‘Yes.’ Jane paused. ‘I think he might be useful.’
Useful? Miss Selkirk, for all her evident acuity, was clearly mistaken. Edward had never been useful for anything in his life apart from finishing brandy bottles and reducing women to quivering puddles of pleasure–and recently, he’d had no desire to do the latter. It was desperately unlikely that Jane was going to produce a bottle of brandy and implore him to finish it–or implore him to do something else that couldn’t be mentioned in polite company.
She’d probably be witty about it, at least. Witty and warm, in that sharply exciting way with which she said everything. Why, if he were given adequate time, perhaps he could…
‘I need you to marry me off, Margaret. I’m bored of being alone–dreadfully bored of it, which has shocked me. I always assumed I’d be one of those ladies who could spend the rest of their lives among their roses and surrounded by dogs, and have tried my best to become one of them, but I can’t. I’m… unhappy.’ Jane spoke briskly in an almost workmanlike fashion, avoiding Edward’s gaze when he tried to catch it. ‘I believe that a union with the correct gentleman would make me happy. Look at your own happiness.’
‘… Yes.’ Margaret’s expression was several leagues past shocked; Edward wondered if the woman would faint, before turning to the more pressing question of why he had been invited to stay and listen. Marriage certainly wasn’t it; Jane was no fool. ‘So–so you wish to be married.’
‘Yes. As soon as possible.’ Jane turned to Edward, still not quite meeting his eyes. ‘And if I’m not mistaken, expert consultation will be needed.’
‘Expert consultation?’
‘Yes. I am a perfect frump, Margaret. I am ill-favoured physically, and do myself no favours in almost every aspect of my dress and manner. If a gentleman could be induced to approach me, I imagine I would do quite well–but I fail at the first hurdle.’ Jane stopped, resting her hands gently on the desk. ‘Who better than a rake to inform me precisely what needs to be changed?’
The silence in the study was profound. Edward, not knowing what on earth to say or what he was supposed to think, studied his hands with deep attention.
He had never heard a woman be so… practical about it all. So completely cognizant of what had gone wrong, and so strangely optimistic that one day it would all go right. It was compelling, and sad, and–and it made him angry without quite knowing why.
He looked furtively at Margaret. His sister-in-law’s face was alive with compassion; Edward turned back to his hands, grateful that someone could respond appropriately to such a raw declaration.
‘I have had a little time to consider the matter as I waited here for you. I believe I have the makings of a tentative plan.’ Jane spoke more slowly. ‘As you know, I have a great heap of money that I’ve never touched.’
‘Jane.’ Margaret half-winced, smiling. ‘If you’re going to make me be a matchmaker, you must know that plainly discussing financial matters in front of a gentleman is quite–’
‘Abominable, I know, but he’s here now. And I doubt he’s never been in front of a woman with an uncontrollable tongue.’ Jane began speaking, apparently oblivious to the double meaning of her phrase or Edward’s stifled attempts to control his laughter. Lord, the woman was a wit. ‘I intend to spend a great deal of money on gowns. Given that Anne Fletcher is now Anne Duke, do you think she’ll be able to give me special help? A sister in law is easier to enlist than a stranger.’
‘I’m sure Anne would be delighted to help.’
‘And we can drag this poor gentleman along with us, and he can give a rakish opinion on each gown. I’ll have a collection that’s been vetted by an expert.’
‘Jane, that’s most unorthodox.’
‘I am unorthodox. That won’t change, no matter how much of a success or failure this enterprise is. Best that we begin as we mean to go on.’ Jane looked at Edward directly. ‘Unless you think it’s a terrible idea, of course. About the gowns.’
Edward didn’t know what to think. Normally definite about every aspect of his life, not least because his life was that of a simple hedonist, he found himself unprepared for a request of such complexity. Was he flattered to be treated as an unrepentant creature of lust, or insulted? Was he happy to treat Jane as an object to be made more pleasant to the eye, or did the whole thing irritate him in a way he couldn’t quite explain?
‘Please.’ Jane looked at him steadily. ‘I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t necessary.’
‘Of course.’ That did it. He could withstand every sidelong glance and half-appeal for help, but a direct question from an interesting woman would always overcome every defence he had. ‘Whenever you wish.’
‘Good.’ Jane smiled. Edward smiled back, astonished that he still hadn’t become accustomed to the sunlight in her expression. It was as if a small miracle happened every time the woman grew happy. ‘You see, Margaret?’
Edward watched his sister-in-law slump into a chair, her expression too complex to read. Eventually, with a sigh that combined resignation and something less definable, she nodded. ‘Yes. That can be done. Many things can be done.’
‘I know. I’ve seen you at work.’
‘But why now?’
‘I don’t know. I had the urge and acted upon it immediately. There’s no point in waiting for something that you already want to do–and I’m certainly not getting any more youthful.’
‘Your bluntness is something that we’re going to need to examine.’ Margaret took a deep breath, turning to Edward. ‘And forgive me for asking without preamble, Edward, but–but why were you here when I entered the room?’
‘He entered, sat down in the armchair and began irritating me. He said he was curious as to why I was here.’ Jane shrugged. ‘I didn’t see any point in concealing my quest—he can help, after all.’
Margaret frowned. ‘And you stayed with her alone, Edward–you didn’t call for a maid?’
Edward opened his mouth, and closed it. Now that he thought about it, that would have been the best thing to do. But before he could come up with a spirited if false defence of his own honour, Jane answered for him again. ‘Really, Margaret. Do you honestly think a man of his reputation would have amorous designs on me? I could laugh.’
‘Well.’ Margaret stared for a long moment, her expression complex again, before nodding. ‘If that’s what you believe.’
Edward fought the urge to stand up. Quite why he had the sudden need to denounce Jane’s comment, to say it was the most tremendous piece of nonsense he’d ever heard in his life, was a mystery that needed avoiding if he wanted to be viewed as a man of reason. Still–what casual cruelty she employed when speaking of herself! If she knew that he’d been thinking about seducing her, really considering it, she’d change her tune…
… but Margaret was looking at him again, her gaze decidedly suspicious this time, and Edward decided to remain where he was.
‘Well then. It’s decided.’ Jane rose jerkily; Edward watched her carefully, aware of a hint of awkwardness in her movements. This hadn’t been easy for her, despite her briskness; another swell of complex sympathy leapt in him, filling his heart. ‘I’m glad it’s been agreed upon with such brevity. I expected to be delayed all morning.’
‘I’m delighted you view seeing one of your oldest friends as a delay.’ Margaret laughed, her gaze peaceful again. ‘I feel so very complimented.’
‘With conversations of this nature, brevity is best. I’ll happily talk about watercolours and the paths of stars with you for days on end, dear, but matters of the heart must be discussed with a blade–short, sharp movements only.’ Jane smiled at her friend, closing her eyes as Margaret embraced her. ‘Thank you.’
‘Not at all. It’ll be a pleasure to finally use my skills.’
‘And—and thank you, Mr. Duke.’ Jane disentangled herself from Margaret’s embrace, curtseying as Edward rose and uncomfortably bowed.
For some unfathomable reason, it didn’t feel like quite enough
. Even as Edward was firmly telling himself that a single bow was all that was required of him, he was holding out his hand. Margaret’s intake of breath came, but he didn’t withdraw his hand. ‘Not at all. We’ll shake on it—it’s a pact.’
Jane hesitated. Of course she would hesitate, damn it–one wasn’t meant to shake hands with a woman, let alone a woman one didn’t know particularly well. But now he had begun, his hand wobbling in the air with a ridiculous lack of elegance. Perhaps it would be best to simply let it drop.
No. Edward held his breath as Jane’s palm slid into his for a brief, potent instant, her fingers warm against his skin as she shook his hand. A rough, almost workmanlike touch–but Christ, the shock that went through him! The shiver that went to his bones, hot and definite, awakening parts of him that had been asleep for many weary months.
Lust. Bloody hell. Now? He had decided to wake up now?
‘Walk with me a little way, Margaret, so we can speak of normal things rather than be tossed and turned on my highly impetuous sea of demands.’ Jane linked her arm through Margaret’s; the two women headed for the door, Margaret looking back at Edward with a frown and pursed lips. ‘And we’ll leave Mr. Duke to get the last of the brandy out of his veins.’
‘Brandy? I don’t know where you gathered that–’
‘You reek of it. I’d half-believe you bathed in the stuff.’ Jane’s crooked smile sent sparks of lust through Edward again; he shifted, suddenly aware of parts of his anatomy that stood every chance of misbehaving. ‘Sleep will help.’
‘And water. Lots of water.’ Margaret’s stare had the opposite effect of Jane’s. The woman could definitely read thoughts, or at least come close. ‘And some time spent away from everybody else.’
‘Messages abundantly received.’ Edward bowed, grateful to have a little space between himself and Jane. God knew what would happen if he touched her again. ‘Have a fine walk, ladies.’
He watched the women go, averting his gaze. When he knew without a doubt that he was alone and unobserved, he sank into the nearest chair with a long, deep sigh.
He was hard. Hard! He thought it had gone forever—Lord, how much money had he paid to every quack within a hundred miles? Looking down at his rigid member with a frown, Edward gritted his teeth with a repressed howl of annoyance.
Jane Selkirk. His body had chosen Jane Selkirk—and what was worse, his mind had chosen her first. What a thing to happen, today of all bloody days…
… and at some point in what felt like an uncertain and painful future, he was going to have to look at Miss Selkirk in a variety of expensive gowns and give his rakish opinion on them.
‘Bollocks.’ He turned his head, burying his face in the cushion of the chair. ‘Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks.’
The lingering effects of the brandy had taken a day and a half to clear. Edward waited in vain for emotional clarity to arrive with his newly alert outlook, but his heart remained obstinately confused–not to mention his cock, which was rapidly gaining a renewed life of its own.
He spent six days hiding from everyone as much as possible, drinking great quantities of barley water and wondering vaguely about escaping to live a monastic life on the Continent. When Margaret arrived during one particularly agonising afternoon of reflection, informing him with a cool glance that the appointment at the modiste to judge Jane’s gowns would happen two weeks’ hence, Edward all but booked his passage on the nearest ship as soon as she’d gone.
He spent the next fourteen days organising elegant refusals in his head, and then on crumpled little pieces of paper that finished in the fire. Alas, I have a prior engagement… alas, I’ve discovered a nest of bees in the attic… alas, I’ve developed the most ridiculous attacks of bodily weakness whenever I think about Miss Selkirk, and so consider it best to avoid a modiste lest I become a ravening beast and threaten to slake my lust…
None of the replies best fit the image he wished to cultivate, and so he let the flames take them. This meant, however, that by the time the appointment at Anne Duke’s small but well-known workshop came he was a mass of quivering nerves.
He dealt with his anxiety the only way he knew how: drink, sleep, and pushing all of his sentiments so deep inside himself that he could barely walk. This carried him to the polished workshop, with its dark wooden counter and general air of hushed devotion to the art of dress—but abruptly left him as he walked through the door.
Hours passed in the company of Margaret Duke, Charlotte Duke and Anne Duke. Minute after minute wrapped in silk, festooned with cotton, velvet, a bewildering variety of colours, shades, patterns… and Jane, Jane, Jane.
Jane. Her face almost a blur. The long-ago morning in the study seemed desperately immediate and a thousand miles away. The clock chimed midday; Edward blinked, truly coming to himself as he heard Margaret’s voice.
‘So.’ Margaret looked down at her notes, which were now underlined and crossed-out with alarming complexity. ‘Out of the seven gowns we’ve tried, Edward, which one works best?’
‘None of them.’
Charlotte sighed, holding a hand to her brow. Always dramatic by nature, she had lost none of her theatrical splendour by marrying Edward’s brother Robert. ‘Come now, Edward. You’re being terribly pedantic.’
‘I’m not. You wanted a rake’s opinion, you’ll get one.’ Edward began counting on his fingers, frowning as he spoke. ‘Black and brown remind one too strongly of funerals, white reminds one too strongly of weddings, she’s too pale for seafoam green, pink makes her look drained and purple will highlight any bruise or blemish she has. And the less said of puce, the better.’ He sighed, hoping that he was at least being accurate. He hadn’t looked at her too closely, afraid that the sudden jolt of lust that had seized him in the study would return and cause embarrassment. ‘Perhaps a dark blue?’
‘Now I know you’re running out of ideas.’ Charlotte sighed. ‘She wears dark blue already.’
‘She looks well in it.’
‘I suppose, but we want something different! Dark blue certainly hasn’t brought results thus far!’
Edward bit his lip. If he didn’t keep himself under very firm control, he was going to blurt out something stupid. Something like, if any gentleman actually spoke to Miss Selkirk for long enough, the colour of her dress would rapidly become very unimportant…
‘We need your help, Edward. Your full attention.’ Margaret put down her pencil, looking hard at Edward in a way that made him feel even more exposed. ‘This is no game for Jane, or myself. If she has decided upon matrimony, I will do my best to assure a felicitous result—and so will you.’
Miss Selkirk, whatever gown she wears, has the most fascinating mind and manner of any woman I’ve met. ‘I’m as serious as you are.’
‘You don’t seem it. You’ve barely looked at any of them for long enough, in my opinion.’
‘In your opinion. A rake can judge a gown with a single glance—we certainly don’t have enough time to consider the finer details. The general impression is the important thing. I thought you were both here for the finer details.’
‘Oh, I see—relegating our important work to a mere inspection of details, as if we were inspectors of gas lamps—’
‘Ladies? Mr. Duke?’ The quiet, slightly strained tones of Anne Duke came from behind the curtain where Jane was changing. Edward lost himself in the dark velvet fabric, trying not to imagine Jane’s shape as she dressed and undressed. None of the gowns he had seen her in today had truly emphasised the shape he imagined her to have, somewhere within all those masses of fabric. ‘I think we have it.’
Margaret picked up her pencil again. ‘We do?’
‘Yes.’ There was a deep satisfaction in Anne’s voice that could only come from a job well done. ‘I rather think so.’
The curtain was pulled back. As Jane emerged, Edward’s heart pounded so loudly in his ears that he half-wondered where the bloody drummer was hidden.
Gold. Why hadn’t he thought to put h
er in gold? It became her splendidly, thoroughly well; she looked ethereally pale, shining from head to foot, but not in the least bit drawn or tired. And the shape, oh, Lord, the shape–it was as if she’d been revealed to the world, like Venus in her scallop shell arriving on a delicious, shining wave. All chest, all thighs, hips one could grip, a body one could drown oneself in–yes, yes, this was the gown that could promise all that and more. Not an everyday ballroom style, certainly, and nothing one could easily compare to anything else being worn this Season, but on her it was exquisite. No, not that—it showed how exquisite she already was.
‘Good Lord.’ He couldn’t keep the exclamation to himself. It left his lips as naturally as breathing; Margaret and Charlotte turned. ‘Perfect.’
‘Yes.’ Charlotte nodded, smiling. ‘Yes, I quite agree.’
‘Absolutely.’ Margaret nodded too. ‘You look quite wonderful, Jane.’
‘Thank you.’ Jane looked at herself in the mirror. Edward watched her tense; he had never noticed how lovely the line of her throat was, especially when taut. She looked like Athena going into the battle. ‘I… I rather think I do.’
She fell into silence, regarding herself in the mirror with a long, startled stare. Eventually, with a look that mingled concern and kindness, Anne gently touched her on the shoulder. ‘This style can certainly be made into a suitable day dress as well. We would have to change the fabric, but—but we can find something that shines.’
‘Eggshell.’ Edward spoke hoarsely, not caring if anyone thought him strange. ‘She’ll look like a walking pearl.’
‘A fine idea. You’re finally earning your keep, Edward.’ Margaret smiled as she made a note with her pencil. ‘Eggshell, bronze—there are many subtle choices. Do you have the samples, Anne?’
‘Behind the curtain, yes. But other ladies are changing.’ Anne beckoned to Charlotte and Margaret. ‘Come through and inspect them quickly—we can bring them to Mr. Duke if he so requires.’
‘Yes.’ Edward was barely listening. ‘Of course.’
Glowing in Gold: The Brothers Duke: Book Five Page 2