Elegant and refined, Madame Devy's talent lay in beautiful cuts and simple designs. None of the frills and furbelows that would have made Milly feel ridiculous were offered to her. Madame Devy didn't make her feel foolish for wanting to continue wearing the high necked style that covered every possible inch of skin either. Indeed she was everything that was discreet and went out of her way to make Milly feel at home. Not being a fool, Milly was well aware that her future status as the Duchess of Ware had more to do with this than anything else, but she was still grateful.
They were obliged to wait whilst they altered a dress to Milly's tiny proportions and Madame Devy assured her the other choices would be forwarded without delay.
“You should have taken the bindings off,” Mrs Goodly scolded her, once they had been left alone.
Milly blushed and shook her head. She had taken to binding her breasts tightly at fourteen when her hated cousin begun to look at her with something less than disgust. From that moment on she'd scraped back her hair into a bun, she had feigned bad eyesight and hoarded her meagre allowance to buy a pair of glasses with clear glass in. She’d seized upon anything that could be done to make herself plainer and less noticeable until only her fits and her occasionally unmanageable tongue had drawn attention to herself.
“But why, love?” Mrs Goodly demanded, putting aside the latest copy of La Belle Assemblee. “You're safe now, Milly,” she said, her voice gentle as she reached out and took her hand. “You have a kind and gentle man for your husband. You need never think that he would force his attentions on you.”
Milly laughed, her cheeks burning with humiliation. “Oh no!” she exclaimed. “I don't think he would ever do that.” The very idea that Beau should ever look upon her in such a way was so ridiculous that it made a sharp, searing pain stab at her heart. The worst of it was that even had there been the least possibility that he should look at her with desire, she couldn't allow it. She couldn’t let anything damage their friendship and if she opened herself to loving him, she would never be able to pretend that his many other lovers didn't matter to her.
So she would continue to be plain old Milly. Not that she could ever have aspired to be a beauty even if she tried. No, she would become known as the glamorous duke's dull little wife, and hopefully she would keep her heart and their friendship intact.
Mrs Goodly gave her a shrewd look. The woman knew her better than anyone, having been with her since her cousin had realised someone needed to manage her fits and fill the position of abigail. If she knew Milly was in love with Beau she'd never said, but the woman was no fool.
“He's your husband now, Milly. Surely you want your husband to look at you.”
Milly shook her head. She hadn't told Mrs Goodly the deal that had been struck between her and Beau, but she'd better know before she got any silly ideas.
“He's my husband in name only, Edith. There will be no ...” She flushed, her skin heating with shame. “No marriage bed, no children, no ... relationship further than we already have. He doesn't want a wife for anything more than appearances, and we are friends. He trusts me to make things comfortable for him, and I mean to do so. You mustn't get any silly romantic notions. His Grace is marrying me because he's too kind-hearted to see me suffer. But I mean to repay him by being everything he could wish for in a wife but ... but not in that way.”
She had the horrible suspicion that Mrs Goodly had a great deal more to say on the subject but Madame Devy appeared at that fortuitous moment and she was saved.
She was helped in the simple white cambric muslin dress that had a high neck and was fitted tightly over her bosom. Although the weather was warm now it had, as she had requested, long sleeves of moderate width, so as not to highlight her skinny arms. It was worn with plain russet coloured silk spencer that was actually rather becoming with her dark hair and eyes. Milly looked herself over in the glass and nodded with approval.
“Thank you so much, Madame Devy. It is exactly what I wanted.”
She at least shouldn't bring the new Duke of Ware any undue embarrassment when he introduced her to his people, not for her attire at least. She only hoped she didn't find another way to make him regret his decision.
Chapter 7
“In which promises are made.”
Beau looked down at his bride with a smile. She had endured the introductions to his small household and held her head up during the short service held in the parlour of his town house.
He had been relieved to note his staff all going out of their way to make her welcome, and especially approved of the maternal gleam in Mrs Buss' eyes that threatened much fussing and coddling. Though this may well put Milly out of patience he thought it was about time she enjoyed a bit of coddling.
“I do hope you will tell me if anything isn't to your liking, your Grace,” Mrs Buss was saying. “I shall do my best to please but we all have our own ways and I'd rather you told me outright rather than have me repeat the mistake.”
“Oh no, Mrs Buss,” Milly exclaimed, shaking her head. “I can't imagine how I would ever disapprove of anything, but I do hope that you will guide me. I'm afraid I haven't the first idea of how to go on. I did manage a small household for my cousin but ...” She glanced up at Beau, obviously unsure. “But if I am to manage a large establishment I shan't have the faintest notion of what to do. I rely on you to show me the way.”
Beau hid a smile, knowing she couldn't have said anything more likely to put her into Bustle's good books. If she'd tried to conceal her ignorance she'd have gained the housekeeper's scorn, but now ... she'd do everything she could to support her new mistress. He realised that he hadn't given Milly the slightest information about where they were to live and felt immediately guilty. The poor young woman must be all at sea, wondering what on earth would become of her next.
Once they had been left alone to sit down to their first meal together as husband and wife, he reached across the table and took her hand.
“Well then, little bird. How does it feel to be the Duchess of Ware?”
She gave a startled little laugh of surprise and shook her head. “I hardly know,” she said, smiling at him. “It seems so unlikely I keep expecting to wake up back at my cousin's.”
He squeezed her fingers and then sat back as Rexom laid the table with soup, a loin of pork, a beef tremblant and roasted vegetables. Between these were a number of side dishes including pigeons stuffed with foi gras and truffles, fricassee of chicken and a raised game pie.
Once Beau dismissed the staff he looked in amusement at Milly's wide eyes. “Mrs Buss has it in mind to fatten you like a Christmas turkey, little bird.”
“Good Lord,” she breathed in wonder. “I-I hardly know where to begin.”
“No more do I,” Beau laughed, enjoying her look of astonishment. “I assure you I haven't eaten like this in years. We shall make a fine plump pair if she keeps this up.”
“Well, we had best start. I should hate to offend her after all her hard work.”
She allowed him to serve her some soup and they ate in companionable silence for a while. Beau was relieved to discover that nothing had changed between them. He'd been a little anxious that perhaps she should have still harboured some romantic idea of them being more than he was offering, despite his frankness on the subject. But she seemed relaxed and ready to be pleased by everything and he hoped that he'd not done such a bad day's work after all.
“Your new dress is very becoming, Milly. Did you like Madame Devy?” he asked, cutting her off a slice of the game pie.
“Like is perhaps not the word,” she admitted, taking a sip of wine. “Truthfully she's quite terrifying, but I do think the dress is rather elegant. Do you really approve?” she asked, anxiety in her eyes. “I--I wasn't really sure and what with you being such a ... a ...”
“Coxcomb?” he supplied, one eyebrow raised.
He grinned as she gave a delighted burst of laughter. “No! Oh you know very well I should never have said such a thing!�
� She wagged her finger at him. “No, and not thought it either before you lay that accusation upon me.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “I think you look perfectly charming and every inch a duchess. Now do please make inroads into that pie or we shall never hear the end of it.”
She obliged him by cutting off a neat corner and chewing with a look of approval.
“We shall be going to Ware tomorrow, do you mind?” he asked, helping himself to some of the beef. “I will need to get to grips with my father's affairs and see what state the place is in.”
“No,” she replied, shaking her head as he offered her the beef. “Indeed I can't wait to see it. Is it very grand?”
Beau felt a weight fall over him as he considered his home. The truth was that the place made him feel ill. It was too tied into memories of his father and the twin he'd lost. It was a place with nothing but bad associations for him.
“Like a damned mausoleum,” he muttered, reaching for his wine.
“Well that sounds an inviting prospect,” Milly replied with some asperity.
He laughed, a little chastened by the reproach in her eyes. “Forgive me,” he said. “I shouldn't frighten you should I, but the truth is it is not a welcoming place. I would as soon burn it to the ground but I suppose I'd better not.”
“Beau!” She looked at him in shock. “You cannot be serious?”
“Oh perfectly,” he replied, setting down his empty glass and refilling it. “It isn't, and I doubt it ever has been a happy place. It reeks of vice and debauchery and I'm inclined to believe you'll hate it just as I do. But you needn't worry, I shall find us something modern and more comfortable to live in. Would you like that?”
To his surprise she frowned a little. “Of course you shall do as you think best,” she replied, which made him laugh because she so obviously disagreed with him.
“Come now, little bird. You demanded I give you the truth with no bark on once we were married, so I've as much right to ask the same haven't I?”
She blushed and looked uncomfortable, wiping her mouth with her napkin. “Very well then,” she said, with a little huff of indignation. “If you must know, and of course I haven't seen it yet, but I believe a house is bricks and mortar until people live in it. Just because the people who have made their lives there up until now have been ... unhappy or ... or unpleasant,” she said with difficulty, clearly uneasy to be discussing his family in such a way; no matter that she knew his words would have been far stronger.
“Just because they have not made it a pleasant home, I don't see why that means it could not be a pleasant home. I think you need to give it a chance, now that it is yours. Just because it has a forbidding or cold exterior, that doesn't mean it couldn't be a warm and comfortable place to be.”
“Well then,” he replied, amused by her indignation on behalf of his ancestral home. “It seems that not only the Duke of Ware has a champion but his home too. I have indeed made a wonderful choice in my wife.”
“Oh, fustian,” she scolded him, though she was grinning too. “Now I've said all that I'll probably take one look and run away screaming,” she added, with a chuckle.
“Oh, no, little bird. Not you. You have far too much courage for that I know.”
She looked up at him suddenly, such warmth in her eyes that he was momentarily taken aback. It was quickly gone though and she applied herself to finishing her meal.
“Thank you, Beau,” she said, her voice quiet and they ate for a while in silence. Rexom came in with footmen brought up from Ware and cleared the table, setting the second course. Milly's eyes widened with dismay as she took in a green goose, a dressed crab, dishes of peas and broccoli, and an apple pie with a dish of cream.
“Good heavens,” she said faintly, once they were alone again. “We can't eat like this every night!”
Beau sighed and shook his head. “No, I don't think we could. But we must let Mrs Buss have her fun. It's so long since she had to do anything but scrape around on a pitiful budget you can't blame her for getting excited and wanting to show her talents to her new mistress.”
“And what a talent!” she said, laughing. “Oh no! I shall just have some apple pie,” she added, refusing his offer to serve her some crab.
“Very well then, but if you don't at least cover it in cream you'll be bound to disappoint her.”
With a determined look she helped herself to a generous slice of apple pie and duly added a large mound of cream to Beau's approval.
“How far is it to Ware?” she asked, putting the cream dish back on the table.
“Only a couple of hours so we can come back to town as often as you like, so at least you needn't feel you've been buried in the country. We do, however, have an ordeal to face before we go,” he added with a grimace.
“Oh?”
He nodded and gave her a sympathetic look. “We have to go and visit my grandmother.”
“Oh well, that's not so bad ... is it?” she asked, her eyes widening with dismay at his expression.
“Oh it's far worse than you can imagine,” he said, feeling bad for putting her on her guard her but it was best she was prepared. “She's a wicked old woman with a nasty tongue and I tell you now, I won't go at all if you don't come with me for she frightens me to death!”
“Oh, but you're teasing me,” she laughed at him, but then her face fell as she realised he was doing nothing of the sort.
“She'll be rude and obnoxious, Milly, but you mustn't let her bully you. I can never see her without feeling like I'm in short trousers, but I'll do my best to save you from the worst of it, I swear.”
“Well,” she said, putting down her spoon with a sigh. “That's something to look forward to then!”
***
Milly sat against the plush squabs of what had been Beau's father's carriage and tried to settle her nerves. Everything still had a slightly bizarre, unreal quality to it and she was now and then struck with a sense of panic in case she should wake and find she'd been dreaming. But the clothes that had arrived as promised from Madame Devy were awaiting her when she'd woken and she had sat down to breakfast with the most handsome man in England. Her husband. She bit her lip as a bubble of laughter threatened to break free. It was too ridiculous.
She watched him covertly from across the carriage. His thick blond hair was artfully dishevelled, giving him a slightly rakish, romantic look and his strong profile was a classical sculptor's dream. Broad shoulders were lovingly embraced by his dark blue coat of superfine and the starched points of his pristine white collars were neither too high nor too negligible. His cravat, tied in the Mathmatical, was perfectly arranged, and nestled within the white folds was a sapphire pin which glinted the exact same shade as his eyes. Milly suppressed a sigh of longing. At least she was granted this much, so much more than she had ever dreamed of.
The letters of felicitation and invitations had begun as Beau's notice of their marriage had been published yesterday. Everyone was desperately curious as to the little nobody who had snagged the county's most eligible bachelor before anyone had even realised he was no longer a penniless Marquis. The flourishing names on the correspondences from a great many grand and fashionable people had made Milly want to run and hide and she'd gone white as a sheet. But Beau had just laughed and told her to thank them kindly but tell them that they would be spending the rest of the summer quietly at Greythorpe Hall. She wondered if that was really what he wanted or if he was just being kind to her.
Looking down at the elegant drapes of her India muslin dress, she reached out and smoothed her fingers over the luxurious silk of her spencer. Never having owned anything so fine in all her life it only added to the dreamlike quality of the past couple of days. She'd been a little unsure of the colour as it was far brighter that anything she'd ever worn before. Called lilly of Sharon it was a deep purple and had caused her to hesitate on the threshold of her room until Beau had spotted her dithering. He'd given her an approving smile and said she looked t
o be in prime twig. The compliment had quite gone to her head and she'd had to scold herself severely for reading anything more into it than her husband's good manners.
“Here we are then,” Beau said as they drew up outside a smart town house on Curzon Street, with such obvious gloom that Milly couldn't help but laugh.
“Oh dear. You aren't filling me with courage you know, husband. You look like you're going to your execution.”
“Ignorance is bliss, little bird,” he muttered, giving her a lopsided smile before adding. “Sorry, Milly. I know it's foolish but she's always hated me and ... I don't know. That a grown man should be put into a quake by an old woman is ridiculous isn't it? But she was so damned hateful to me as a child ...” He broke off, looking awkward and Milly felt her heart clench. He still hadn't had the chance to talk about his father as she knew he wanted to but she knew his childhood had been a miserable one. If this old woman had played a part in that then Milly was only too determined to meet the old bat. She reached out and slipped her hand into Beau's and gave it a squeeze.
“Well then, let's get it over with if we must for propriety's sake, and then we can leave and forget all about her." She watched him nod and they walked up the stairs together. To her surprise he kept a tight hold of her hand and she was pleased to think that perhaps she was a comfort to him.
The dowager Duchess of Ware was a wizened old woman who looked to Milly's critical eye not to be a day younger than Methuselah. She shuddered as they drew nearer and completely understood Beau's reluctance to see her. Bright, malicious eyes stared out of a face as pale as marble and held about the same amount of warmth.
“Good morning, Grandmother,” Beau said, bowing politely to the dowager, though Milly noticed he didn't attempt to kiss her or take her hand.
The Devil May Care Page 6