by Lyn Stone
The town house Mr. Morleigh ushered them into was virtually the same in structure as the one in which they had stayed last night, the one she had trouble thinking of as actually belonging to her and Jack. The furnishings at this one were newer and brighter, she noted.
“Ah, here is my girl now!” Mr. Morleigh said, his affection for his wife apparent.
Small wonder. The lady approaching looked like something out of a fairy tale, Laurel thought. How beautiful she was with her hair all done up in curls with blue ribbons to match her softly pleated gown. Even her pretty satin slippers were blue.
Her features appeared to be slightly enhanced by traces of kohl about the eyes and something shimmering and rosy on her smiling lips. Face paint had never been allowed in the convent, but Laurel had read about it. This, however, was so subtle and barely noticeable, Laurel thought it quite acceptable. Perhaps all ladies wore it. Would she?
“Miranda, here is Jack, Lord Elderidge, of course, and his countess, Lady Laurel.”
The baroness dropped into a graceful curtsy, which Laurel returned in kind. Then the woman raised her gaze to meet Laurel’s directly. “It is so good to meet you both. Welcome to our home.”
After an uncomfortable moment of silence, Neville took charge. “Look, let’s dispense with formalities, shall we? We are Neville and Miranda, you are Jack and Laurel. Titles be damned or we’ll be tripping all over them. Any objections?”
Jack laughed at last. “None whatsoever. Leave it to the commoner among us to set things straight. Miranda, it is a great pleasure to meet you. This rascal is so obviously besotted, I can’t think you are anything but wonderful. We appreciate his offer of help, but if you have better things to do with your time when he explains our untimely visit, we will surely understand and remain friends.”
Apparently Jack had put aside whatever caused his foul mood for the benefit of their hostess. Laurel wondered if it would resume once they were alone again.
Neville slipped an arm around his wife. “My dear, we have the distinct honor of bringing out these two during the next Season.” He gave her a quick hug, drawing her closer. “And today, we shop and get them up to snuff! Sartorial splendor, that’s the battle plan for the day. No limits, right, Jack?”
“No,” Jack replied with an emphatic shake of his head. “No limits. Laurel may have whatever suits her and she needs everything a lady requires.”
Miranda clasped her hands together under her chin and her eyes fairly sparkled. “What a wonderful way to spend the day! Or perhaps the week! I love nothing better than prowling the shops!”
“And piling up purchases,” Neville added with a chuckle. “She’s infinitely adept at it, too!”
His wife shot him a grin, then turned a sweet smile on Laurel and reached out for her hand. “Come with me, my dear, and off with you lads! We two have serious matters to discuss before we go out.”
“But we planned to go together to the shops, all of us,” Neville protested. “Think how you’ll miss me.”
“Don’t be a donkey, Nev. Laurel and I must get to know one another so we can decide what sort of image she will require. You men can all look alike in any old things, but we women have to form a colorful strategy. Go now!” she ordered, flicking her elegant fingers toward the front door. “Take the carriage and send it back for us in an hour or so. We shan’t see you until evening. There’s a dear.”
Laurel watched Neville shrug and take Jack by the elbow, ushering him out as instructed. Jack flashed her a worried frown over his shoulder, so Laurel smiled tightly and gave him a little wave.
“There now, we’re rid of the rascals,” Miranda said with a merry laugh as she led Laurel to the stairs. “Come on, I have the most darling rose walking frock that will look stunning on you! Not my color, I find, but on you, it will be absolute perfection!”
“I cannot wear your clothes! Jack said I could buy my own.” She bit her lip as they ascended. “Though he forgot to give me any funds for it.”
Miranda gave her hand a squeeze. “Oh, you won’t need money. You must charge everything to Elderidge’s account and have the bills sent later. That’s how it’s done, you know. There’s not a merchant in London who would refuse your custom. We will delight them no end.”
“Frugality is much admired in a woman, so I was always told,” Laurel declared.
“Where in the world did you hear such sacrilege?” Miranda asked with a happy laugh.
“In the convent,” Laurel replied.
“Oh, my word, a convent,” Miranda said with a sigh. “That explains the dress.”
* * *
Late in the day, Laurel began to feel faint with exhaustion. She feared she would fall asleep again tonight before Jack came to her unless she rested beforehand.
She and Miranda, that gloriously wonderful new friend of hers, lounged comfortably in the parlor of the Elderidge town house, sipping tea and waiting for the menfolk to return.
“Just wait until he sees you!” Miranda exclaimed. “I cannot believe the transformation myself and I watched it happen! Even after an entire afternoon of shopping, you still look ravishing!”
Laurel felt strange rather than ravishing. Miranda had insisted on having her own maid dress Laurel’s hair before they went to the shops. Then she had foisted the rose confection of a walking dress onto her, along with shoes and French bonnet to match.
After that, the entire day had progressed in a blur of fittings and choosing furbelows. There were quick, whispered instructions that Miranda slid between conversations with the dressmakers and shopkeepers as to how Laurel should behave with them.
Miranda was a wealth of information when it came to Laurel’s physical deportment as well as how to assume expressions worthy of a countess. For the most part, Laurel simply copied whatever Miranda did. She wondered how Jack was faring under Neville’s tutelage.
When they first arrived at the Elderidge house, Miranda had instructed Laurel to remove her bonnet, gloves and the elegantly tucked fichu that covered the upper half of the bosom. She declared it was nearly evening so a more revealing dress was appropriate. She, however, kept her walking attire intact for when Neville would escort her home.
“Keep your white frock for a morning dress,” Miranda advised. “It’s not to be worn out, but you may receive guests while wearing it. The rose is for outings in the day or a casual evening at home as you wear it now. Never go out without your gloves,” she reminded Laurel.
Laurel had never owned but one pair of gloves in her life and those were meant for warmth in winter. Now she had a dozen of varied lengths, all for show. It seemed such a waste.
“Your purchases should be delivered this evening or in the morning. Those frocks being sewn will take at least a week, but you should have enough of the ready-made to suffice until then.”
They had shopped no less than four dressmakers to find six frocks in the proper size already done up for customers who had not claimed them. Ten more had been ordered at Miranda’s insistence. Laurel wondered where in the world she would ever wear so many.
There were morning dresses, day gowns, walking dresses, two ballgowns and a riding habit. Also hats, caplets, a lovely paisley shawl, two jackets and one mantle for cold weather. Not to mention the unmentionables Miranda had insisted she purchase! The cost would be outrageous.
Laurel had worried aloud that Jack would accuse her of trying to beggar him. He would have good cause if he did, but Miranda assured her he would not.
“Have your maid press and hang the gowns as soon as they arrive.”
“I haven’t a maid,” Laurel said. “That is to say, not a lady’s maid as such. There are two housemaids here, of course.”
“Choose one and train her. It’s good to promote from within if you think one of those girls will do. That gives the other staff hope of advancement. Tomorrow I shall send my Kerrick over to instruct your girl in the basic things she should know and see that she has her own proper clothing for her new station.”
“You are too good,” Laurel said sincerely. “I have never had such a generous friend, Miranda. Your time must be valuable, and here, you’ve spent the entire day assisting me. I wish there were something I could do to repay you.”
The other woman leaned forward and grasped her hand. “Being a friend is thanks enough. I have not made many of those, you know. My first husband would never allow it, and after he died, all the wives were shy of widows. Now most of my time is spent with Neville.”
“He adores you,” Laurel declared. “You are so fortunate.”
“Jack doesn’t adore you?” Miranda asked, frowning.
“Well.” Laurel shrugged and pulled a face. “Not yet.”
They laughed together and Miranda gave her hand a pat. “As I said, wait until he sees you now!”
Just then they heard the men coming into the hall, arguing about a hat.
“In here, you two!” Miranda called out.
The door was open and the men walked in. Neville went straight to Miranda, who rose to greet him. Laurel stood as well, her gaze seeking Jack’s. He had stopped dead still in the doorway.
Chapter Eight
“My God!” Jack exclaimed. “Look at you!”
Laurel could not decide whether he was pleased or merely shocked. “Well?” She offered a tentative smile.
“Well, indeed!” he replied, dragging his gaze from her to Miranda. “And well-done.”
Miranda laughed. “You might wait until the bills arrive to wax too grateful, Jack. But she is lovely, isn’t she?” Her next words were for her husband. “Neville, I believe it is time for us to go home.”
Jack stood aside as the couple left. He murmured another word of thanks to them as they passed, his gaze still fastened upon Laurel.
She tried not to blush and tried to remember all that Miranda had told her. Never slouch. Never show apprehension or lack of confidence. Hold yourself at high value and see that others do as well. If they do not, give them the cut direct.
Miranda knew well the way of things, for she had been born to be what she was, a diamond of the first water. Laurel had read that phrase in a book and thought it described her sparkling new friend exactly.
She watched as Jack strode slowly across the room. When he reached her, he took her hands in his, raising them to his mouth. His lips were warm against her skin as his eyes met hers. “You are truly beautiful,” he whispered.
Why that should have made her angry, Laurel could not say. After all, that had been the objective, had it not? All she had allowed done to her this day was to reach this very conclusion.
“So now you want me,” she stated without inflection.
“I do indeed,” he admitted.
She jerked her hands from his and turned away from him. “I am the same person I was last week, yesterday, this morning!” she declared. “The very same as I was when dressed wrongly, without rouged lips and rice powder!”
She raked at the curls so carefully wrought by Miranda’s maid, tearing the pins away, loosening her hair even as she loosed her temper. “Do not judge me by the way I look, Jack Worth!”
“Everyone else will,” he replied. “I was only reacting the way they are likely to do. As for me, I liked you very well the way you were last week, giving a set down to that Spanish snake. I liked how you weathered the voyage without complaint and how gently you dealt with my mother. Even the huge crowds at the theatre never bothered you. However, you were not the same last evening or this morning, and I confess I did not like you that way.”
Laurel snapped around to face him again. “And what way would that be?”
“Subservient. Timid. Intimidated.”
“Behaving as I was taught!” she exclaimed. “‘The meek shall inherit the earth!’”
He scoffed. “Six by two feet of it, for certain, and probably claim that sooner than the strong! If you intend to greet every stranger you meet in that manner, you might as well have donned a habit and stayed with the nuns!”
Much to her horror, Laurel burst into tears. She dashed from the parlor, ran to the stairs, up to her room and slammed the door. She leaned against it. Damn the man!
No one had ever made her cry. No one, not even Orencio! The entire day had been so incredibly strange. Never had her feelings swung so rapidly from one extreme to the next, fear to elation, bright expectation to hopelessness, humility to overconfidence. And now, this unexpected and unreasonable anger had flared.
Suddenly she felt deflated and exhausted, yet her nerves were thrumming so that she could hardly be still. For once, she quite understood Jack’s unnerving energy.
Betty came out of the dressing room and stopped short. “Milady, are you unwell?”
Laurel nodded and pushed away from the door. “Please go.” She so wished to be alone, to further examine what was wrong with her to allow such rapid changes in her emotions. The sisters would be aghast at how she was neglecting her training.
True, it had always proved a struggle to be as they demanded, but she thought she had mastered their teachings. Well, first Orencio and now Jack certainly had sent whatever serenity she had acquired flying to the four winds.
“Chamomile tea, that’s what’s called for. I’ll just go and bring it up,” Betty announced.
“Wait. Unlace me first,” Laurel ordered. “I cannot stand this corset a moment longer!”
“Oh, yes, ma’am!” The little maid scurried over and began to unbutton the back of the rose gown. “We shall have you out of this in no time at all! Will you be dressing for supper in a while?” She laid the gown aside and began undoing the laces at the back of the new, stiff undergarment.
“No supper, just the tea. Then I will go to bed for the night.”
“It’s not quite dark yet, ma’am! Are you ill?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Laurel admitted with a heavy sigh. She rubbed her abdomen where there must be red furrows on her skin caused by the dratted corset’s boning.
“Aha,” said Betty in a knowing tone. “Let’s get you into your nightgown then and I’ll fetch you the tea and some comfits. Me mum always says that perks a lady up at the off times.”
Laurel shook her head and released another deep sigh now that she could breathe normally. “Well, today certainly qualifies as one of my off times.”
* * *
Jack returned from trying to walk off his frustration and confusion. He still couldn’t figure what on earth had happened to Laurel to turn her so contentious all of a sudden.
He had never had a woman resent his calling her beautiful before. What had she expected after going to all that trouble to change her appearance? Damn it all, she was a beauty. He had suspected she could be.
A nice frock and new hairstyle improved her as it would any woman, but he had never thought her plain. Rather ordinary at first, perhaps, but not later when he’d had a good look. Thank God he hadn’t said that. But maybe he had inferred somehow that he’d thought her looks to be too ordinary before this evening.
Maybe he shouldn’t have brought to attention her earlier attitude. He’d only done that to mark how he knew she could hold her own in any situation if she would but try. Things had gone awry from the start and he didn’t understand why she took such offense.
Oh, well, he would go up and apologize anyway just in the event it really was his fault. Aye, an apology should turn her up sweet. A smile and a kiss should finish the trick. Then a great lot of kisses and what would follow those should banish all of her squalls by morning.
The maid was just coming out of Laurel’s room when he topped the stairs. “Good evening, Betty, is it?” he asked, practicing his smile.
“Yes, sir. And a good evening it is, sir,” she said, returning his smile with a toothy grin. “I’m to be our lady’s maid. She just now said so, so you may call me Thornwhistle hereafter if you like.”
“Uh, e
xcellent. Congratulations. Lady Laurel’s in her room then?” he asked, with a nod toward the door.
Betty frowned as she nodded. “Yes, sir, but I’m afraid she’s indisposed this evening.”
“Ill?” he demanded, worried that she had come down with something caught during her outing. That could explain her attack of temper earlier. Or maybe she was just angry.
“Not exactly ill, sir. Indisposed,” the maid said again with emphasis, raised brows and inclined head, as if imparting a secret. Or something not to be directly discussed.
Ah. He was to glean from that, Laurel was undergoing the unspoken malady suffered monthly by all women, he supposed. Damn it all. Another week of denial. “All right then. Thank you, Betty. Uh, Thornwhistle, is it?”
“It is and you’re quite welcome, sir. Shall I send George or Will up to you?” She hesitated a beat. “I would recommend George as the most likely gent’s gent.”
“Thank you, no, I’ll ring if need be. Go along now,” Jack said, his mind still on Laurel, wondering whether he should look in on her or if she’d rather be left alone.
Alone, he decided. The mystery was solved as far as he was concerned. Women were known to behave rather strangely at times like this, so he had been told. He must get used to it now that he was a husband.
The problem was that he was not really a husband yet. None of the rewards, yet all of the liabilities, he thought with a huff of resignation.
He went back down the stairs to the old earl’s library. Perhaps a dull book and a snifter of Elderidge’s brandy would sand away the rough edges of his thoroughly vexing day.
* * *
Jack breakfasted alone again the next day and headed for the solicitor’s office. He needed to discuss the finances in more detail. Laurel’s questions as to the actual amount involved in the earl’s bequest underlined the need to have specifics.
There were also questions as to how the staffs were to be paid and how bills were handled at both locations. However, when he arrived at Hobson’s office, he found that the man was at the bank on business and might not be returning until early afternoon.