‘Do not be tiresome, girls. If your incessant chatter gives me a megrim I will take you home immediately.’ Caroline, Viscountess Linholm, might have experience with the girls, but she had far less patience.
The eldest of the three was barely fourteen. George remembered the age well and how hard it was to balance the desire to be a grown up with the fact that ladylike behaviour was boring. When the novelty of hair ribbons and bonbons wore off, George did a thing she had always wished someone would do for her.
She took them to a pet store. There she bought them a shiny black bird that the store owner assured them could be trained to speak. It already had a vocabulary of some sort, though as far as George knew, it was mostly gibberish. After some discussion, it was decided that he would be named Pootah, after one of the sounds he kept repeating.
Once they had the bird to occupy them, they did not mind being sent home so the ladies could continue to shop. As the carriage rolled down the street and away from her, George saw them passing the cage back and forth between them, offering Pootah bits of biscuit and trying to coax him into saying hello.
‘Now that those annoying children are gone, the real fun can begin,’ Caroline said, taking George gently by the shoulders and casting a sidelong look down at her day dress. ‘The first thing we must do is to get you to my modiste.’ Though she smiled as she said it and was nowhere near as critical as Marietta, it was plain that she found fault with George’s clothing.
George glanced down at it herself to see if there was something obviously wrong. ‘I hardly think it necessary. I bought a new wardrobe at the beginning of the Season.’
‘For your come-out,’ Caroline replied with a shake of her head. ‘Those dresses were all well and good for a green virgin. But you are married now.’
And the dresses still suited her. She was almost as green and definitely as virginal as she had been a couple of days ago. The few kisses she’d exchanged with Mr Challenger so far put her on par with some of the other girls she had befriended who had been able to dodge their chaperones long enough to experiment with such things.
If her husband did not want the world to see her as an innocent, she had best not look like one. ‘I am married,’ George admitted cautiously. ‘But I do not know if Mr Challenger wishes for me to spend all of his money at the dressmaker.’
‘How else would he want you to spend it?’ Caroline replied. ‘And even if you are right about his opinion, you must not take Frederick’s word as law. The whole family knows that he is a miser and a fussbudget. If he is allowed to, he will see you in rags and think it good value.’
But he was her husband, at least for the month, and George felt required to defend him, though she had no real desire to do so. ‘He has been most generous with me thus far. And I would hardly call him a fussbudget.’ Stick in the mud? Joyless authoritarian? There were any number of more accurate phrases, none of which she desired to share with Caroline on their first meeting.
‘All the same, you cannot go out with him in the modest attire of a girl. You are a lady now. People will expect elegance.’
This was a conundrum. For when she looked at the Viscountess’s wardrobe she could not say that she actually liked it. It was expensive, of course. And very au courant. Marietta had often said, with guarded admiration, that the woman never wore the same gown more than once. Even so, George doubted that many of the styles she had seen so far would suit her. She did not wish to wear a cap in the house just because she was married. She certainly did not want one like the starched organza confection favoured by Caroline when she’d called upon her. Nor did she want ballgowns that were cut so low one was in danger of falling out of them if one sneezed.
But perhaps it was not about what she wanted at all. It was clear that Mr Challenger did not like her as she was. She had said she would not change. If she could dress the part of a good wife when they were together, she might not have to alter anything else about herself.
The choice of gowns had been one of the chief battles between her and Marietta. If her new sister-in-law did not like her clothing either, maybe it was time to admit that she might be wrong on the subject. ‘Perhaps I do need some help choosing a fashion that suits me,’ George said hesitantly. ‘We are attending a ball this evening hosted by Frederick’s friend, the Duke of Westmoor. I do want to look my best for it and would be most happy for you to advise me.’
‘Excellent!’ the woman responded, clapping her hands in approval. ‘You will not be sorry that you have put yourself in my hands.
* * *
This proved false almost immediately.
It was four in the afternoon, well past the time George liked to be sitting down to tea. And yet the Viscountess was still calling for more silks.
‘The stripes next. With tassels of gold,’ Caroline announced, helping herself to the sweetmeats displayed on the gold ormolu table in the corner of the fitting room. The dressmaker’s assistant scurried for the back room to get more fabric.
George’s stomach growled in response. She lowered her arms for a moment to shake the numbness from them and received a disapproving sniff from the modiste who was trying to adjust the armhole of the sample gown so it might be possible to dance without ripping out a seam.
Caroline’s choices so far had been less outrageous than she’d feared. The current dress—a grass-green silk with gold-embroidered hem—was quite pretty, though shockingly low-cut. But if she stood for stripes and tassels, she would end up looking like the ottoman Caroline was perched on. ‘Do we not have enough gowns already?’ she asked.
‘For evening, perhaps,’ the Viscountess said. ‘But what of days and mornings? And you have no fans or gloves as yet.’
George had a drawer full of white gloves that would go with the dresses she had bought and nearly as many fans. Since her plan was to leave London as soon as she was able, her current day clothes would do nicely. They were well made, comfortable, and never seen by neighbours in the country.
Today, she must find another method to dissuade her new friend that did not display her disappointing lack of interest in fashion plates. She blinked and smiled sweetly at the Viscountess. ‘If we buy everything today, we will have nothing to shop for next week.’
‘How true,’ the Viscountess agreed. ‘Perhaps the rest of the wardrobe can wait.’
‘Wonderful.’ George replied. ‘And now, we can go for tea.’
‘But tea shops are so stuffy. Fit only for girls and old ladies,’ Caroline said. ‘I would prefer something more filling. A meal at Steven’s Hotel would do nicely.’
‘Is it really necessary to go there without our husbands? Surely we will call attention.’ While she did not wish to follow Mr Challenger’s silly rules, neither did she want to flout convention just to spite him. Did ladies dine at hotels unescorted? She had heard Steven’s was a gathering place for gentleman and former officers. If she was seen there by a member of her husband’s old regiment, what would Mr Challenger say in response?
‘Of course we will call attention, my dear,’ The Viscountess replied with a wave of her scented handkerchief. ‘That is the object of this whole endeavour. If we did not wish to be noticed, why else would we have left the house at all?’
* * *
George went straight to her room, when she returned home, not wanting to risk even a brief meeting with her husband. If he was to ask how she had spent her afternoon, she did not want to blurt out that it had ended in eating oysters and drinking champagne with half the Horse Guard.
She closed the door, locking it behind her, relieved that her maid was already in the room. ‘Has a new ball gown arrived for me, Polly?’
‘Yes, madam.’ The girl grinned. ‘And a fine thing it is.’
‘I am glad you like it,’ George replied, no longer sure what she thought about the dress, the Viscountess, or anything else. ‘There will
be a large number of them just as nice arriving in the next few days. When they come, you are to take up the bodices by at least an inch. I will not be seen in them unless you can manage to return some scrap of decency to the necklines. It is either that, or send them back unworn.’ She sighed. ‘But I expect it is too late for that already, if they have been fit for me. Lord knows what a row we will have when Mr Challenger sees the bills.’ She had assumed the only instruction she might be capable of following was the avoidance of needless extravagance, but she had failed again. The mere thought of what she’d spent made her want to faint.
‘Perhaps, if you model them for your husband before I alter them, he will not mind the price so very much.’ By the sly tone in the maid’s voice, she was expecting George to coax her way out of trouble with her non-existent feminine wiles.
If it saved her one evening’s grief, it was worth trying. ‘Very well,’ she said with a shrug. ‘Leave tonight’s gown as it is. I doubt it will make matters worse than they already are.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The ball held in their honour by Jake Huntington was to be their first public appearance as a married couple and Fred wanted nothing less than perfection. It had been some months since Jake had been elevated to his father’s title, but until now there had been no sign that he was ready to come out of his mourning and entertain. The Westmoor home had been shut tight against visitors for the whole of the Season, much to the disappointment of mothers with marriable daughters. A young bachelor duke was a precious commodity and his refusal to put away his blacks and secure the succession with marriage was considered not so much respect for the dead as disrespect of the natural order.
He had decided to make an exception to celebrate his friend’s wedding. Fred had not thought it necessary to sit Georgiana down and lecture her on the significance of this event. She’d seemed properly impressed by the invitation on thick paper embossed with the gold Westmoor crest. But this party was so much more important than a normal social event. Jake would have been horrified to think his profound grief and social isolation was already the topic of worried conversation by his friends. If this ball signified an end, it was truly a reason to rejoice.
Fred would not see it ruined by a foolish girl who was likely to make them both late just to spite him. She had returned from shopping at six in the evening, long past the point where he feared she was not coming back at all. He had been ready to call for the servants to search the streets when he’d heard a slam of the front door and she’d breezed past his study without a word of apology or explanation.
A footman had followed a short time later, carrying a huge stack of boxes that offered Fred assurance that she had actually gone to Bond Street and not cock-fighting or some other totally unacceptable activity. Instead, she had been behaving like a normal female, wasting time and money, too obsessed with parading about the town to notice the trouble she was causing.
She had best get such vanity out of her system while she could. She might weep like a lost soul when he sent her to the country at the end of the month. But he would not be swayed by tears. There was no need to gild a lily with ruffles and lace. A lack of continual flattery by town dandies would not diminish her natural beauty and might improve her character.
Or perhaps he was wrong about her. At nine, he was waiting in the foyer, prepared to scold her for tardiness, only to have her appear at the head of the stairs just as the clock began to strike the hour. His watch slipped from his fingers, forgotten.
Oliver had been right. She was magnificent. The style she’d chosen for the evening was more sophisticated than the simple gowns she seemed to favour. While white was always fashionable, the green silk she wore tonight would turn heads and leave no doubt why he had married her. What sane man could resist a goddess?
She’d reached the foot of the stairs now, curtsying before him and spreading her skirts with a hopeful smile as if waiting for his approval. Did she actually care for his opinion? Or was she so hungry for praise that she would take it from a man whose company she barely tolerated?
If it was a trap to bring him to his knees before her, then she had succeeded. When he looked at her, all he could manage was an approving nod. How long had it been since the sight of a woman had robbed him of the power of speech? If it had been like this on the first night they’d met, things might have ended differently.
Actually, they might have ended nearly the same. He’d have offered for her before the evening was out and badgered, flattered, and cajoled until she’d accepted him. They’d have been married. He would have lost mastery of his life and future, but he’d have thought it a small sacrifice to win her love.
He had to fight for a moment to remember that love had never been the object. To the ton, the appearance of it mattered far more than the actual emotion ever would. And tonight, for all intents and purposes, she was his. And she was perfect.
He frowned. On closer inspection, she was not and he was the one at fault for it. Her neck, her ears and even the tops of her dancing slippers were bare of ornament. Who but a fool would bring his bride out into the world without a single piece of jewellery? He had married her with a simple gold ring and not bothered with a wedding gift. He had behaved as if his presence was gift enough. Since she had not complained of the absence of jewellery, he had not bothered to give her so much as a hairpin.
‘Wait!’ He sprinted past her, up the stairs to his room, rooting in the back of a bureau drawer to find the jewel case he had all but forgotten. His mother had handed it to him, announcing it was his share of the unentailed property that had belonged to his grandmother.
At the time, he had suspected that what he was receiving had already been rejected by both Mother and Caroline as too far out of style to bother with. Surely there was something in it that might do until he could get to a jewellery store. He opened it, rummaging through the contents for a suitable gift.
It was a sad collection of unmated earbobs and necklaces that were missing stones. But coiled at the bottom, he found a long gold chain, with matching gold eardrops.
His mind flashed to that moment he had seen her on the auction block with a braided ribbon holding her dress. As it had that night, the floor seemed to shift under him. The room grew hot and he was struck by a sudden desire to cancel the outing and stay home with his wife. It took a supreme mastery of will to remember that he had never wanted to marry and especially did not want the woman he had chosen.
Want was the wrong word. He definitely wanted her in the way he usually wanted a woman: naked and in his bed. But when she had accepted his proposal, she had not wanted him. He had assured himself that there were enough other women in the world to make up for the loss of a single wife. Tonight, he was not so sure.
Make her want you.
He had threatened to do it this morning. Judging by the response when he kissed her, it was in his power to do so. At the same time, he recognised that it was unwise. Acting on his desire would complicate matters. There would be other, less irritating women in his future. Women he could walk away from when he was bored with them. It was better to wait.
When he turned to exit his room, it was with a clear head. By the time he’d reached the ground floor where his puzzled wife awaited him, his blood was cool as well.
He held out the chain to her. ‘A token of my affection.’
She arched an eyebrow and gave him a sceptical half-smile, but her eyes sparkled as they looked at the necklace he held. ‘It is lovely. Thank you.’ She bowed her head. ‘Help me with it.’
He draped it over her. Even looping it twice, it still hung low, lying heavy between her perfect breasts. For a moment, he watched it there, fascinated.
‘Are there drops for my ears as well?’ She tapped a finger on his closed hand to make him release the earrings he held. Her touch was warm. He moved slowly, letting her finger stroke his skin as he turned his ha
nd over and opened his fist to reveal the rest of her gift.
She smiled and scooped them up, affixing them to her ears. Then she turned to him. ‘How do I look?’
‘Satisfactory,’ he muttered.
‘Liar,’ she said with a smile. Then she slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. ‘Let us be off. If we are late, I will not take the blame for it.’
* * *
George had never been to a gathering so wonderful, much less one thrown especially for her. The ballroom of the Duke of Westmoor’s manor was packed with the cream of the ton all eager to congratulate Mrs Challenger and her handsome husband. There was but one conspicuous absence.
She’d mailed her father’s invitation herself, enclosing it in her daily letter. She had even bit her lip and included Marietta, though the sight of that woman was likely to spoil the whole evening for her. But she’d received no answer, nor had either of them appeared this evening.
There was probably a logical explanation for their absence. They might have already gone to the country and missed the post. Or it could be what she feared most: a deliberate snub. She tried not to think about that. Even if it was true, she did not want to spoil the evening by focusing on such a negative possibility.
As she stood admiring the dancers, the Duke himself came to her side. ‘So, my friend refuses to dance with his wife.’
For a moment, she could not manage anything other than a wide-mouthed stare at the man beside her. It was not, precisely, that she had never spoken to a duke before. Her father was a viscount, after all. He had, if not exactly friends, at least acquaintances in the peerage. But that was all they had been to her: men who her father had known, who had no time to be bothered with a girl her age.
Convenient Bride for the Soldier & the Major Meets His Match & Secret Lessons With the Rake (9781488021718) Page 11