Prim frowned. “Why not? It’s a lovely dress.”
“She has a limp… light fabrics such as this, drape and sway with movement. It would have emphasized her shortcomings. I tried to tell her mother that, but she was insistent that her daughter be dressed in the latest fashion plates. The girl needed velvet and wool, brocade… fabrics that bring grace to their wearer, not fabrics for whom the wearer must provide the grace.”
Prim felt like she should defend the girl, but it wasn’t as if Madame Le Faye was saying it mean spiritedly. She spoke matter of factly and, in truth, seemed distressed that the girl might have been forced by her mother to wear a gown that would not flatter her.
“Bath, you say? Might I ask her name? Perhaps when we return there, I can thank her.”
“I do not see why not. It was Miss Wyverne,” Madame Le Faye said as she plucked at a small pleat where the bodice and skirt met, adjusting it minutely.
Miss Wyverne. It seemed to Prim that their paths were destined to cross. Surely it could not be coincidence that they kept circling around one another?
“I believe we have common acquaintances,” Prim managed. “I shall make an effort to make her acquaintance myself.”
“Lovely girl,” Madame said distractedly, still adjusting the fabric. “Pity about her limp. And about her mother.”
“Is her mother ill?”
Madame looked up, startled. “Oh, no. Not ill. Just horrid. I think we have the necessary measurements for the dress. It will be ready and delivered to you by tomorrow morning at the very latest. But now we need to get you into something for today. There is a round gown. It is not so grand, but it will do and should require no alteration at all to fit.”
Once more, Prim found herself being stuffed into another dress. It was a simple day dress of dark blue wool. It was fine, though rather plain, but Prim preferred it to everything else she’d been forced to try on. She didn’t want to think what Lord Ambrose might have offered Madame Le Faye to take the very gowns she had sewn for others and use them for Prim’s own wardrobe. It was likely costing the earth.
By the time her shopping expedition was done, she had a stack of packages that would have been taller than Rowan had he stood next to it. New corsets, petticoats, shifts, and stockings had all been selected. Next was a trip to the milliner for bonnets, hair ribbons and gloves. Then it was off to the cobbler for shoes. Strict instructions had been left on what she was to return home with. It felt so strange to buy things for herself.
Prim honestly couldn’t remember a time in her life when she had ever owned a single gown that had not first belonged to someone else. Though considering the poor Miss Wyverne, perhaps that was still true. It seemed everything Madame was passing to her had been commissioned by the other woman before she’d been whisked away to Bath.
“It seems odd that she left London in such a hurry with all of this waiting for her,” Prim commented.
Madame Le Faye leaned in closely, as if she had a secret to whisper, though it was unlikely that Madame had ever whispered anything in her life. “Her father is putting her in the path of a potential suitor… trying to get her married off. Lord Samford. I heard her talking about it with her friend who accompanies her here. She was not pleased.”
“She’s unwilling to marry him?” Prim’s heart sank. The poor girl. It was bad enough to be blinded by a man like Samford, to have his charm mask the truth of his character until it was too late. But for her to know that he was not a man to be admired or desired, and be forced to wed him regardless—it was just terrible.
“I heard her say that he was not a man to be trusted and that she feared he was more like his family than he admitted. Horrible people they are!”
Madame said nothing further because the bell over the shop’s door tinkled. She scurried away to greet her patrons, leaving Prim there to contemplate what had been said. From her perch on the dais, she heard Madame’s overly warm welcome.
“My lord, welcome back. I know you will be very pleased with all that we have selected,” the modiste gushed.
Cornelius’ answer was uttered in a much lower tone, harder to make out. Still, Prim found herself relieved to hear him, to know that he was near. That alone was alarming to her.
Stepping down from the dais, Prim smoothed the skirts of dark blue wool and left the fitting area for the store front. Cornelius looked up as she entered, his gaze traveling over her in a way that was familiar, and quite appreciative, but it did not have the effect on her that such glances normally would. From any other man, it would have been met with a firm set down. From him, it only created a warmth that suffused her.
“It’s very flattering,” he said. “I’m pleased Madame could provide you something so quickly. The other gowns?”
“One will be delivered first thing in the morning, and the other two the following day,” Madame said. “Any further commissions will be the following week.”
“That will do for now,” Cornelius agreed. “Add another two dresses identical to the one she’s currently wearing.”
“Color, my lord?”
“Something vibrant. Jewel tones, I think,” he said.
“I am capable of making decisions on the colors of my own dresses, my lord,” Prim said, inserting herself into the conversation as much to remind them of her presence as to intercept his high-handed decision making.
“Then what colors would you prefer?” he asked.
“Something vibrant… and jewel toned,” she admitted. “I abhor pastels.”
“Perhaps a lovely peacock blue and then the other in amethyst?” Madame offered. “I already have the fabric but it has not been marked for any other commissions.”
“That will do nicely.” Prim had made her point and she wasn’t going to cut off her nose to spite her face. It was terribly vain and horrible of her to be so excited about new gowns, but she was. And she wanted desperately for Hyacinth to have the same.
*
Cornelius noted the high color in her cheeks. It was obvious that she was cheered by her new clothes, but he could see something in her eyes, some hidden worry. “Come. We’ll get some tea before we tackle the milliner’s shop,” he suggested. Primrose answered with a nod, picked up one of the many shawls that Madame Le Faye had insisted she required and draped it over her shoulders.
There was a small tea room only a short distance away. Walking there with her hand on his arm, she remained curiously silent.
“Are you unhappy with Madame Le Faye’s wares?” he asked.
“Not at all. I love my new gowns. I wasn’t sure if I should say anything here on the street or wait until we’re in the tea room, but there’s likely a greater chance of being overheard there than here,” she admitted. “These gowns were made for Miss Wyverne, whose father dragged her off to Bath before she could collect them. He’s trying to marry her off to Lord Samford, and I fear she is rather unwilling.”
Cornelius sighed. “We have no authority to intervene, Primrose. None. He is her father… and unless I am misremembering things, Miss Wyverne has reached her majority and cannot be forced to marry.”
“Men can always find a way to force women to do what they wish,” Prim replied sharply. “In some ways, I think you are more naive about the world than I am.”
Cornelius said nothing for the moment. In truth, he didn’t even take offense to what she said. He couldn’t, as it was undoubtedly true. He’d known of his father’s debauchery but only secondhand. At no point had he been forced to witness it. And in all of his life, other than the gossip that had followed the events at Blackfield five years ago, he’d never been victimized by another. That was not true for Primrose or her siblings.
“I will make inquiries and see what can be done,” he relented.
She let out a shuddering breath. “Thank you. I can’t bear to think of some poor girl being forced to marry such a man!”
“Miss Wyverne is not an unattractive girl, but she is rather reserved and has a limp. While she has a great fo
rtune, the family’s connections are not so high as to entice a great deal of interest… given all of that and her predilection for preferring books to people, she has limited marital prospects. It could well be that our interference might not be welcomed. Her hesitance could have been nothing more than nerves or a lovers’ spat, Primrose,” he reminded her.
“But we can discover this and be sure? If she wishes to marry him, truly, I will say nothing more… but I would not see any woman forced to marry where she did not wish!”
“Like you are?” he asked. It should not have stung, and yet it did. She was being forced, albeit for far different reasons.
“That isn’t what I meant,” she said stiffly. “Not at all. I’ve given you my agreement and I’ve done so of my own free will!”
“Despite the circumstances?”
“Had those circumstances not occurred, it would never have been a question that would need to be asked,” she said sharply. “And the man responsible for those circumstances could even now be forcing a girl to marry him against her will, just so that he can have her fortune for himself.”
“Had I asked under any other circumstances, Primrose, would your answer have been the same? A very reluctant yes?”
Cornelius didn’t know why it was so important to him to know that answer, but it was. He didn’t want to be the villain in her story.
“I cannot say. I had never given it thought beforehand because it was such an absurd notion… why would you ever offer for a girl like me?”
A girl like her. Beautiful. Strong willed and independent. Fiercely intelligent and fiercely loyal to her family. Protective of all those she cared for and willing to sacrifice anything, including her own happiness, for their well-being. And yet he knew precisely what she meant. Despite every admirable quality he listed, her birth was not only low but scandalous. She had no connections, no fortune and, by most standards, would have been more suitable for a mistress than a wife.
“Because I can,” he confessed. “Because rules, even those that society holds fast and dear, are meant to be broken. Because there is not a single thing I would alter about you.”
She drew in a sharp breath and her lips, tempting as they were, remained parted afterward. He could think of nothing but that moment in Wolverton’s garden when he’d given in to his desires and kissed her. Had they not been standing in the middle of a busy London street, he would have done so again right there. Kissing her seemed as necessary to him as breathing. So he did the only thing he could.
Moving quickly, Cornelius half-dragged her into a small alley between buildings. In the darkened recesses, hidden behind crates and barrels, he gave in to the need to taste her sweetness once more.
If there was one consolation, it was that she met his kiss eagerly. Her head tipped back and she lifted her face to his in anticipation. Whether she wished to be his wife or not, there was desire between them. It would have to be enough to sustain him. For Cornelius realized something about Primrose Collier. She had awakened him. All the passion and fire in his soul that had been under lock and key for so long had suddenly ignited, surging forward and demanding to be freed.
He accepted all that she offered and demanded more. When her lips parted on a sigh, he swept his tongue into the softness of her mouth. It was a blatantly carnal kiss, mimicking other more intimate acts that he found himself eager to complete. She never shied from him, never attempted to push him away. Her hands slid into his hair, tugging his head down, holding him in place. As if he had any desire to be elsewhere.
Even as their passion flared, as she pressed the softness and warmth of her body against him, he was aware of their surroundings. They could be discovered at any moment and that was not an indignity that he would ever visit upon her. Slowly disentangling himself from her, pressing dozens of small kisses against her lips, the soft curve of her cheek and the stubborn jut of her chin, he stepped back. Only the sound of ragged breaths broke the silence.
Staring at her, cheeks flushed, lips swollen from his kiss, she was even more beautiful than before, if such a thing were possible. And she would be his, no matter the cost.
All his life, he’d been determined to never be driven by anything other than his intellect and his conscience. But there was something in Primrose Collier, something from the very moment he’d first set eyes upon her, that demanded more of him than that. For the first time in ages, he felt. She sparked his desire, his anger, his admiration and his—Cornelius stopped that thought. It was a word. Only a word. And yet it represented something that he had never thought to feel in his life. Love. Did he love her?
Whether he did or whether he did not, it was not something she was ready to hear from him.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
They returned home with two footmen laden with packages that were promptly taken up to Primrose’s room and unpacked by the maid who had been assigned to her.
“Come into the study with me,” he said. “There is something we need to discuss.”
A frown marred her brow briefly. “Is something wrong?”
“No. But—I’ve made some arrangements for the children’s future. Lila’s and Rowan’s. I’d like to review them with you and be certain that you approve. I suppose I should have done so beforehand, but I was uncertain how to proceed until speaking with my solicitor. Everything is preliminary and can be changed if you desire,” Cornelius replied.
Prim fell into step behind him as he led her toward the study and the sheaf of papers that was likely waiting on his desk, hand delivered by his very eager to please man of affairs. While he’d left her in the capable hands of Madame Le Faye, he’d been attending to the promise he’d made her. No matter what happened to him, no matter what fate had in store for them in terms of their marriage, neither Primrose nor her siblings would ever be at the mercy of anyone else for their living ever again. She would be well provided for. They all would.
Once in his study, he closed the door firmly behind them. There was no need for nosy servants, particularly Headley, to be privy to what they were about to discuss. No doubt, the gossip would spread far and wide if he let it be known.
“What sort of arrangements are you speaking of, Cornelius?”
“Financial ones,” he answered. “I’ve settled a sum on Lila, in trust for her for when she marries, with approval of course, or when she reaches her majority, that is equal to the settlement our father left to Nicholas. The portion I set aside for Rowan is a bit smaller, but not by much. My hope is that with proper investment, it will equal if not surpass that for Lila by the time he is of age to claim it. And then there is Hyacinth.”
“Hyacinth?”
“Yes,” he said. “Hyacinth. I suspect that your sister would adamantly refuse to accept any amount of money. But I do not think she would balk at accepting a house. So the cottage at Avondale is being deeded to her, along with a small annuity that should see to her needs and comforts for as long as she lives. Now, she need not reside there. I’m happy to have her stay with us for as long as she likes. But at some point, Hyacinth may wish to marry. If so, I wanted her to have a place of her own, something to put her on equal footing to whatever man she might become entangled with.”
Prim stared at him, wide eyed and confused. “Why would you do this?”
“I promised you that I would see to them, Primrose. I keep my promises,” he replied evenly. It was incredibly important to him that she know that. That she believe it. “And that is why I’ve created a trust for you, as well. Whatever happens to me, whether we have children or not, there is a sum of money that has been set aside and will be used to provide a home for you for the rest of your days. Avondale is not entailed. It will be yours. Always, with enough funds and revenue for you to maintain the lifestyle that I hope you will become accustomed to with me.”
She accepted the sheaf of papers that he offered to her, reading through them one by one. With each one, her eyes grew wider. Her face paled. When at last she was done, she looked up at him. “You
cannot be this wealthy. These numbers are staggering.”
“Primrose, my father, for all his faults and all his extravagance, was an extremely gifted man. He invested well. Very well. And somehow, despite having been spared all his vices, I have been blessed with that same insight when it comes to discerning where to put my money, as it were. Why do I feel like that displeases you?”
*
It didn’t displease her. It terrified her. The man was richer than Croesus. Certainly, she’d known that he was wealthy. It was evident in everything he said and did, though he was never boastful or overly extravagant in his dress or purchases. Still, it had been apparent to her. But this was something else. Something she couldn’t even quite fathom.
“The entire world will think me an opportunist,” she said. “I didn’t even know the extent of it and yet I now find myself wondering if an opportunist is not exactly what I am.”
He laughed at that. “You’ve no notion of just how magnificent you are, Primrose. People will whisper. The gossips will monger and the jealous will bite. They always do. But I would sacrifice every shilling in the family coffers for you. Do you realize that?”
“You’re mad.”
“Perhaps,” he admitted. “But not until the day I met you. From the first moment I saw you, I was struck dumb. At first by your beauty, but then by your spirit. By the strength and wit and will that made you who you are. You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in all of my life, Primrose, but I can be entirely honest when I say that your beauty, striking as it is, is the least compelling thing about you. If I’m mad, Primrose, it can be laid solely at your door. And I’m content enough with it not to wish it altered.”
Prim gaped at him for a moment. She’d never had anyone say such things to her. “I cannot begin to understand you, Cornelius.”
The Awakening of Lord Ambrose (The Lost Lords Book 6) Page 17