Eliza swallowed and averted her gaze. The Broughtons had not spent funds refreshing her wardrobe for this Season in London, but had reserved any moneys for their own daughters.
“There may be one gown that may serve.” She had been saving it. “But it may need some reworking. I have not worn it for many years.”
“Well then. We’ll see what needs doing when your trunk arrives. I’m sure you could use a quiet moment. I’ll leave you to settle. I’ll send paper and ink with a servant, along with a tea tray.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Eliza curtseyed.
The marchioness left. Eliza collapsed into a chair, her hand over her heart.
* * *
Daniel half-skipped down the steps in front of Ashton House, the list of things to do before he could wed Eliza spinning through his head. He wished them married with all possible speed. First, to procure a marriage license.
“Daniel!” a voice called.
He stopped and turned, a smile on his face and relief in his heart. “Thomas! You blaggard! You’ve finally arrived! And so late. I could have used you days ago.” His greatest friend in the world, Major Thomas Yarrow, stood on the pavement, his uniform sharp, his plumed hat over his russet-brown curls, and boots shined. His friend uncharacteristically gave him a once-over, his green eyes narrowed, his hand on his sword hilt. Daniel stopped short and raised his brows.
“Daniel, what is this I’m hearing?” Thomas gave Daniel an incredulous expression. “You’ve been chasing a doxy all over London?”
“What? No.” Daniel’s mood darkened. He pulled himself up and gave Thomas a quelling look. “Say something like that about the lady again, and we will have more than words between us.” He clenched his fists.
“A lady?” Thomas scoffed. “I hear she’s Lady Lightskirt, that’s what I hear. I could scarce believe it.”
Daniel stalked up to his shorter, slighter friend, and glared down at him. “Keep your voice down and your words civil, friend,” he hissed, “or I’ll draw your claret, I will. The lady is in the house now, with my stepmother.” He indicated the townhouse beside them with a jerk of his head.
Thomas’s eyes widened. “What? Have you gone mad, Daniel? What is this?”
“And we are engaged to be married, so I urge you to keep a civil tongue in your head.”
“What the deuce!” Thomas threw out his hands. “Engaged? To who? Who is this girl? And how did my level-headed friend get embroiled in a scandal with a female? That is supposed to be my territory.”
“The scandal is fabricated lies. I’m marrying her to shut up the wagging tongues and to protect her. Her family threw her out onto the street because of the rumors.” Daniel kept his voice down and scanned the street around them. He spotted several interested gazes, but none that should be close enough to overhear. He took his friend’s arm. “Come with me, I could use a best man.”
“I don’t know if I should go along with this, Daniel. Had you a thing to do with her ruin?”
“None at all. I was in Paris when it all started.”
“Then what are you doing? It sounds like throwing yourself on a pyre to marry such a girl for such a reason. No matter if the rumors are true or not.”
“Oh, I’m marrying her. It’s Eliza Moore, Tom.”
“Eliza . . . Wait, the Eliza?” Thomas stopped short and gawked at him. “Your Eliza? Of the children’s ball, and the sketches, and—”
“Yes, that Eliza.”
“Oh . . . that Eliza. By jove, man, she is the lady being so maligned?”
“Yes. So I will marry her. To save her.”
Thomas gave him another up and down look. “Yes, I suppose you must.” He looked thoughtful. Then he turned on his heel, snapping into action. “Then, as your best man, tell me what needs done, and I’ll get doing it.”
Relief washed over Daniel. “Thank you, Tom. You’re a right one.”
* * *
Eliza’s hands threatened to shake. She took another sip of steadying tea, focused on her penmanship, and wrote the note to Mrs. Broughton. She kept it succinct, with no explanations and no apologies, the barest request that her trunk be given to the Ashtons’ footmen, who would deliver it to Ashton House.
She signed her name with precision, addressed it, sealed it with a wafer, and handed it to the footman waiting in the hall.
The marchioness sent the note with the promised carriage and instructions to the two liveried footmen to deliver it and not to return without Miss Moore’s trunk.
Chapter 15
His friend stared at Daniel from across the hackney carriage’s seat as they swayed over London’s cobblestone roads, heading to Doctors Commons to apply to the office of the Archbishop of Canterbury. He appeared dumbfounded. “But how do you have the money to purchase a special license? Might as well do it right and post the banns. Save some blunt.”
“The thing needs to be done post-haste. I don’t have three weeks for the banns. I want her safely tied to me before the naysayers can catch a breath. As for the money, well, I’ve had a windfall, Tom. It’s going to allow me to marry my lady, and then it’ll be spent and gone.”
“And where did this windfall come from?”
Daniel told Thomas the details of his unexpected nabob uncle, the offered inheritance, and the strict terms for its offer.
Thomas stared at him with wide eyes, and then cursed roundly. “Daniel! You’ll lose the inheritance over this woman!”
“Yes.”
Thomas ran his hand through his hair and squeezed his forehead.
“Egads. Maybe your uncle can be brought round?”
“I’m not counting on it.” Daniel shook his head. “I had hoped to sell my commission, but now I’m going to need the income. I’ll try to get assigned to duty again and get off half-pay.”
“She’s worth it?”
“Yes, she is. Though it kills me to have to stay in the army when I was so close to being able to give it up.”
“War’s over, Daniel. Perhaps the army will be safe enough.”
“Then it will be policing the people and going in against rabble-rousers and rioters. But what must be done must be done. I had never wanted to ask a lady to follow the drums with me, but life as a soldier’s wife is better than this maligned disgrace.”
Thomas sat back against the swabs. “Miss Eliza . . . I remember her as the girl that finally made you sympathize with my love-lorn idiocy as a youth.” He gave a smile. “After that, we were in it together.”
Daniel smirked. “What I remember is being far more devoted to my untouchable lady than you ever were to yours.”
Thomas clutched his hand to his heart in a dramatic fashion. “Oh, my feelings were strong, young fool that I was. And she soundly boxed my ears for it.” He gave a rueful smile. “No, love does not last long after a good ear-boxing and tongue-lashing. But now look at you! About to submit to the parson’s noose. I look forward to seeing my untouchable friend under the control of a woman. You’ll find her much less perfect than your youthful fancies spun her.”
“My Miss Moore is still the exquisitely beautiful creature she was as a schoolgirl. More so, even.”
“The beautiful ones are usually the worst. Just you wait, being married to her, you’ll likely find she is capable of much more high-handed starts and fits of the vapors than your limited male brain can imagine. I know women. Unlike you, who has avoided the company of all skirted persons in favor of honoring your paragon. I have gained valuable experience with the fair sex.”
“You just got into scrapes of heart and honor. There is little value in that.”
“Ah, my single-minded friend. I have experienced the highs and lows of their whims and fancies, and of their beauty and graciousness.”
“Rakehell,” Daniel said dryly.
Thomas gave him a glare. “You wound me. I am a flirt, I thank you.” He bowed from his seat, his hand spread over his heart. He sat back. “Ah, I remember the lovely Margareta. And Anette.”
“D
on’t forget Señora Villanueva.”
“How can I? Leaving each one tore a hole in my heart that only the next could fill.”
Daniel shook his head.
Thomas shifted in his seat. “How is your sister, by the by?” he asked with a casual air.
Daniel raised an eyebrow. “Florentia is a bouncing bundle of nerves and anticipation. Now that you are in town, you are requested and required to attend her come-out ball tomorrow in full dress uniform, Tom. No getting out of it.”
“I’ll be happy to. Florrie has grown to be quite the darling, hasn’t she?”
Daniel eyed his best friend. “And you shall stay away, I thank you.”
“Stay away from her? At her come-out ball? That’d be insulting, my man.”
“Then one dance. A Scottish Reel. That is it.”
“Fine, fine.” Tom paused, his features smoothed into a pleasant nonchalance. “How is your other sister?”
Daniel suppressed a smirk. “Mariah is fine, but twelve and disapproving. She looks to become a blue-stocking. Her nose is always in a book when she isn’t scowling like one has tracked manure into the house.”
“Not Mariah.” Thomas frowned at him. “You know who I’m asking about.”
Daniel grinned and lifted his eyebrows. “Ah, Cassandra, you mean?”
“Yes. Cassie. Stop dragging it out, man.” Thomas gave him an irritated glare.
“Cassie is well. She’s reveling in selecting just the right stallions to breed with the right mares. The marchioness is scandalized, but Frederick has decided that letting her do what she wants is best for the smooth running of the entire household. And she’s good at it.”
“Lady Cassandra the horse breeder. Why am I not surprised?” A grin spread over Thomas’ face. “She always was a right one.”
Daniel watched him. Did Thomas not know how much the feelings he still harbored for Cassandra were plainly writ on his face?
They both had never gotten over their first boyhood loves.
“She’s still single,” Daniel prodded.
“What? That is some other poor man’s loss, but not mine.” Thomas shifted and rubbed his hands on his knees. “No, no, not mine. She is well rid of me, and vice versa.”
* * *
Eliza’s trunk arrived.
Her stomach swooped at the sight of it. She directed the footmen to leave it at the foot of the bed, and they left, closing the door. Despite a restorative nap and nourishment from the tea tray, dread filled her at the thought of what she might find under its lid. With cold fingers, she opened the trunk.
She stared with relief at the carefully folded gowns. She had half-feared desecration. She recognized the familiar order of the gowns and packets. The competent maid she had shared with her young cousins, Henriette and Margaret, must have done the packing.
Her shoulders relaxed and her stomach settled.
Eliza sorted through the grays, blacks, and muted lavenders. Yes, every aging, unfashionable dress in her possession was here.
She had been in mourning far too often the last six years. She had little left that had not been dunked into a dye vat.
She found her jewelry box. The pearl necklace and the coral beads were still there. A few sentimental trinkets of little value were all else that were left her now.
She went through the two tied reams of sheet music carefully. Mozart, Handel, Purcell, John Field, Beethoven. A mix of printed sheets and ones she had painstakingly hand-copied.
And here, slipped inside one of John Field’s nocturnes, pressed between a folded sheet of waxed paper to protect it, was the portrait.
It was a pretty picture of a girl in colored chalks. Too pretty to correctly portray her, she had thought at the time, and looking at it now, though she could recognize some of her features, yes, it was too idealized to be accurate.
She had been fourteen years old. He had been seventeen, and though so much older, he had been so self-conscious and bumbling that she had lost all her own consciousness in his presence. She remembered him as he had been: tall, gangly, spotty, ears sticking out too far from his head.
Lord Daniel had drawn several of the young people in their circle that summer she stayed with her grandparents. He had asked to draw her portrait, and she had accepted.
Then when he had stared at her with such intensity, she had had to work to keep herself still. Self-consciousness had returned, and her cheeks had burned.
He had included her ruddy cheeks in the portrait. She had been displeased at the time, had felt it ungallant of him to memorialize her embarrassment.
Now, she saw he had meant it as a compliment, the color prettily blended, adding to the charm of the image.
Had he been in love with her even then? It seemed ludicrous.
Or was that the start?
She stared at the pastel portrait, willing it to reveal the mysteries of Lord Daniel’s mind and sentimentality.
A soft tap on her door came and the knob turned. She jumped and quickly covered the portrait, placing it under a sheet of music.
“Yes?”
Lady Florentia entered. “Oh, good.” She smiled, taking in the open trunk. “Have you had time to sort through it all?” Her eyes widened. “Is there anything missing?” she half-whispered.
There was, Eliza realized. She turned to the stack of music once again. Several musical compositions she owned were not here. She remembered they had been in the music room. The Broughtons must not realize they belonged to her and not to the household.
She bit back a sigh, and mentally let them go. She forced a small smile. “All is accounted for.”
Lady Florentia looked over the clothing spread over the bed, her brow furrowing. “Are you in mourning?”
“Not right now.” Eliza forced nonchalance into her voice. “But I have spent much time in the state.” With little money to replace items, her wardrobe had a predominance of black. Some were fading to grey, but most retained the deathly color.
“I’m so sorry! That’s so sad. I remember when your grandmother died, that the Children’s Ball that year was canceled. And then your grandfather died, and there were no more Children’s Balls at Lyon Manor. Forgive me, that was a great disappointment to me at the time.”
Eliza’s lips curled up. “I loved the Children’s Balls too. It’s a sadness that they’re no more.”
“We are both orphans. I lost my mother when I was a baby, and my father when I was a child.” Florentia looked at her with an earnest expression. “But I had a stepmama and an eldest brother to care for me.”
Old grief threatened to rise up. It tightened Eliza’s throat. “It was good you had such people in your life.”
“You have Daniel now, and the rest of us. So we are both much less orphans than we were.”
“Oh.” Tears started in her eyes. “That is a very nice way to think of it.” She forced a smile and pushed the tears back. She had no wish to be a watering pot.
She turned briskly back to the truck and evaluated its offerings. Eliza was the poor relation, and her wardrobe showed it. “I’m afraid I only have one ballgown left to me. The rest have been turned and retrimmed out of existence. But this one, I have been saving. Purely from nostalgia, of course.” She lifted the muslin-wrapped silk dress from the bottom of the trunk. “It was the dress from my come-out ball.”
It was several Seasons out of date, and plainer than the dresses this Season, but she hadn’t dipped it into the black dye vat as she had her other gowns. Her court dress had been repurposed the next Season, panniers discarded, and the drape adjusted to a lovely dress she had worn for two years till the delicate fabric was unusable.
But this one . . . she had kept it.
“Well, let’s try it on!” Florentia assisted her in donning the dress, and stood her in front of the dressing table mirror.
“I’m afraid it may not fit anymore.” Florentia frowned.
It was too snug about the bodice, unexpectedly. At sixteen it had covered her well, but now it
was less than adequate.
The gown was of delicate white with exquisite silver embroidery. She now noticed the silver had begun to tarnish and the white had yellowed unevenly. All the care she had taken to preserve the gown was in vain. She stared at it with pinched disappointment.
It seemed like her life. It had only been five years since her come-out, but like this dress, her dreams and hopes for the future were tarnished and discolored.
The marchioness entered the room, followed by a lady’s maid. The marchioness’s eyebrows furrowed as she ran her eyes over Eliza in the gown. Eliza flushed with humiliation.
“I had kept it mostly for nostalgia.” Unable to keep the ill-fitting garment on for a single moment longer, she pulled the pins out, and let the gown fall to the floor, leaving her standing in only her worn petticoat over stays and shift. She bent to pick up the hopeless bundle of fabric. Tears pressed behind her eyes. She widened them to keep the tears back, clenched her hands in the yellowed folds.
“I am sorry, my dear.” The marchioness kindly placed a hand on her shoulder. “But do not fear. Florentia and I have many gowns between us, and a borrowed gown, if chosen well, can be just as lovely as a new.”
Eliza stared doubtfully at the two ladies. Florentia was both taller and fuller-figured than Eliza, on the side of plump. And the marchioness was short and of a slenderer build.
“In fact, I think I know just the one. Florentia, please come with me.”
Eliza stood in her worn underthings, her come-out gown pressed to her chest, feeling exposed. The marchioness’s maid wrapped a shawl around her shoulders. Eliza thanked her.
When the marchioness returned with an armful of gowns, Eliza had her emotions back under control.
“Here we are.” The marchioness held a white gown up to Eliza. It appeared a frothy mass of flounces.
“It is one of your dresses, Florentia. I just couldn’t—”
“It is my pleasure. A gift.” The young lady smiled.
“It is white.”
“Yes. White. An excellent color on you, I can see.” The marchioness gave a nod.
Beneath Spring's Rain (Ashton Brides Book 1) Page 8