Caversham's Bride (The Caversham Chronicles - Book One)

by Raven, Sandy

  “Elise, this will become a mutual admiration session if we let it. We simply must stay on task.”

  “Right.”

  “Now, let’s start with this dress. It’s all wrong. It’s a debutant’s dress. What you want is something more... womanly. A sheath of a dress. Something that will maximize what figure you do have with less frills and flounce. Something a tad more daring. Are you following me?”

  “I believe I am,” Elise whispered, staring at the dress in the oval pier glass. “You’re right. That is what has been bothering me since I saw myself in the mirror.”

  “You need something plain, but not white,” Beverly said as she continued to scrutinize Elise’s figure and dress. “No pastels, either. The only people who wear pastels are little girls and wall flowers.”

  “I don’t think my brother will allow me to make my debut in a scarlet peignoir, Beverly.” Just because she’d been daring in the past, she had to remember her goal—to become someone Michael would desire. She wanted to be the kind of woman he would be attracted to, and proud to marry.

  “No, I shouldn’t think he would. But he needn’t know what your gown looks like does he? And what about the duchess, or your grandmother? Will either of them be assisting you on Saturday evening?”

  “I suppose I could manage with just Bridget.”

  “Yes you can. Now about your dress....”

  After several more minutes of staring into the mirror, Elise and Beverly concluded the current dress just would not do. So they sketched a design for a new dress. A dress that was sure to catch the eye of every man in attendance. Most hopefully, the new Earl of Camden.

  “What if we’re wrong?” Elise asked. She realized, for the first time, that this feeling of doubt was foreign to her. If the stakes weren’t so high, she’d throw caution to the wind and go with her heart. “What if this backfires? This is my entire future we’re placing in the hands of a modiste.”

  “This will work, Elise. There is nothing in this design that is unorthodox. The dress is not immodest in any way. It is simply... simple. Which allows you to shine as the jewel you are. This,” her friend pointed at their sketch, “Lord Camden, will appreciate. I promise you.”

  Elise pulled her bell cord and Bridget, Madame Fuichard and the seamstresses returned. Elise showed Madame the sketch and asked if it could be ready by Saturday afternoon, five days away. Madame looked about to faint, declaring the task impossible in the few days before her big ball.

  “This is a not a dress fit for a young mademoiselle making her debut to the world. This.... This ‘creation’ is perhaps something fit for a married woman wishing to court scandal.”

  “My lady,” Bridget stated, “One look at ye, when you come down to dinner in that, and they’ll be sending you right back up here to change into another gown.” The servant shook her red curls while she studied the drawing. “Ye won’t get away with it, I tell you.”

  Then it hit her. Why not two dresses?

  She took Beverly aside and asked, “What do you think about changing gowns? I mean to have one for dinner and another for the ball.”

  “Well,” Beverly mused, “as I see it, your biggest obstacle is your maid. We can’t have her leaking our secret. Then, all we need to do is calculate the time it would take to come upstairs after dinner, change, then reappear in the receiving line. We cannot do it without Bridget’s help.”

  Elise nodded then turned back to the modiste. “Could you do both?”

  The modiste looked from Bridget to Elise. “There simply is not enough time to find the material and sew another new dress.”

  Not about to let her plan be defeated, Elise gave a winsome smile to Madame Fuichard, then added, “I have enormous faith in you and your assistants, Madame. But, if you don’t think you can do it, would you be upset if I ask Madame Robillard if she could squeeze me into her busy schedule?”

  Madame closed her eyes tapped her pencil on the dresser. Elise could sense the other woman’s agitation with her. “I shall pay you handsomely Madame, if you could make this dress also. I truly do not wish to go to another modiste.”

  “If I do it,” the other woman said with some reservation. “I will need to hire two more seamstresses to have just your two orders completed in time.” The modiste studied the sketch closely, saying, “The dress appears simple and easy to make, and we already have your measurements. We would need the fabric selection.”

  Elise clapped her hands together and grinned. “Wonderful! We shall go shopping for new fabric this very minute. Unless Madame has something suitable for this design, in a color to complement my complexion already in her shop?”

  The woman returned Elise’s smile, either because of the opportunity to double her fee, or because she instinctively loved the idea of being known as dressmaker to this sister of a duke. “It just so happens I received a bolt in my latest shipment from the east. In fact, it is so newly arrived I have not even cut into it. It is a dark ivory silk, the color will be a perfect highlight for your hair, skin and eyes, and because you are so willowy and graceful, you will carry this masterpiece with exceptional flair. There will be none to match you on this night or the rest of the season, Mademoiselle.”

  “I wish to purchase the entire bolt, as I trust your judgment completely, Madame. Now, if you could create this dress,” she held up the sheet of heavy vellum, “for me alone, you will have my gratitude, as well as exclusivity as my dressmaker for the rest of the season.”

  This seemed to please Madame immensely, and she assured Elise she would have both dresses for her to try on in two days.

  Later, as the women gathered their belongings to leave the chamber, Elise reminded them of the need for secrecy. The last thing she needed was her brother getting wind of her intention and somehow foiling her plan.

  Once she closed the door behind them, she turned to her friend and said, “That went very well, don’t you think?”

  Beverly smiled and nodded. “I do. Michael will hardly be able to dismiss you once you appear on the landing wearing that dress. His eyes will be riveted on you the entire night.”

  Early Saturday morning, hoping to avoid the amazingly organized chaos that was the preparations for her ball, Elise and Beverly headed out the front door after breakfast, prepared to go for their usual ride in the park. Unlike other young ladies, Elise and Beverly actually rode to enjoy their horses, not to be seen.

  “Thank you, Niles,” Elise said, as the butler held the door open.

  “Yes, thank you, Niles,” Beverly added right behind her.

  “It would not be remiss of me to remind you ladies of the evening ahead.”

  “How can I forget, dear Niles,” Elise replied, “My stomach is roiling because of nerves as it is. I’m hoping this ride will calm them so I can eat something before tonight.”

  Niles watched over the ladies as they waited for the grooms to come up with their horses. But before the grooms arrived, a familiar dark green carriage bearing the gold-inlaid Camden crest pulled in front of the Upper Brook street home of the Duke of Caversham. A groom hopped down, opened the door and lowered the steps, and out stepped the man Elise had fantasized about since she was ten years old. At that time, her papa had just married Amelia and her brother was away at school. Often when her brother returned home he had Michael in tow, and that’s was how she became acquainted with him. But it was the evening of her father’s wedding celebration that she fell in love with him. As soon as she realized she wanted to marry him, Elise did what any little girl would do to force an unwilling young man to come up to scratch—she held his horse hostage by hiding it in another barn until he agreed to marry her.

  Michael removed his hat as he ascended the steps. His cocoa brown hair was slicked back as though he was fresh from a bath. Those familiar greenish-brown eyes, set wide on his face under a strong brow, held an amused twinkle this morning. The grin turning the corners of his well-formed wide lips upward was most contagious. Elise’s fingers just itched to trace his fin
e features, including the faint cleft in his chin. Even though he had a tiny ‘v’ shaped scar on his cheek from some childhood accident, he looked too devastatingly handsome for his own good.

  And it bothered Elise that he knew she thought him handsome. Though she hadn’t told him so recently, she had told him just that in the past. She remembered the day many years earlier, when she’d gone into the barn to find an angry Michael waiting on his horse. She told him he was too handsome to go through life scowling. He said nothing to her, just mumbled at her as he took his horse’s reins and left.

  Today he smiled. Which irritated her. Though in his favor, everything was irritating her on this day, and knew she really needed to temper her thoughts before getting on her horse. The excitable little mare was doing well, and Elise really didn’t want to end up on the ground because she couldn’t control her own emotions.

  Michael’s light gray fine wool coat bore a black velvet mourning arm band to match the collar. The fabric stretched across his shoulders as though it was pasted onto his broad back. A silver satin waistcoat adorned with onyx buttons hugged his trim waist. Her breathing stilled as she could almost imagine him unbuttoning them, to relax over a game of cards or chess. What she wouldn’t give to have him relax in such a manner with her.

  Even in mourning, this man looked every bit the handsome rogue. His buff-yellow nankeen breeches looked as though his well-muscled thighs were poured into them, without a wrinkle in sight. She surmised that his fine boots probably took his valet hours to polish to their mirror shine.

  She tried—really, really tried—to appear bored and disinterested in his presence, even so far as feigning interest in the traffic on the street. Elise knew she more than likely was not succeeding.

  He came up and greeted them. His smile warm and genuine.

  Beverly curtsied and said, “Good morning, Lord Camden.”

  “Yes,” Elise said when she turned to face him, bobbing a quick curtsy. “Good morning, my lord.” She immediately turned away, as though staring down the street would bring the grooms out of the mews faster.

  He nodded to them. “It is turning into a beautiful day, ladies,” Michael replied. “I’d begun to despair after waking to a fog so thick I was unable to see across my garden.” He came to stand beside them, and asked, “Out for a ride on this fine morning?”

  His proximity made her more nervous, causing her heart to beat faster. Elise’s naturally sarcastic tongue blurted out the first thing that came to her head. “No. We just thought we’d watch the traffic pass by in our best riding habits.”

  Beverly elbowed her and shot her a warning glare. Turning her full smile back to Michael, she said, “You must forgive her, my lord. Tonight’s festivities have left my friend on tenterhooks and those she loves most have been the recipients of her stinging retorts all morning. I am hoping this outing will bring back the sweet disposition I know Elise to have.”

  Elise just stared, slack-jawed at the excuses for her behavior pouring from her friend’s mouth. She wished it were possible to kick herself for those words—once for thinking them, and once for saying them. Why, oh why, did she always turn her sarcastic tongue on the only man she wanted to impress with her changed ways?

  “Yes,” Michael replied, giving her a sympathetic smile. “Let’s hope this ride rids Lady Elise of her nerves before the evening’s big event.” Turning to Elise, he smiled. “Just remember to breathe deeply and relax. All will turn out well.”

  “Easy for you to say. It’s not your debut!” She did it again, snapped at him when she wanted to entice him. She wanted him to see the new Elise. Why was it so difficult to change? She’d never win him over if she didn’t.

  “You’re right, it’s not. But I’m trying to help here, Elise.”

  “You can’t help, when you’re part of the problem.” Immediately she slapped her hand over her mouth, embarrassed by her words. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said.... Oh, dear.” She felt her body tremble and her eyes well with burning tears. She swallowed the lump that rose and words of apology rushed out of her. “I’m sorry, my lord. You would think because of all the preparations we made last year, that I would not be so nervous now. But, since the start of the season, I have felt somewhat left out, attending everyone else’s ball when I hadn’t had my own yet.”

  Michael nodded his head. “If I could I would offer to dance with you, but as you know....”

  “Yes, I know,” Elise said. “Your family is in mourning.”

  “But if I were not, I would love a dance.”

  He appeared sincere, and not in his normal teasing manner. Elise wondered if he were feeling well because he was usually ripe to pick on her when she was in a snit like a moment ago. Not letting this new, compassionate mood of his slip by she said, “I will hold you to that, my lord.”

  He nodded. “Absolutely do, We can even make it a waltz if you have permission.”

  “Of course I have permission,” she said. But the sarcastic tone with which she’d begun her reply quickly died. “We got it last year just before.... Um, before we....” Elise stopped, remembering that day the family had planned to leave for London and last year’s season. Grandmother had taken a tumble down the main stairs, striking her head, knocking her unconscious. For almost a week they held vigil over her, hoping she would awaken. Their prayers were answered when one afternoon she opened her eyes, thus beginning her long recovery. As a result Elise missed her first season.

  “That’s right,” he said quickly. “Grandmother was recovering.”

  Elise nodded, unable to speak as she was still ashamed at her outburst. And now she had the added emotion of remembering the pain at nearly losing her grandmother.

  “All is well now,” Michael said with a smile. “Lady Sewell is in prime form, ready to take on the Season with you and your family.” He winked at her, causing her to return his smile. “I know the season will be over by then, but in three months we can have our waltz.”

  The three of them watched as the grooms led the horses forward—mares for Elise and Beverly, and a quiet gelding for the groom following as guard. Michael tipped his head and bid them a delightful ride.

  Once mounted and away from the house and the groom, Beverly turned her curly blond head to Elise, her eyes reproachful. “That was better. You started off sounding shrewish, but recovered when he mentioned the family foregoing the season last year.”

  The mares walked on a relaxed rein toward the park entrance. “Remembering grandmother’s accident brought back the fear and emotions from those weeks when we didn’t know if she would survive. It still causes me upset.”

  “Or were you tongue-tied because you were surprised to find Michael being polite to you?” Beverly turned to look at her. They rode through the park’s gated entrance, and her friend added, “Remember, you must give him a reason to want to be in your presence, or else all is lost.”

  “I know you are right. Over and over in my head I go through every scenario possible with him and plan how I would comport myself in that situation. Inevitably, I never do what I rehearsed and my sarcastic mouth just takes over.” It was times like this when Elise thought she would drown in her despair.

  “Do you remember what Mrs. Pritchard taught us to do in those situations?”

  Elise shook her head. With her brain in the barn her entire life, Elise never paid much attention to their comportment teacher. Which was why she was in this predicament in the first place.

  Beverly went on. “She said to close our eyes and count to three before we reply. First, you’ll appear more intelligent—as though you’d thought your answer through before replying. Second, it will make you appear less like a bounding colt and more the refined lady you should be. And isn’t that what we all struggle to portray? Images of serene, intelligent ladies?”

  “Not everyone,” Elise replied. “I certainly don’t see those Corrigan girls attempting to appear more intelligent, and look at all the bucks circling them each night!”


  “We should be so lucky.”

  Elise nodded and they both laughed as they followed the bridle path, keeping their horses at a walk, preferring to wait until they reached the far side of the Serpentine to race—away from the prying eyes and condemning glances of the others taking in the morning sunshine. But Elise’s mind wasn’t on the lovely morning, or even the Corrigan girls and all their many beau.

  “I cannot believe he said he would actually waltz with me when he comes out of mourning.” She looked over at her friend and smiled. “I now have three months to perfect my dance.”

  Elise sighed. She had to change. She had to temper her thoughts, her words, and her actions. It was the only way for anyone to really believe she was different. That she had grown up. Or, as Beverly said, all would be lost, because the new Lord Camden would just marry someone else.

  With a slight flick of the wrist, she gave a light tap of her crop behind the girth of her off-side, which sent her mare bounding forward, leaving her friend and her groom staring at her back.

  Michael Brightman, the new twelfth Earl of Camden, strode into the dining room at Caversham House, an unusual cheer rising within. Likely because it was a weekend, and there was nothing needing his attention until Monday morning. It definitely didn’t have anything to do with seeing the little hellion out front. The fact that she was nervous about the night ahead told him she at least cared enough to present herself in a manner that would make her family proud. Could it be she was growing up?

  The little hellion, all grown up. Shocking thought that. Hopefully it meant no more romantic interest in him. He stumbled over the edge of a folded carpet, and caught himself on the door jamb.

  Michael laughed at his clumsiness, then smiled and greeted Ren and Lia, as he did most mornings when they were all in Town.

  “Good morning Your Grace,” he said to the duchess, “you are looking radiantly beautiful as usual.”

  “I’m sorry about all the disarray, my lord,” the Duchess of Caversham replied. “I have been assured all the carpets and boxes from the decorations will be out of the hallway before the festivities begin this evening.”