Adele giggled, wondering at his good humor. “Yes. And you can read it. We can even read it together, if you’d like,” she suggested as she waggled her eyebrows.
“You minx!” her husband replied, moving to cover her body with his own. He kissed her thoroughly before resting his head on her shoulder and realizing he was far too spent to make love to her again. “I’m too old for this,” he whispered before falling asleep in her arms.
Giggling, Adele wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “I don’t mind a bit,” she murmured and was soon sound asleep.
Chapter 26
Chapter Six: Primping for a Party
Dressed in her new walking gown, Geraldine regarded her image in the cheval mirror. Although the style was far more mature than what she normally wore, the deep green of the wool did nothing to enhance her honey blonde hair, nor her complexion. She leaned in closer to the mirror, studying her face, examining her neck, staring into eyes that stared back at her. The green irises seemed to bloom with bits of gold and then shrink as she continued to gaze at her reflection.
Forced to blink, she realized she wasn’t alone in the room. Geraldine turned around to find her maid frowning. “What is it?” she wondered, recognizing the frown as one of disapproval.
Simpson shrugged before finally answering. “I do not think this is one of Madame Eunices’ better creations,” she said carefully. “I merely wondered if ... perhaps she sent the wrong gown?”
Geraldine whirled around to study the gown in the mirror again. Of course, Simpson was right. The gown simply didn’t fit. The arms were too short and the bodice too snug and the color was ...
“All wrong,” Geraldine agreed with a nod. “Could you undo the fastenings? I’ll have a footman return it to the shop right away. Perhaps whoever received my gown by accident will have returned it to her shop by now,” she said hopefully. She could only hope there had been a mix-up in the modiste’s shop and that this gown was meant for someone else. If not, she would have to find a new modiste.
In the meantime, she’d have to find something else to wear for her ride in the park. And she couldn’t wear the pink ensemble again.
“Would you like me to get out your blue carriage gown?” Simpson offered, her suggestion bordering on hesitation.
Geraldine sighed. At least two seasons out of date, with its ruffle-edged bodice and cuffs, the blue gown was her only other option for a ride in the park, she decided. Geraldine studied the gown. Still in good repair, it was far more appropriate for a younger woman newly out in Society. But if she could tuck the ruffles under the edges and find a suitable fichu, she could at least make it look more modern. “Yes, please,” she murmured. “And bring some pins,” she added as she removed the green walking gown. “It might be old, but there’s no reason we can’t make it work.”
A half-hour later, Geraldine regarded her image in the mirror once again, one tooth buried in her lower lip. “Well, what do you think?” she asked of her maid.
Simpson smiled. “Removing the ruffles is an improvement,” she said with a nod. “Given some time, I could have removed ‘em proper and stitched up the neckline,” she added, pinching a bit of lint off the skirt. “I do hope the pins don’t stick you through the fichu.”
Geraldine nodded. She hoped not, either. There were at least twenty of them around the inside of the bodice anchoring the ruffles so they couldn’t be seen. If she moved too much to one side or the other, she was sure to be stabbed by at least one pin. “I’ll have you do that once I’m back from this ride,” Geraldine agreed, trying to decide what to wear on her head. “I’m thinking a hat instead of a bonnet,” she murmured, deciding the more mature look was appropriate. She was no longer a young debutante – it was time she started dressing like a young matron, even if she wasn’t married.
Simpson hurried into the dressing room, returning with two different hats. Geraldine helped herself to the red one. Part of its brim was pinned up against the crown of the hat and decorated with a jaunty feather. She lifted it over her coiffure and regarded her reflection for a moment. “This will do,” she said, nodding her head to see how the feather bobbed. What will Lord Ballantine think of it? she wondered. Would he find it striking or attractive or annoying?
Annoying, she decided.
Geraldine took off the hat and examined how the feather was attached. She asked Simpson for a pair of scissors and quickly clipped off the quill from where it was attached at the crown.
“Oh!” Simpson exclaimed as the feather floated to the floor. “Won’t it be too plain?” she wondered, watching as her mistress placed it on her head again.
“Not after we attach a small bow made of ribbon,” Geraldine reasoned, reaching for a hat pin from the vanity. Within moments, she had a blue bow covering the spot where the feather had been attached. Pulling on blue gloves, Geraldine took one last look before taking her leave of her room. With any luck, Lord Ballantine would be impressed with her more mature look. With even more luck, he might ask her brother if he could court her.
Matthew Winters, Lord Ballantine, halted his barouche in front of Rosehill House, chiding himself for the nervousness he felt. He was merely calling on Miss Porterhouse. There was no reason to be so ...
Matthew stared at the reins he still held in his right hand. What was it about Geraldine Porterhouse? Why does she have this kind of effect on him? She’s a chit, he thought with a bit of derision. And the only reason he was here today was to take her for a ride and attempt to make it clear to her that she was ...
She was ... what?
Fast? He couldn’t tell her that. Perhaps her overtures had merely been misunderstood.
Bold? She already knew that. She’d as much as told him she was.
Brazen? Well, yes, but in a way he found rather compelling. He couldn’t exactly fault her for trying to get what she wanted.
Perhaps she wasn’t willing to settle for the first man her brother might find on her behalf. Matthew couldn’t blame her for that, either, he supposed, given some of Lord Afterly’s friends. Although he could count himself among them, the man hadn’t yet approached him about courting his sister. He suddenly found himself wondering why. Does he know I would be marrying her for her dowry? he wondered.
Well, not entirely, he had to admit to himself.
He would do so to save her from a reputation that was nearly in ruin. To provide her protection. To give her a home she could call her own.
To bed her.
Matthew squeezed his eyes shut, trying desperately to clear the image of her naked in his bed. Of her honey blonde hair splayed out on the goose down pillow. Of her parted lips ready to kiss his. Of her lush body welcoming him, embracing him with her long legs and elegant arms, the secret place at the top of her thighs providing a warm, wet haven for his engorged manhood. He took a ragged breath.
Damnation!
His eyes opening slowly, Matthew caught sight of the bulge behind the placket of his breeches. Double damnation! How was he supposed to escort Miss Porterhouse on a ride in the park when all he wanted to do was ravish her?
Well, if he were married to her, he’d be able to do so whenever he pleased.
But would she want him to?
Waiting another moment to allow his ardor to cool, Matthew stepped down from the barouche and made his way to the front door of Rosehill House. Not of recent construction nor located in a particularly fashionable part of Westminster, the yellow house appeared as if it could use a bit of maintenance. The lawn was clipped and flowers displayed a riot of color along the front edge of the property, although one of the pickets was missing from the fence. As he was about to reach for the lion head’s knocker, the door opened.
“Good day, sir. And whom may I say is calling?” the butler wondered.
A very frustrated, lustful baron, he thought to reply. Instead
, he said, “Lord Ballantine. I’m here to collect Lady Geraldine.”
From the suddenly raised eyebrows on the butler, Matthew realized his words were a surprise to the man.
“I’m right here, Smithton,” he heard a feminine voice say from inside the house.
The butler disappeared, only to be replaced by the woman herself. Dressed in bright blue and sporting a conservative hat – it didn’t even have a plethora of silk flowers or a feather arcing out of the top – Geraldine appeared as if she were already a married lady of the ton. Matthew felt a bit of disappointment, but it was soon replaced with a bit of awe. “My lady,” he said in greeting, doing his best to keep his jaw from dropping. She looked positively ... proper. And she was giving him a brilliant smile that had him forgetting what he was supposed to say.
He suddenly found himself remembering what had happened the day before. He remembered how her brilliant smile had been replaced by a look that suggested she was suddenly embarrassed by her assertion that he’d been thinking naughty thoughts about her. That if she’d had the moment to do over again, she might have allowed him a bit more time to respond, to deny her assertion. Had she done that, though, he didn’t know if he would have been brave enough to send the note asking her to join him on this ride to Lady Barrick’s birthday picnic.
The woman always had him so discombobulated! And now ... now he was supposed to be doing something.
“Good afternoon, Lord Ballantine,” Geraldine said as she curtsied.
Matthew bowed and reached for her gloved hand. He brushed his lips over her knuckles, his mind suddenly blank. When he straightened, he found her gazing at him.
“Good afternoon, milady,” he finally responded, remembering to offer his arm. Geraldine took it, just as she had the yesterday morning when he had met her at the Palace of Prose. And just as if they’d known one another their entire lives – which they had, Matthew remembered just then – they set off down the front steps of Rosehill House for an afternoon ride.
Chapter 27
Of Wants
“What do you want, Lady Everly?” Jeffrey asked suddenly, turning on the park bench to regard Evangeline.
Evangeline gave a start. She’d been so engrossed in the story, she hadn’t realized she was being addressed. “Want?” she repeated, thinking at first the tea tray had arrived and he was offering her biscuits, which was ridiculous since she would be the one to serve tea. And that was completely and utterly impossible because they were sitting in the middle of Grosvenor Square and there would be no tea served here. She blinked, attempting to bring herself back to the present.
“Yes,” Jeffrey replied. “Are you fond of jewels, or gowns from France, or some other manner of frippery?” he clarified.
Evangeline reached for the bookmark, realizing the baron wanted to converse instead of read. “My own home, I suppose,” she finally answered. “Children, of course. A husband who is as at least as fond of me as I am of him.”
The baron’s brows furrowed. “Is Rosemount House not your home?” he asked, waving one hand before allowing it to rest on his thigh.
Before the blush could color her face, Evangeline turned away. “Rosemount House is my brother’s home,” she reminded him. “When he takes a wife, she will be its mistress.”
Jeffrey shrugged. “Knowing your brother as I do, it may be a long time before he has a wife. Certainly, you’ll stay until then,” he reasoned.
Evangeline nodded, suddenly feeling a bit melancholy. His words made it sound as if her brother would marry before she did. “It certainly feels like home, but I’m quite sure whomever he marries will replace my mother’s chipped china and worn furniture,” she said, sadness tingeing her words.
“Perhaps you can keep them then,” he replied, thinking the furnishings looked far more comfortable than most in Sommers Place in Cavendish Square.
Evangeline seemed surprised by his suggestion, her face brightening. “Perhaps,” she agreed, wondering where she would put the stuff-n-such when the new Lady Everly moved in.
“Your brother will not mind,” Jeffrey said with a shake of his head. “Nor will your husband.”
Evangeline nearly gasped at the comment. “You say that as if you already know who he will be,” she replied in surprise.
Jeffrey had to tamp down the first thing that came to his mind. Of course, he knew. At least, he was pretty sure he knew. Trouble was, until he had a chance to discuss the matter with Lord Everly, he wasn’t at liberty to say. “Well, I do not know who exactly, milady. Any man who could claim you as his wife would be a fool not to allow you to bring along the things that have meaning for you.”
Evangeline stared at the baron for several moments, stunned by his words. “That would make for a small number of fools,” she replied with a teary smile. Goodness! The man made it sound as if there were gentlemen lining up to court her!
Just one, Jeffrey thought to himself.
Hopefully.
Chapter 28
Chapter Seven: A Ride in the Park
Matthew Winters had his barouche merging with the traffic in Oxford Street as if he did it every day, which Geraldine considered he might very well do. She had no idea what the baron did, at least on the days that Parliament wasn’t in session. “Tell me, Lord Ballantine. What would you being doing right now if you weren’t on your way to Hyde Park for a birthday party?“
The baron glanced in Geraldine’s direction, surprised by the question. He had thought they would be discussing the weather or the latest fashions from Paris. “I would probably be in my study seeing to the business of the barony,” he replied easily.
With one hand hooked around his arm, Geraldine placed her other hand in her lap. “You don’t employ a secretary to see to your barony?” she questioned, marveling at how he expertly avoided a child who darted out in front of them and then swerved when a costermonger looked as if he were trying to be run over by the older-model barouche.
Matthew considered how to respond. He would gladly employ someone if he could afford to do so. “I do not,” he responded as he took the turn onto Park Lane.
Geraldine considered the comment for a moment. “Because you do not trust someone else to do it?” she half-questioned, her attention suddenly on the Abdington’s mansion. “I’ve always thought that was the most beautiful house in this lane,” she added as she openly admired the Palladian architecture, manicured lawn and gardens in front.
“Indeed? I would have thought Lord Atheron’s manor would suit you much better,” Matthew countered, testing her to discover if she would stick to her original claim or change her opinion to match what he’d just suggested.
Geraldine shook her head. “Although the Atherton pile is certainly impressive, it lacks ... the modern look, I suppose,” she replied carefully. “I’m just not very fond of Tudor architecture, I suppose.”
His eyes widening in surprise, Matthew dared a glance in her direction. So the woman was versed in architecture. “Is Palladian your favorite then?” he wondered, his attention turning to the mansion to their left, one he knew didn’t belong to a member of the aristocracy but rather to a man who was a tradesman. A rather successful tradesman.
“I do love the Greek influence,” Geraldine agreed. “In fashion as well as buildings,” she added enthusiastically.
Matthew blinked. He had never seen the chit dressed in any gowns that took their cut from the Greek goddess dresses that had been so popular at the turn of the century. “And yet you do not wear such gowns,” he accused lightly.
Geraldine blinked. What did the baron know of women’s fashions? she wondered. “True,” she answered carefully. “Unfortunately, my modiste is quite set on styles that she claims are French but that my brother says are most certainly not. I am not exactly sure how he would know, though,” she said in a quieter voice, as if she were just then wo
ndering how it was her brother could know one way or the other.
Chuckling, Matthew patted the hand that wound around his arm. “Given his avocation, your brother is a worldly man, Jerry,” he said, barely aware he had called her by her nickname. “He probably knows more about women’s fashions than any modiste in New Bond Street, seeing as how he’s managed to remove them from so many women.” And then had to help to put them back on, he nearly added. The man would probably make an excellent lady’s maid! Prior to his having earned a degree from Cambridge, Richard Porterhouse enjoyed the life of a randy member of the ton, his conquests ranging from young widows to willing maidservants to older women who were bored in their marriages.
Shocked by Ballantine’s comment, Geraldine inhaled sharply, lifting one gloved hand to cover her open mouth. “Why, Matthew Winters, you take that back right now,” she insisted, her manner suggesting she wasn’t the least bit humored by his statement about her brother.
Matthew swallowed, shocked that he would put voice to such a thought, even if it was to Geraldine Porterhouse. “I apologize, my lady. I ... I don’t know what came over me just then,” he said with a good deal of humility. “Just because we were fast friends in our youth does not give me the right to impugn your brother. Do forgive me.”
Geraldine straightened in the squabs, suddenly wondering if the baron was testing her. “Are you testing me, Lord Ballantine?” she asked.
A quirk formed at the edge of the baron’s mouth. “I am, indeed, Jerry,” he responded, his face breaking into a wide smile. “I must admit that I feared you and your brother were no longer on speaking terms,” he explained. “I did not wish to take sides, if that were the case, since you two are my dearest friends.” He guided the barouche through the gates into the park.
The Story of a Baron (The Sisters of the Aristocracy) Page 14