowly, her long wine-red gown drifting around her. Everything about her made Cornelia feel inadequate and lackluster, from her elegant hairstyle to that ravishing voice.

  “Alexandra.” She returned the curtsey and then sat down in the place her new found mentor indicated.

  “Now,” Alexandra said, eyes sparkling, “do take some tea. And when you're finished, we'll go up to my chamber and have a lovely chat.”

  Cornelia forced herself to be calm and drank her tea slowly, listening to Alexandra talk. The conversation was racy and bewildering. She found herself not able to follow much of it, for it was, she was sure, filled with allusions to things she'd never thought about. Things men and women did that she had always considered were sacred to marriage. Apparently that was not the way people saw things in society London.

  “But always discreet, you understand,” lady Alexandra sighed. “These things are all very much sub rosa.”

  “Sub rosa?”

  “Oh come, my sweet!” Alexandra chuckled. “You must know some Latin.”

  “A little,” Cornelia said shyly.

  “Under the rose-arbor. It means clandestine. Secretly.”

  “Oh!” Cornelia felt her cheeks flame. It was little things like that – these small, witty allusions – that left her floundering. That, and the approach to life. She felt like a fish in air. Unable to breathe or do anything except struggle to survive.

  “Now,” Alexandra said briskly. “Up to my chamber. Let's see what Mimette makes of your hair.”

  “Mimette?”

  “My hairdresser. She's French. Very haute couture.”

  “Oh.”

  Wincing at her own lack of sophistication, Cornelia followed her friend upstairs. She stood at the edge of the lavender wallpapered boudoir and breathed in the scent of irises and tuberose. Lady Alexandra pulled the bell to summon her French maid.

  The hairdressing session was brief and decisive. Mimette took one look at her hairstyle and pretended terror, saying: “Non! Madame! As it was last century.”

  Then she sat Cornelia down at the elegant dressing-table and restructured it. Cornelia stared at the result.

  “Is that me?”

  Alexandra laughed. “Do you like it?”

  “I...” Cornelia gulped. The girl in the mirror with the red hair and chestnut eyes must be her, but she looked nothing like herself. Her eyes seemed huge below the plaited hairstyle, her face longer and thinner and wearing a frightened expression.

  “Magnificent! Yes, Mimette?”

  “Oh, Madame! Much better.”

  Cornelia turned to face them. “I...”

  “Wonderful, is it not?” Lady Alexandra said firmly. “Now for the dresses. And I must teach you to walk while you are here. You have an unfortunate posture, hesitant and gauche. We can fix it.”

  Cornelia felt her cheeks burn with shame. How was she supposed to feel, when these two insisted on heaping shame after shame upon her head? “I think I would...”

  “You would be pleased,” Alexandra assumed, and without a backward glance, stood smoothly and walked into her bedroom next door. “Cornelia?”

  “Yes?”

  Cornelia followed her in, as much to escape the watching eye of Mimette as anything else. She sat down on the vast, canopied bed and looked about her, feeling her heart thud with apprehension. The room itself was beautiful, with a soft, pillowy bed and white silk on the walls. It was Alexandra's presence that made it frightening. With her feline grace and her scornful eyes, facing her was a test Cornelia was not sure she could pass.

  “Now. Gowns. I know you are young and unwed, so it is appropriate for you to wear pale colors, but...”

  “Alexandra?”

  The woman raised a brow. Cornelia felt her carefully-garnered courage faltering. “What is it, Cornelia?” she purred. Even though she spoke gently, Cornelia had the feeling a rodent might have when a cat played with it. The gentle touch hid claws poised to kill.

  “I...why are you doing this?”

  “Why, Cornelia!” the woman laughed. “I do it out of my good heart!” She flapped a hand. “I know, I know. I am a wicked woman. I do as I will, and flout the rules. But I have a kindness in me. And you appeal to me. I want to help you.”

  “I...” Cornelia looked at her hands. She was naturally a trusting person. Why did she not believe that? She looked up. To her surprise, Alexandra looked close to tears.

  “I...” the woman shook her head, then sighed. “I suppose it's foolish, isn't it? For me to tell you that it gives me pleasure to help you? That in your innocence I see what I never had? I sympathize with it
in one way.”

  Cornelia sighed. If that was true, she had a strange way of showing it. But Alexandra looked so upset she could not ignore it. “I'm sorry,” she sighed. “I was ungrateful. I didn't mean to be.”

  “I only wish to be friends,” Alexandra said, blinking appealingly. “I am lonely here.”

  That made the difference. Cornelia felt herself want to trust Alexandra. Want to believe her. She did seem lonely, remarkably. “Oh, Lady Alexandra. I would like to be your friend.”

  “Well, then.” Alexandra sniffed, then grew suddenly brisk again. “To work. Dresses. Here.” She threw open her wardrobe, revealing surprisingly few hangers with dresses on them. Those few that hung there were, however, exquisite. They were all in the darker shades Alexandra favored, modeled on the latest lines.

  “I think I have little suitable for you. Ah! The green. Here.” She drew out a dress of a darker shade of green than Cornelia would usually wear, but within the array of deep blues and dark reds and rich browns, it was the palest thing there was.

  “It's beautiful,” Cornelia breathed. In a shade of pale emerald, made of silk finer than any she had seen, the green dress was breathtaking.

  “Well, don't just look at the thing! Put it on.”

  Cornelia laughed and soon they were both laughing together as Alexandra's maid – an older woman than Linton by over a decade – laced her corsets and buttoned the gown.

  “There,” the woman said, stepping back. Alexandra dismissed her.

  “You may go, Allanson Let's have a look, Cornelia?”

  Cornelia turned to face her and Lady Alexandra covered her mouth with her hand in surprise. “Oh! You look charming.”

  Cornelia frowned at her reflection. She approached it slowly, the way she would a fabulous creature brought back from the tropics for display. She felt as if the woman in the mirror was just such a thing: an unknown entity, maybe dangerous.

  The green dress hung down from a high waist that cinched in just below her full bust. The silk swayed as she moved and it shone over the curve of her chest, making two fitted cap-sleeves that showed off the pale skin of her arms. The neckline was a low oval and her cleavage showed at the opening. The color did suit her – it brought out the contrast between her hair and eyes and made her hair seem living fire.

  “What do you think?”

  “I don't know what to say.”

  “Oh, think nothing of it,” Alexandra said kindly. “You may wear that dress as long as you are here. Though you should have some made to match it – the style is most becoming. And far more modish than what you had earlier.”

  “It is,” Cornelia admitted, swallowing hard. She couldn't help imagining how it would have felt to have looked like this when she was at the salon – it would have been hard to feel so intimidated when she didn't stand out so awfully. Lucas would like to escort a stylish cousin too, she thought with a flush of pride. And what would Francis think?

  “What say you?”

  “I love it. Thank you. Thank you, Alexandra.”

  The woman smiled. “It's nothing, Cornelia. It makes me happy to see you thus. As you should be.”

  Cornelia swirled, feeling the cool silk whisper around her. She did feel lovely. It felt as if someone had opened a door and let her out of the prison of shame. She could be one of those vaunted society ladies with their racy talk and their languid gestures. She could be just like them. She need never feel shamed again.

  “Thank you, Alexandra.”

  “Well, then. Where were we? Ah – we were going to correct that walk of yours. Now. You should be able to stand as if you were balancing something on your head. Like this. And glide...like so.”

  Cornelia tried to copy her. To her surprise, Alexandra came across and shifted her bodily, moving her shoulders back, pressing on her arms to bring her elbows in line with her body.

  “There.”

  After several such demonstrations, Alexandra seemed satisfied with her stance. Then she must glide from one side of the room to the other, smoothly as if she wasn't moving at all. Then they must practice standing, and some gestures.

  By the time the day was lengthening toward afternoon and Alexandra looked at the clock, bewailing how quickly time had lapsed, Cornelia felt drained. She dressed in her old plain gown that seemed hideous to her now, and slipped, dazed, away.

  At the townhouse, she slipped in through the door. Hurried up stairs.

  “Cornelia?” Lucas called from the drawing-room as she drifted past quickly. “Did you have an entertaining morning?”

  “Very entertaining, Lucas,” she said lightly. She could hear he probably wanted to talk, but she did not want to see anyone just then. She slipped into her bedchamber and closed the door behind her. Curled up on the bed.

  She felt exhausted, drained and ashamed. Am I really so gauche, so plain, so ordinary?

  She sat up and looked at herself in the mirror. In her day-dress, with her hair loosening from the elaborate style, her skin pale and her eyes looking mournfully out at her, she did look awfully young and unsophisticated.

  She felt a tear run down her cheek and reached into her purse to find a kerchief, her shoulders shaking.

  I am so ugly. Mayhap even Francis just felt pity for me.

  She cried, her face covered with the kerchief. Thank goodness she had met Alexandra. Her friend could transform her, take away the shame. Make her someone she could be proud of again.

  Chapter 8

  She and Lucas dined alone that night, a simple dinner in the upstairs parlor with just the steward in attendance, hovering benignly at the door lest they need something. With a fire in the grate, the light warm on the yellow walls, it should have been tranquil and genial, but Cornelia felt sad.

  “Cousin?”

  “Yes, Lucas?” Cornelia looked up from her plate. Since her visit with Lady Alexandra that morning she had felt exhausted. She still didn't want to face anyone, and she barely wanted to eat or talk.

  “You seem sad. I was thinking: I have to go to the embassy tomorrow morning...some business with a friend who's returning to Germany. I'll need to be friendly to a few chaps there. Mayhap we could host a tea-party here? I have a few associates, and you have friends: let's have our own small party, just with a few chosen guests.”

  “I don't know, Lucas,” Cornelia said tiredly. “We could try, I suppose.” She lifted her glass and sipped, breaking the eye-contact.

  “I worry for you, cousin,” he sighed. “You're not yourself.”

  “I'm just weary, Lucas,” Cornelia said with a tired smile.

  “I can understand that,” Lucas chuckled. “We have done an awful lot in the last few days – mayhap I've been too eager accepting invitations.”

  “No, Lucas. It's not your fault.” What was wrong with her? She felt so drained and sad!

  “Well, we can take things easy tomorrow – we don't have to host a party here...it was just a thought.”

  Cornelia thought about it. It would be no bad thing, she decided: trying to socialize again would be easier if they started on a smaller scale. She could try out all the things Lady Alexandra had taught her slowly, practice her new lessons. And if she laid low for a few days, the dress she had ordered – a new day-dress, made on the lines of the green evening wear – would be finished.

  “I'd like that.”

  “Well, then, capital!” Lucas smiled. Cornelia was touched by how pleased he seemed to have cheered her up.

  She finished her meal in silence, trying to think about all the things Alexandra had said. Lift your spoon like this. Look up. When you talk to someone who seems attracted to you, look up under your lashes.

  The next morning, she summoned Linton but found her chatter wore on her. She didn't like herself anymore, and everyone here expected her to be her old self. She dismissed her briefly and looked at herself in the mirror, moving the dress about so that it hung in a more stylish way. She felt prickly all over, discomforted.

  Lucas had already left for the
office, which was no bad thing. He had left a note: Four guests each. Send the messages with Hudson. See you at four of the clock.

  Four guests. She thought about it carefully. Claudia of course was one. Who else? She couldn't imagine inviting Alexandra here, nor yet her brother Richmond. Francis?

  Francis knows me as I was. Ungraceful, plain, ordinary. I don't want to see him and remember that.

  It was tempting not to invite him. But who else did she know in London? She could invite Lady Ormonde, her mother's old friend. That would be good. And Eugenie.

  Well, then. That's settled. She rang the bell to summon Hudson.

  “I would like to deliver some invitations to tea this afternoon?”

  “Very good, my lady. Write the names and addresses on this card, and I'll have them sent out.”

  “Thank you.”

  Cornelia dashed off the addresses, biting her lip thoughtfully as she considered inviting Francis. She wanted to see him so badly! But the part of her that simmered with anger at the thought of what she had been recoiled from seeing him. She was angry with him, too, for not noticing. For holding her to that awful way of being.

  “Oh, why not?” She scratched out the address and summoned Hudson to dispatch a runner with the invitations.

  At four o' clock, Lucas returned and together they planned the party. At five, the guests began arriving. Cornelia stood in the parlor, her long white dress with the lace trimmings twisting around her ankles as she fidgeted, brushing her skirts flat. Lucas looked at her sideways, as if he wasn't sure why she was so ill at ease. Said nothing. She stood with her hands clasped and rehearsed how a lady stands.

  Upright. Immobile. Elegant.

  “Lady Ormonde and Lady Eugenie.” Hudson announced her old friends. She greeted them, curtseying as she had been shown.

  “Cornelia! Charming to see you. My! How you've grown. That dress becomes you.”

  “Thank you.” She kissed the older lady's cheek.

  When Claudia arrived, Cornelia found herself feeling aloof. What would her friend think of the new her? She had even dabbed her lips and cheeks with a little rouge – discreetly, like Lady Alexandra had – and she was scared her friend might comment. But she didn't.