Fanny snorted. “I’m sorry for saying so, but his pedigree is only distinguished by the fact that he keeps track of the damn thing.” She didn’t sound sorry at all. “Look a little higher in your family tree and at all the branches and you’ll see more than a few so-called ‘contaminating influences.’”
“I agree, my father can be very…shortsighted when it comes to the purity of our pedigree. But he’s certainly not alone in valuing the sanctity of English bloodlines.”
Fanny harrumphed. “Pure blood, perfect English rose, indeed! It’s all an illusion crafted by those who wish to keep Society exclusive and thus themselves the ‘haves’ and not the ‘have-nots.’” She smiled. “But illusion is my forte as well, which you shall soon see.”
Setting aside the pins, Fanny shoved her fingers into Edwina’s hair and loosened the tresses from the tight chignon. Edwina felt the weight of her hair fall to her shoulders. “Hmm.” Fanny pursed her crimson lips. “Now, tell me what you see in your reflection.”
Inhaling deeply, Edwina studied the dark-haired woman staring back at her. “Black eyes, like coals. Skin like farmer’s cheese—”
“I have my work cut out for me, indeed.” Fanny t’sked. “Half the trick to being beautiful is believing that you are beautiful.”
“But what if it’s not true?”
“Shhh! Of course it is. And you must have the absolute uncompromising knowledge that you are beautiful. Now,” Fanny clucked, “close your eyes, relax and tell me about the man.”
Edwina’s heart skipped a beat. Did Dr. Winner tell Fanny about the blackmailer?
“I’ve heard he’s quite the blade,” Fanny remarked. “I’ve not yet had the good fortune to meet him for myself.”
“Oh, Prescott…” Edwina murmured.
Fanny’s hands stilled. “Who else would I be asking about?”
Edwina swallowed. “No one else, of course.” You’re in love, you ninny, remember? “Well, he’s quite handsome.”
“That’s so bland. Details, darling, details. And close your eyes.”
Obediently, Edwina allowed her lids to drop and she pictured Prescott as he was yesterday at the society. He’d been so daringly insightful, and had the tact of a practiced diplomat. Sitting in the library having tea, he’d been so at ease one would have thought he’d been part of the group for years and not hours. And he was so good with questions, guiding the conversation so that no more conflicts erupted. He’s really quite masterful…
“Masterful, eh?” Fanny intoned.
Edwina blinked her eyes open. Did I just say that aloud?
Fanny’s smile was amused. “Tell me what he looks like. Face. Hands…Close your eyes, I want my efforts to be a surprise.”
Lowering her eyelids, Edwina licked her lips. “Well, ah, his hair is the loveliest shade of brown. Not plain like mine, but with copper running through it. It’s wavy, and moves when he does, almost like a river of auburn.”
The fingers massaging her scalp and manipulating her hair felt divine. Edwina’s limbs felt heavy as she sank a bit in the chair and sighed. “His eyes flash like emeralds in sunlight.” And cause the most delicious flutter in my middle. “Especially when he’s angry.”
The hands stilled. “Michael, Dr. Winner, told me that he has a temper. Has he ever raised a hand to you?”
“Oh, no. And I highly doubt he ever would. He’s not the type.”
“Good. I have no use for such men.” Fanny’s fingers began their ministrations once more. “Is he strapping? I heard something about his father being a laborer. Manual workers have the most marvelous brawn…”
With her eyes still closed, Edwina frowned. “No one seems to know his true story. Some say his mother was a laundress and his father a lord who died, leaving everything to his legitimate sons. Another story has him as the bastard son of a duke. And yet another has him as the son of a tradesman and his wife who fell on hard times and then died of a lung disease.”
“Hmmm. Michael tells me that Headmaster Dunn did not press children for information; it was his policy to allow the children to leave the past behind. So mayhap Mr. Devane is the only one who knows the true tale?”
Edwina had to admit that she was eager to learn more about Prescott’s origins. Even though she knew it didn’t matter, she had an insatiable curiosity where he was concerned. She supposed that she’d be fascinated with anyone who had had such a different life from hers.
“He’s certainly unlike any male I’ve ever known,” she murmured.
“They always are, honey, when you’re in love.”
Edwina bit her lip wondering if she had the courage to ask about the concern that had been keeping her awake at night ever since meeting Prescott. “May I…may I ask you a question…it’s a bit…risqué.”
“Oh, good, the more risqué the better.”
“Ah, actresses have the reputation…although I don’t want to paint you with such a broad brush—”
“Just ask the question, Edwina.”
“Yes, of course. Well, actresses are known to be very…experienced when it comes to men…”
“That we are.” Fanny’s hands continued working without pause. “I suppose it’s the flair for drama within us.”
“Well, you didn’t always…I mean…how did you come to know how to…well, please a man?”
“I thought you were a widow. Weren’t you married?”
“I am. I was.” Edwina felt her cheeks burn. “Never mind.”
“Oh, I grasp what’s bothering you! You’ve only been with one man and Prescott Devane’s had more than his share of women. Don’t you worry about it, honey. I’ve heard him called ‘London’s Perfect Lover’ so you’re in good hands. Besides, don’t ever forget that he may have dallied with them, but he’s marrying you.”
“Ah, thanks.” Forcing a smile, Edwina lied, “That makes me feel much better.”
Fanny removed her hands. “There. Have a look.”
Obediently Edwina opened her eyes. “Oh, my heavens!” she cried, raising both hands to her mouth.
“Now let us get ready for your fiancé’s visit.”
Later that afternoon in Fanny’s drawing room, Edwina couldn’t help but admire the graceful way the former actress moved, as if her entire body was an artful accessory.
Fanny sank onto the bottle green chintz chaise, adjusted her aquamarine skirts and popped open a lacy black fan. “Stop fidgeting. And don’t touch your brows. They look flawless.”
Edwina lowered her hand and stood behind one of the two wide-backed olive chairs facing the grate. Sighing, she studied the dancing flames as she tried to ignore the nervous flutter in her belly.
Although she knew that rationally it didn’t matter what Prescott thought of her or her appearance, she had to admit she wanted him to like her, if only a little. So they could get along during the ruse, of course.
“That woman, Mojgan, really has a talent,” Edwina stated, for lack of anything else to say. Her hands strayed back to her thinned brow. “I confess, I had never imagined that ladies did such a thing.”
“Any woman worth her salt knows she can’t rely on nature.” Fanny sniffed with a wave of her lacy fan. “It’s all about enhancement.”
Edwina didn’t know if she truly believed Fanny’s assessment, but had to admit her appearance was drastically altered. She’d hardly recognized the lady staring back at her in the mirror this afternoon.
A hint of musk filled the air and even though she couldn’t see him, Edwina felt Prescott’s gaze on her back like a hot wind on a sultry evening.
Bracing herself, she turned.
Prescott’s gaze widened. “Oh…my.”
Chapter 11
Prescott tried to quell the sudden skip of his heartbeat. Whereas before, Edwina’s face had merely been one that drew a second glance, now he was finding it hard to tear his gaze from her.
Edwina raised a hand to her hair. “Don’t you like it?”
Chiding himself for not being more subtle abou
t his reaction to her altered appearance, Prescott bowed. “I do like it. The style is becoming on you, Edwina.”
Instead of the tight chignon, piles of ebony curls carefully adorned her head, giving her oval face a sense of proportion, which, in balance with her nose and chin, added appealing character to her features. Her dark brows had been shaped to accentuate her luminous eyes.
All in all, the effect was…striking, like a rare bird that catches your gaze with a flash of color and then mesmerizes with its natural splendor.
But all was not natural with Edwina’s appearance. Prescott did not like the white powder covering her face, neck and shoulders. Nor did he favor the smudges of crimson delicately applied to her cheeks and mouth. To his eye, those changes were unnecessary and overdone, despite the artful application.
Edwina adjusted her sleeve. “The gown is very different from my usual attire. It takes some getting used to.”
“It’s perfect.” He meant it. The dress was alluring, giving a hint of the bounty beneath, without being bawdy. The elegant cut accentuated the graceful curve of her swanlike neck, the width of her moon-pale shoulders, the ripe swell of her breasts and the small waist that a man could hold between his hands. Moreover, the royal blue shade was the ideal accent to her lovely skin and the unadorned silk just begged for a man to skim his hands over it. In all innocence, of course.
“Mr. Prescott Devane, I presume,” came a singsong voice.
Tearing his gaze from Edwina, Prescott turned, noticing for the first time a lady in acquamarine. The woman had the studied grace of the great actresses who’d trod the boards, and with her flaming hair and crimson lips, there was only one person she could possibly be.
“Miss Figbottom, I presume.” He bowed. “Prescott Devane at your service.”
“My, oh, my, the stories haven’t told the whole tale about you, darling.” She was obviously a veteran in the art of flirtation. Gliding over to the bottle green chintz chaise, she sank down with a flourish of aquamarine ruffles, popped open her lacy black fan and languidly swayed it before lush crimson lips. “If my attentions weren’t already engaged, I might just consider breaking my ‘no redhead’ rule.”
“His hair is not red,” Edwina murmured, fingering the lace of her sleeve. “It’s auburn.”
“Close enough,” Miss Figbottom clucked.
Prescott raised a hand to his heart. “I feel honored that you would even consider the possibility, Miss Figbottom.”
“Fanny, darling,” she corrected with a wide smile. “You must call me, Fanny. I’ve heard so much about you, I feel as if I already know you.”
Dr. Winner stepped into the parlor. “So good to see you again, Fanny, my dear.” Moving over to the chaise, he accepted the actress’s proffered hand and leaned over to plant a kiss. Straightening, he explained, “Sorry for the delay. Your man, Stanley, had sliced his hand in the kitchen and I wanted to check the dressing.”
The woman’s veil of coquetry fell away as she straightened and asked with obvious concern, “Is Stanley all right?”
“Oh, he’s fine,” Winner reassured, with a squeeze to her fingers. “It’s a nasty cut, but it should heal soon enough.”
Prescott noticed that the good doctor did not release Fanny’s hand straightaway.
Sighing, the former actress leaned back. “Thank you, Michael. I appreciate you seeing to him. And I insist that you allow me to pay for your services.”
“Very well,” Dr. Winner readily agreed, surprising Prescott. Then the doctor’s lips lifted into a smile. “Later I’ll have some of that fancy cognac you were telling me about.”
Fanny trailed her white-gloved hand across her powdered shoulder, leaving no doubt as to her intentions. “Oh that as well, darling.”
Prescott had to give the woman credit; Fanny Figbottom certainly knew how to work with the hand she’d been dealt. Moreover, her environment was set to display her attributes to greatest advantage. Everything in the room, the walls, the furnishings, down to the rug of emerald waters, was a variant of the color green almost as if an accessory to the actress’s attire.
Poor Dr. Winner didn’t stand a chance. And by the puppy-dog look on the doctor’s face, he didn’t seem to mind in the least.
All in all, the room, the aquamarine ruffles, the crimson lips…left Prescott feeling as if he were being worked upon, a sensation he did not favor. He preferred his women less…contrived.
Turning, he noticed that, in contrast to Fanny’s flamboyant display, Edwina seemed ill at ease. Her shoulders were set stiffly, her chin lifted as if preparing to receive a blow, her bare hands clenched before her so tightly her knuckles showed white. The rigid line of her lips did nothing to lessen the uncomfortable impression.
Tearing his attention from Fanny, Dr. Winner declared, “Why, I hardly recognized you, Lady Ross. You look beautiful!” Facing the actress once more, he added, “You’re a genius, Fanny!”
Fanny preened. “I’m merely the sculptor…”
“It’s unbelievable the difference!” Dr. Winner marveled. “Don’t you think, Prescott?”
“It’s an improvement.” Tilting his head as if considering, Prescott couldn’t help but tease, “Much needed, of course.”
Edwina glared and Prescott was glad to see some of the fire back in her eyes.
Just then, Stanley appeared in the doorway, leading two servants into the room.
“How are you, Stanley?” Fanny leaned forward, concerned.
The stout carrot-headed butler smiled at his mistress, giving one the sense that he and his employer had a less formal relationship than most. “I am well, thank you.” He nodded to the doctor. “Again, Dr. Winner, I’m much obliged to you.”
“It was nothing,” Dr. Winner dismissed. “Just keep it clean.”
“I will be sure that he does,” Fanny declared, with a henlike cluck.
Turning, Stanley directed as the servants set up the tea service.
Prescott strolled over to the hearth. A hearty fire flamed therein, adding a smoky aroma to the rose perfume scenting the air. Prescott assumed that it was Fanny’s fragrance as, for some inexplicable reason, he doubted that Edwina would wear such a heavy scent. Wondering if she still wore lily of the valley, he stepped closer and was gratified to know he was right.
“How do you fare, my lady?” Prescott murmured, seeing that Dr. Winner and Fanny were engrossed in conversation.
“Well, thank you.” She exhaled.
“You seem…ill at ease.”
Looking up at him, she gave him a wobbly smile. “I’m just, well, unused to”—her hand motioned to her hair—“all of this. It seems a bit much, don’t you think?”
Prescott had a rule when dealing with ladies; never say anything negative about a woman’s appearance, no matter how true. But for some reason, he found himself yearning to tell Edwina exactly what he thought. Still, that little rule had served him well. “The truth?”
Biting her lip, she nodded. “Please.”
“The gown is perfect, the hair quite becoming. But you don’t need the powder or face paints. And your brows are nice, albeit a bit thin for my tastes.”
She blinked. “You’re certainly quite forthcoming.”
Shrugging, he tilted his head. “You asked.”
“I suppose I did.” Edwina frowned. “Are you always this honest? For, if so, I would certainly do well to brace myself the next time I ask for your opinion.”
Prescott felt his lips lift, but before he could reply, Fanny intoned, “Let us enjoy the tea before it grows cold.”
The apple tarts were delicious, as was the tea. Top-rate; no reused tea leaves for Fanny Figbottom’s guests. Prescott wondered how successful her “presentation” business was, given that there did not seem to be a well-heeled sponsor in the wings. Prescott knew that Dr. Winner didn’t have the kind of blunt that a woman like Miss Figbottom usually required. Seeing how the two of them looked at each other, though, it was unlikely that finances entered into the equation.
>
Fanny, Dr. Winner and Prescott exchanged pleasantries, discussed the weather, gossip and the like, yet, all the while, Edwina remained silent. At most she gave a monosyllabic reply now and again. Had he insulted her with his frank assessment of her appearance? She hadn’t seemed as concerned with her appearance as most of his acquaintances. Had he misjudged her?
Fanny rose with a fanfare of aquamarine ruffles. “If you will excuse us a moment? I would like a word with Edwina, if you please.”
Quickly, the men jumped to stand. “Certainly.”
Edwina set her teacup on the table and rose.
Fanny’s gliding sway gripped Dr. Winner’s attention, while Edwina moved like an automaton, all gears and levers within a royal blue gown.
Once the ladies were gone, Dr. Winner seemed to recover. Walking over to the doorway, he peered outside. “I can’t see them. They must have turned the corner.” Dr. Winner paced to the hearth and back again. “You must do something about Lady Ross, Prescott.”
Prescott reclined into the green sofa. “What do you mean?”
“Something to make her less ill at ease. She can hardly project the image of lady in love if she can’t relax around you.”
Prescott scratched his forehead. “The lady obviously has no experience as an actress. Perhaps your Fanny can give her some tips?”
Winner’s cheeks reddened. “She’s not my Fanny…” He spun on his heel and paced back again.
“But she will be.”
Stopping midstep, Dr. Winner turned, his russet eyes bright. “You think?”
“Undoubtedly.”
A worried look entered Dr. Winner’s brown gaze. “But I’m not a rich man, Prescott…”
“The woman doesn’t seem to be in need of that kind of support. Moreover, she seems terribly interested in your attributes.”
Dr. Winner beamed like a school lad who’s just been told he has the summer to play. “I’ll confess, I’ve been hoping…”
“Fanny is obviously enamored.” Prescott tilted his head. “Unlike Edwina…”
Sari Robins - [Andersen Hall Orphanage] Page 9