With another tip of his hat, he walked away, whistling his favourite tune. Wait till he told the boys.
And if he played his cards right, maybe he could count on her if money got tight. A pleasing thought.
* * *
A relieved Simone watched Gentry Ted saunter away. Oy, had anyone noticed him conversing with her. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment.
“Are you feeling well?” Joanna inquired. “Who was that fellow?” Her lips were compressed with concern. Or suspicion, Simone couldn’t decide which.
“I don’t know. Such a funny gentleman although I hesitate to call him such.” She sent a thought to Gentry Ted begging his forgiveness. He would understand, surely he would.
“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost. You’re flushed—are you catching a fever?”
“I’m quite well, thank you,” she responded automatically. Yes, she had seen a ghost. A live ghost who could ruin everything for her before she even got started.
It had been a close call but if Joanna was suspicious, it did not show. For that, Simone was grateful—the always proper Joanna would be appalled if she knew the truth about Simone.
“Then shall we go inside?” Joanna asked. “I do so love this shop. Mme Langlois is the finest seamstress in London and pampers her clients with tea and cakes.”
“How lovely,” Simone murmured.
So passed a pleasant morning. While Simone pored over fashion plates of one high-waisted dress after another, Joanna, with a critical eye, offered her opinion and encouragement.
As luck would have it, Mme Langlois had several frocks from a cancelled order that only required a stitch here or there to alter for Simone to take that day: a butter yellow, soft twilled silk frock with stand-up collar and long, puffed sleeves tied with blue ribbons at intervals down the arms so that the sleeves ballooned between each ribbon; one of robin’s egg blue muslin eyelet, collarless and with short puffed sleeves, its hem trimmed with fresh white ribbon and ruffles; and a pale lavender linen frock with long, tightly fitting sleeves, embroidered along the neckline with a pattern of pink beads above a low décolletage.
The latter Simone was sure was shockingly improper for, not only did the dress expose her back to the bottom of her shoulder blades, her breasts peeped over the neckline!
Not only frocks, but kid gloves, silk undergarments, satin slippers, even a satin-lined, fur-trimmed black felted cloak with matching bonnet found their way into the steadily growing pile.
At length, a weary Simone climbed into the waiting carriage and fell back against the cushions. She now had a wardrobe.
Maybe she wasn’t quite yet comfortable with being a lady of quality but at least she would look like one.
Chapter Eighteen
“Look!” exclaimed Joanna as the two young women walked through the entrance hall of the Leavenby town house, followed by the footmen almost bowed under by the numerous boxes and brown paper parcels tied up with the distinctive striped ribbon that signified Mme Langlois’ establishment.
“I must beg pardon?” A bewildered Simone looked around, not seeing anything.
“Calling cards.” Joanna pointed to several creamy white cards and an envelope stacked carelessly on the silver tray on the table by the door. “Word has spread that the new Earl of Leavenby is in London.”
Curious, Simone peeked over Joanna’s shoulder. “I’m not certain what it all means,” she admitted.
“Aha,” proclaimed Joanna with satisfaction, picking up the envelope and turning it over to inspect the seal. “This is from the Lady Belmont, Duchess of Crossfield.” She ripped it open eagerly and withdrew the page within, scanning it in a matter of seconds. “She’s having a ball on Friday next and would like the company of you and Temple. The dear thing has also invited me but I shall have to decline.”
“Not you?” Simone asked, hoping that Joanna would be there to bolster her courage.
“No, not yet. I’m still not ready for social engagements.” She closed her eyes, and grief weighed on her features briefly, making her look old.
“I am sorry,” murmured Simone. The show of sorrow surprised her. Joanna truly missed her husband but she hid it well under bright chatter. Simone squeezed Joanna’s shoulder in understanding.
“But what fun it will be to get you dressed.” Joanna’s brief moment of melancholy had passed. “Was I not correct in insisting that we order you a ball gown?” She threw the invitation back onto the tray.
“I suppose.” Simone’s heart began to thump. How exactly did one dress for a ball? Too, presumably one would dance at a ball. Therein lay a problem: she didn’t know how.
“Let’s see what there is for tea.” Joanna took her arm. “I believe Lady Frederica is out paying calls this afternoon. We shall be able to chat at our leisure.”
They entered the sitting room to find it occupied. Temple sat, tea at hand, nose buried in a ledger.
Delight filled Simone at the sight. She gazed at him, appreciating the fine figure he presented with his crisply starched shirt collar, lawn cravat, brown tail coat and fawn coloured trousers tucked into glossy black leather boots. With every breath, her excitement grew. He was hers. And she would be accompanying him to an honest to goodness London ball!
She fair flew toward him, sliding to an unladylike stop beside his chair.
“We’ve been invited to the Duchess of Crossfield’s ball,” she said eagerly, dropping a hand onto his shoulder. Beneath her fingers, his muscles flexed as he closed the ledger with a snap, sending a thrill clear up her arm and stirring the butterflies of desire.
Temple remained silent, merely raised his eyebrows.
“It will be such fun, will it not?” Simone said uncertainly. The butterflies of desire fluttered off at his unenthused reaction. Puzzled, she took a closer look, noticing the set lips and tense expression.
“Oh yes, it will be an amusing evening. When are we invited?” His voice was dry.
“Friday next.”
“Can you dance?” The stark question hung in the air like an axe waiting to fall.
“Oh.” Simone shook her head. “No. No, I can’t dance.” She tried to keep the regret from her voice. “Do we need to dance? Could we not watch?”
Tears sprang to her eyes and she swiped at them impatiently. Silly tears, they popped up more of late. She stifled her disappointment. Of course they wouldn’t attend the ball. Temple wouldn’t want to take her out any more than he absolutely had to.
“You don’t know how to dance?” asked an incredulous Joanna.
Simone nodded miserably.
“Where did you find her.” Joanna poked Temple in the chest. “She arrived without a proper wardrobe and now she admits she doesn’t know how to dance.”
“I was lucky enough to find her during my travels in North America. I wager Simone never had the opportunity to learn how to dance.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Speaking of the wardrobe, was your trip to the modiste’s successful?”
“Yes, although just outside the shop, the strangest fellow accosted Simone. I thought she would fair faint when he spoke with her.” Joanna shook her head in disgust. “Really, the boldness of the man was most uncalled for.”
Simone jerked her head at the mention of Gentry Ted and her heart started thumping. Did Joanna suspect she and Ted knew each other? She sent an alarmed glance toward Temple. He shook his head imperceptibly as if to reassure her before turning to answer Joanna.
“Next time send the footmen to clear the riff raff. But enough of that.” Temple patted Simone’s hand. “Apparently the next item in your education shall be to teach you how to dance.”
“Today is Wednesday, that gives us what, nine days of dance lessons. We’ll start this evening,” Joanna declared. “In my bedroom, Simone. I’ll teach you the steps. When you know them, you can practice with Temple in the music room. I can play the pianoforte passably well, enough for dance lessons, I should say.”
Pleased with her suggestion, Joanna snagged a square of pink
frosted cake and several cookies and sat down, plate on her lap.
“Shall I pour?” Without waiting for an answer, she filled her own cup then those of Temple and Simone. “To the dance lessons.” She lifted her cup. “Do not think for a moment you are getting off easy, Temple. In a day or two, Simone will need a real partner and you shall have to step in.”
“As you say, Joanna.” Temple inclined his head.
What could he do but acquiesce, he thought wryly. Joanna was doing just as he had asked of her—taking Simone under her very capable wing. A ball would be a challenge for Simone’s first outing into polite society however he was a firm proponent of the sink or swim philosophy.
It really wouldn’t matter where he first presented Simone—everyone would be curious about her regardless of the occasion.
* * *
A hesitant Simone rapped on the door to Joanna’s chamber. At the muffled “Come in!” she twisted the knob and pushed open the door.
A visibly perspiring Joanna sat perched on the edge of a blue velvet foot stool; the matching chair had been pushed back against the wall, along with a small side table and foot warmer. The rug had also been rolled up, leaving a bare expanse of polished plank flooring.
“To give us room to move about,” she explained at Simone’s bewildered look. “We shall start with the contredans. Come stand beside me and watch while I pace out the steps. To start with, I’ll show you two figures. Easy ones then we’ll progress to the more difficult ones in the next few days.”
To Joanna’s count of “One two three four”, a stumbling Simone tried to follow. Frowning, she watched Joanna’s feet, taking a few hesitant steps of her own before stopping and placing her fists on her hips. Oy, dancing was not as easy as Joanna professed.
“I can’t learn this.” Dismay filled Simone’s voice. The happy anticipation of attending the ball with Temple faded.
“You shall, if you wish to go to the Crossfield’s ball as the Countess of Leavenby. Now stop looking at your feet,” ordered an unsympathetic Joanna. “Lift your head and look at your partner. Remember, you must smile and flirt with all the gentlemen and one cannot do so unless one is focused on them, not your feet.”
“Flirt?” Simone echoed stupidly. Did married women flirt with other gentlemen? She didn’t want to flirt with other gentlemen—she wanted to flirt with Temple.
“Yes, flirt. Now look at me and dance.”
The cherubic Joanna proved to be a harsh taskmaster and Simone, wanting to please her, obediently lifted her gaze and took several tentative steps.
“Talk to me while you practice” continued Joanna. “I should like to hear more about your life in Canada. There is an air of mystery about you I find intriguing. Temple has been naughty and scarcely answered any of my questions.”
Simone had been dreading the moment when she would be questioned on her background. The moment had come and she was on her own, without Temple’s comforting presence. To make matters worse, Joanna posed the questions, the person Temple had assured her would be her ally.
In short, she wanted Joanna to like her.
Beads of sweat popped out on her forehead as she considered her answer and she stumbled again, knocking into the footstool and sending it flying.
“There is no great mystery about me. I grew up in Montreal with a dear family friend. My parents died when I was young.”
“Oh dear, I am so sorry.” Joanna’s consternation was evident as she stepped away. “And a one two three four. I find your accent intriguing,” she continued, her face red from the exertion.
“A mixture of French and English, I suppose,” Simone replied. “The French were the original founders of Canada, you know.” She hoped the explanation satisfied Joanna. It really had been difficult for her to conquer her east side accent. Even now, when tired or excited, she would let slip with an inappropriate phrase or word.
“What? Oh yes, I knew that.” Joanna was beginning to puff. “Just one time more through each figure, Simone. I’m growing fatigued.”
Simone obliged and finished with a final twirl that drew praise from Joanna. A wave of nausea overcame her and she leaned against the wall, swaying a little.
“Are you unwell?” Joanna’s concerned face swam into her vision.
Simone nodded shakily. “I do believe I’m unaccustomed to the rich food.”
“A spot of ginger tea is what you need. Let’s move to the sitting room and ring Mrs Andrews, shall we?”
“What of Lady Frederica?” She blurted the question before she could stop herself. The nausea had passed yet she could not bear to face the intimidating woman.
“Oh, she has taken to her room with a fit of the vapours,” Joanna said airily. “You and Temple have given her a bit of a comeuppance. Don’t be afraid of her, she’s harmless.”
“Yes, Temple has said the same thing. That I must stand up to her.” The old Simone would have defied the woman with a swagger and a curse that would have given the old lady a swoon. For Temple’s sake, she wanted the dowager countess to accept her. She just wasn’t sure how to go about it.
* * *
Her new gown arrived the morning of the ball. A few anxious moments had ensued when the matching slippers couldn’t be found but eventually they had been unearthed in the bottom of the band box, beneath layers of tissue.
A bemused Temple watched from the comfort of his wingback chair as she twirled about their chamber, holding the swatch of ivory silk close to her.
“This is the finest dress ever,” she declared. “It’s a princess dress.”
“Don’t you think you should actually put the dress on before you make such a statement?”
“Well, then ask me again when I dress this evening. I’m so excited I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep this afternoon. Joanna told me that,” she added. “A ball goes until the wee hours of the morning and I must rest for it.”
“I could think of something to tire you out,” he said, a wicked glint in his eye.
“Oh, you. I’m too excited for that now too.” She tossed a throw cushion at him.
“I meant I have a new dance I want to teach you. What did you think I meant?” The glint in his eye belied his bland voice, leaving Simone no doubt he had another, more pleasurable dance in mind.
“A new dance?” She groaned. “Do we have time? What I have learned from Joanna has taken me days to conquer.”
“Oh, it’s easy enough. It’s called the waltz.” He demonstrated. “One two three, one two three. You step from foot to foot and let me lead you. Here.” He grabbed her about the waist. “Let us begin. I start with my right foot forward, your left foot goes back. It’s as simple as that. No, don’t look down.” He tilted her head up. “Just follow me.”
Stiffly, Simone moved with him, looking him in the face as if the movements of her feet were reflected there. Her lips twitched in time, one two three, one two three.
“You know what’s so delicious about the waltz,” he commented as he twirled her about.
She clung to him, just barely managing to shake her head.
“I get to hold you scandalously close in my arms and the gossiping tongues can’t say a thing.”
And he did, pulling her even closer so that his thighs rippled against hers. His arm was tight against her back, and he squeezed her right hand with his left one. How heavenly, a floating dance, making her as ethereal as the butterflies that wafted through the rose garden by the stable.
“See?” he murmured against her hair. “Nothing to it.” He leaned back to look at her. “Are you ready to rest now?”
“I shall do my best,” she promised.
Much to her surprise, she did manage a small nap, awakening at the sound of Temple opening the door from his adjoining dressing room. He carried a cloth covered tray.
“Are you awake? It’s time for you to call Joanna’s maid.” He strolled over to the wingback chairs flanking the fire place, placing the tray on the little side table before sitting down with a casu
al elegance.
“Thank you.” Solicitous as always, she thought. She sat up and stretched before swinging her legs over the side of the bed. “Does Joanna mind sharing her maid with me?”
“What? Don’t be silly, of course not. We’ll find you a suitable candidate soon enough.” He whipped off the cloth and pointed to the tray. “Mrs Andrews sent us a bite or two. Dinner will be late this evening. Will you pour, darling?”
Darling? She flipped him a startled look. He’d never called her darling before. It set her heart to fluttering. Perhaps he really did care for her, perhaps even loved her a little.
He seemed oblivious to her reaction, merely waited patiently while she poured. By now, she knew he took both cream and sugar in his tea and she prepared it just as he liked. She offered him the sandwich plate and he took two, propping them on the edge of his saucer against the cup.
As for her, anticipation for the evening’s ball had dulled her appetite. She could barely drink one cup and eat one sandwich to please him; she had seen him scowl when she first passed the plate by.
He waited until she had finished her sandwich before he spoke again. “I must warn you, Simone. It’s not going to be easy this evening. There will be gossip.”
“I know,” she nodded. “It’s my first time in polite society.” She picked up her cup and took a sip of the fragrant East Indian blend. Delicious; surely not even the Prince Regent drank finer tea.
“No, that’s not what I mean. You shall fare splendidly this evening, I’ve no doubt.” A rueful expression glided across his face. “No, it’s me I’m referring to. I’m a pariah, the kind of man who mothers will cross the street to avoid.”
“Surely you’re joking, Temple. How could anyone think that of you? You are the Earl of Leavenby.”
“Be that as it may,” he shrugged, “let us just say I have an unsavoury reputation.”
“Only because they don’t know you,” she defended him staunchly. “Perhaps I could spread a good word for you.”
The Countess' Lucky Charm Page 17