Dora opened her eyes very wide. “I see,” she said and paused, her face taking on a calculating expression as she turned back to Miss Murdock, who was standing on a low stool in only her chemise and feeling very uncomfortable with her lack of clothing and the ruthless way the two older women were assessing her. “Yes,” Dora was now saying. “The very thing. I can not believe I did not see it.” She turned to an assistant. “You heard the Duchess, what are you waiting for? Take these and come back with what milady suggested and may I also suggest,” she asked the Duchess, her face questioning, “a red velvet for her riding habit?”
The Duchess chuckled. “Oh, very daring, and she shall carry it off splendidly. Now you have the idea, Dora.”
“Indeed, I do, milady.”
“Pardon me, ma'am,” Miss Murdock interrupted as Dora's assistant scurried out of the room. “I thought we had agreed to keep the purchases modest.”
“Nonsense!” the Duchess replied. “I don't remember agreeing to any such thing. Besides, it is St. James' money I am spending, so whatever do I care? Do you hear that, Dora?” she turned to her old friend and dressmaker. “The bills go to my grandson.”
If Dora showed any surprise at this news, she made no indication of it, merely made a note on her pad. Then she was busy sketching, appraising Miss Murdock as she did so. “I have some very good ideas already, milady,” she said, tearing off a top sheet and starting on a new sketch on the next one. Miss Murdock could see that at the top of each page with its, to her anyway, bewildering lines, was her name, neatly written, and the Duchess's address and then in large letters: Bill to Duke of St. James.
That single line of letters seemed to wrap about her rib cage and nearly suffocate her. The implications were damning.
The assistant came back in, a flurry of fluttering cloths as she carried an assortment of bolts of differing colors. She was quite red in the face from her efforts, but stood patiently as Dora selected each in turn, holding it up to Miss Murdock's form for effect, draping it this way and that. The entire time, she and the Duchess kept up a steady chatter, much of it gossip as well as critiquing.
As Miss Murdock could see that the Duchess was enjoying herself, she kept her doubts to herself over the selections made and the expense being incurred. Mayhaps she was caught up just the tiniest bit in the excitement of it, for she had never imagined how pleasing it could be to see so very many colors and materials and all of them being draped across her. Surely it could not harm anything to allow such a vast selection to be presented when she would narrow it down to only one or two?
“And of course all new under garments, and the proper accessories, which I will trust to you, Dora,” the Duchess was still talking several hours later, “as I can see you know exactly what I want at this point.”
“You can trust me, milady,” Dora reassured, jotting still further notes into her pad.
“And I would like the first of these to be delivered tomorrow morning. I can not have this child wearing those clothes she brought another moment longer if I can help it.”
“Oh, milady, that will be very expensive!” Dora warned. “It will mean taking girls from other projects and bringing in extra ones and sewing, sewing, sewing. . . .”
To which the Duchess cackled. “Good! I hope St. James has the apoplexy when he gets the bill. It should be quite entertaining.”
“Ma'am,” Miss Murdock moaned. “It is too much. I have told you it is too much. Walking dresses, afternoon dresses, riding habits, ball gowns, tea gowns, morning dresses, and all the slippers and bows and hats and gloves, not to mention the unmentionables!”
“Hush, child. Why we've only just begun. There will be several more shopping trips before we have you precisely the way I want you. But nevermind,” she added as she saw the frightened look on Miss Murdock's face, “for we will save that for another day. I am quite exhausted, I admit, but in a totally pleasant way, so do not look at me like that. I think when we go home, I shall take a little nap, and then this evening, we shall see what we can do with your hair. That bun, quite simply, has to go.”
“Oh, dear,” Miss Murdock said, feeling utterly out of control. “Not my hair also.”
“Indeed, yes, Miss Murdock,” the Duchess replied in a voice that brooked no argument. “It may not be of any compelling color, but there is quite a bit of it, and thick also. We shall contrive something more attractive to you than all that, that primness.”
“Oh, certainly, Miss,” Dora added. “And may I also suggest,” and her voice lowered to a conspiratory whisper as she leaned to the Duchess, “that you put just the faintest, faintest spot of rouge on either cheek, milady? I know it is quite unacceptable, but everyone is doing it. Discreetly, of course, but still, there it is.”
“Yes,” the Dowager murmured back, making the two seem like secret agents on some horribly important mission for the crown. “I had already thought the same, and I admit, only to you, Dora, mind you, that I have, on occasion, indulged myself.” And she nodded. “Yes. Even at my age.”
Dora giggled. “Oh, I would have never guessed, milady. I always said you were very sly.” She went on, her whisper becoming even more furtive. “And milady, I do not mean to pry, but the fact that St. James is to be billed for her coming out, does that mean that there will be congratulations in order?”
The Dowager smiled rather thinly. “Of course, I can not say, Dora, not even to you, after all these years. But it is the first lass he has ever taken a respectable interest in, and so I intend to build most strongly upon that.”
Dora fanned herself in her excitement. “Oh, ma'am, I am so happy for you, and to think that I will have my part in this!” She turned to look at the object of their conversation, who was fidgeting at this further delay in her being able to be dressed. “I would never have thought your grandson to have such. . . unusual taste,” she added in an undertone. Then she brightened. “But she really does have potential. There's more there than first meets the eye, so perhaps St. James is wiser than most men after all. Here, Miss Murdock! Do not dare put that dress back on that you wore in here. Isabelle!” she called again for an overworked assistant. “Take that garment from Miss there and burn it. Get something from in the back for her. I think the Bevington girl returned several things yesterday that she decided were not what she wished after all that should fit. That will have to do for you, Miss Murdock, until we have whipped up some of your own.”
Miss Murdock sighed, dispirited, as the ruthless assistant snatched her worn dress from her hands. “Yes, I see. Thank you, Mrs. Dimple.”
“Thank you, Dora. It is so much nicer to see immediately that we are making progress. And of course, this girl has not worn this clothing anywhere?”
“No, no!” Dora exclaimed, horrified. “Whatever do you think I am, milady, after all these years! No, I assure you, she received them just the day before yesterday, and yesterday she returned them, saying the cut wasn't quite right.” Dora sniffed, offended at just the memory of this comment. “As if my measurements or design have ever been off! More likely she has been indulging herself a little overmuch in the week since her last fitting, I say. But of course, you could never convince young Miss of that!”
“Of course not, Dora. I merely wanted to be sure that there would be no one chance to see Miss Murdock and recognize the dress, and as I know the Bevingtons live in the opposite direction from which we will be going, I find it doubtful that we should run into her. But of course if we do, I shall tell her that Miss Murdock has owned her dress for three whole months. That will really set her off to think that you had given her something from last season's fashions!”
“Oh, you would not do that, milady!” Dora cried. “Why it would ruin me!”
“Better you than Miss Murdock,” the Duchess replied, totally unmoved. “But if it makes you feel better, I shall tell her we got it from that inferior shop from down the street.”
“That is nearly as bad,” Dora argued. “For if it were thought that you were pat
ronizing it, then everyone else would be flying off down there, and I would still be ruined.”
“Tsk,” the duchess replied. “I am sure it is all a non-issue, for Miss Murdock will be only wearing it this day and we are only going straight home.”
Miss Murdock, during all this long discussion, had been busy putting on the new dress with the help of the assistant, a red and white striped concoction that, if it did not fit her like a glove, fit her with adequate elegance and as the two ladies at last turned to her almost in unison, they stopped their mild bickering and stared at her in silence.
Miss Murdock, anxious at the expressions on their faces, asked, “What? Oh, do not say that it looks that bad! It cannot be worse than what I came in. Can it?” she asked.
Dora said with quiet near rapture, “Oh, Miss, you look so. . . so bright,” and she dabbed at her eyes.
Miss Murdock stared in question at the Duchess, for if she did not quite disbelieve the shop's owner (for she seemed to be easily moved by her own creations) she still needed reassurance from that crusty old lady.
The Duchess studied her from her faded eyes and at last gave a single, deep, satisfied nod. “Yes, Miss Murdock. Without that baggy brown dress making you seem so very dowdy, I find that you are very bright indeed. You look warm and healthy and bursting with energy, and the color positively makes you bloom. Why I do not think we shall even need rouge on your cheeks for they are quite highly colored already. Who would have thought it, Dora?”
“Who would have, indeed? Milady, I must take my hat off to your grandson, for obviously he has seen it all from the beginning.”
Miss Murdock, released from her somewhat stunned trance at those words, broke into a prolonged fit of the giggles that had the shop owner and the Dowager looking at her quite dismayed, but she could only lean against the work table and laugh until she was gasping. It might suit these two older ladies' romantic fancies to think that St. James had somehow deduced that she were not so very plain after all, and she had not the heart to tell them differently, but she certainly knew differently and that is what she found so very funny.
Chapter Ten
Dante Larrimer, Duke of St. James, stared at the parchment he
held in his hands. He had not opened it yet, so it was not the contents that held his intent attention. It was his grandmother's seal upon the back of it, indicating it was from her, but the handwriting of the address upon the front of it was not her own. Had her arthritis become so bad of late that she was now dictating her missives?
He was frowning when he opened it, wondering at this development in his grandmother's health, but the letter itself added to his puzzlement for it was quite clearly his grandmother's own handwriting, as he had always known it. He began reading.
Well, Dante, was the missive's abrupt beginning, I have had the whole of the tale from Miss Murdock last night, and as usual, you have been behaving abominably! I have no need to tell you, I hope, that your actions have been inexcusable! You can not go about such activities as you have partaken over the past forty-eight hours and not do the girl's reputation irreparable harm. I will expect you after dinner tonight so that we can discuss this, but you should already know what solution I am recommending, and I expect you to do what is right by the girl with no attempt to shuffle off your responsibilities. In this matter, at least, you shall behave as your station demands you. 9 o'clock sharp!
Your Loving Grandmother
The frown St. James had begun reading with became more pronounced. “Bugger take it,” he whispered beneath his breath. “I should not have left her alone with that wily old lady, and if she really knows the truth of it now. . .” Without going through the rest of his mail upon his desk, he turned and left the room, going to order his horse saddled.
Miss Murdock had nearly dozed off in the carriage as she and a tired Duchess returned just after noon from the dressmaker's shop. So it was that she was in no mood to fight with St. James when she came through the salon door and saw him standing with his back to her before the fireplace.
“Oh, God help me!” Miss Murdock exclaimed. “But I am in no mood for you and your obstinacy. Unless you have come to tell me that upon reflection, you have seen the error of your ways and are now, at last, willing to call this whole absurd affair off, then I swear I will turn and walk directly out of this room I have just entered.”
At these words, the man at the fireplace did turn, to reveal not St. James, but a very similar younger version of him. The eyes were a pale blue rather than gold, and the face was perhaps more round instead of angling in sharp planes around cheeks and chin, but the resemblance was very pronounced all the same, and Miss Murdock gasped as much from surprise as from embarrassment. “Oh, my,” she said with sudden weakness. “But you are not—! Well, never mind who you are not. May I ask who you are?”
The blue eyes twinkled with mischief. “I am not St. James, who is my cousin, by-the-by. You are not the first to make that mistake, and as usual, the person making the mistake is angry with him, so I am forced to take the brunt of the abuse that is intended for the duke. I am Earl Andrew Larrimer, at your service, ma'am,” and he bowed and clicked his heels. “And may I have the honor of your name?”
Miss Murdock clasped at the neck of her new red and white striped afternoon gown. “I'm sorry! Of course! I am Miss Sara Elizabeth Murdock and of course you must be here to visit your grandmother, and here I am demanding your name when I am but a guest.”
He came forward, and she noticed that he was in fact, taller than the Duke of St. James, and that he was bulkier, but the hair was the same dark shade of brown that bordered on blackness. “Please do not apologize, Miss Murdock. As I have said, it happens often.”
“Then you have my condolences,” Miss Murdock answered without thought. “For I am sure it has been very miserable listening to the many tirades that were intended for your cousin's head.”
Earl Larrimer laughed at that. “Indeed, it has been. But very interesting also. So tell me, Miss Murdock, what has my cousin done to get your lovely face so flushed?”
Miss Murdock backed toward the door. “Oh, he has just been as he usually is, I suspect. For I have not known him above two days.”
“And he has you so angry already?” Earl Larrimer asked. “And that time frame does seem rather short for an 'affair',” he added with a teasing note to his voice. “But my cousin has been known to move quickly when he sees something he wants, and you, Miss Murdock, if not quite in his usual way, are extremely. . . interesting.”
“I assure you, I am not,” Miss Murdock replied, feeling a good deal of disgust at herself for being intimidated by a boy but a few years older than herself, and thinking to herself that she must be rid of this dress for when she had worn her own clothing, she had never been subject to anyone's interest whatsoever and that this experience was very disconcerting. “And I used the word 'affair' in the sense of situation, not—not as you would unwisely imply.”
“I see,” he said, stopping in the center of the room much to Lizzie's relief. “I apologize if I misunderstood. I lief to admit I would find it unlikely for St. James to park one of his females at his own grandmother's home.”
“Yes. It would be very ridiculous, indeed,” Miss Murdock agreed.
“What precisely are your dealings with my cousin, Miss Murdock, if I may ask?”
Miss Murdock searched about in her mind for a suitable answer but could find none readily available. “Why, he, uh, has prevailed upon his grandmother to take me in for a short stay as I have not been to London before,” she answered at last, sounding less than certain of it herself.
Andrew raised his eyebrows. “Oh. Your coming out, is that it? Though I thought you to be a little older than that, no offense meant, of course.”
“Of course,” Miss Murdock replied. “Indeed, I am twenty years old, so I really do not like to refer to it as my 'coming out'. In fact, I do not expect at all to go to any of the events that are normally associated with that phrase,
as I am not hanging out for a husband at all. I am merely here for, as I said, a short stay. Nothing more, I assure you.”
“Pity, that, Miss Murdock. I would rather look forward to going to those beastly evenings at Almacks if I thought I might meet someone there as glowing as you.”
“Your compliments only serve to make me think you are somewhat less than perfectly honest, sir,” Miss Murdock returned. “But I expect that flattering tongue of yours will have enough females fluttering about you to keep you entertained even in my absence.”
Earl Larrimer laughed. Then he said with refreshing candor, “I go it too brown, then, you think, Miss Murdock? I confess, my cousin has often advised me not to be too gushing and I must admit that although his approach seems rather astringent, it has the most damnedable results.”
“I am sure it does,” Miss Murdock returned in a dry voice. “But I beg you to not become too like him, for he does go a little to the extremes, I think, in being inscrutable and unfeeling.”
“Those are harsh words, Miss Murdock, even for my cousin. I can see he has you very angry indeed. Are you sure you will not tell me what he has done to get you so, for I may be able to help, you know.”
Miss Murdock, deducing that Earl Larrimer was in fact, fairly harmless, relaxed enough to move to the settee and seat herself on it. “No. Oh, no. I assure you, he has done nothing very dastardly after all, for I managed to reason him out of the worst of it. I am afraid it is just his high-handed manner that sets badly with me.”
“Ah, yes,” Andrew returned, settling himself in turn in the wing-backed chair that his grandmother normally sat in when she was in the room. “My mother is always enraged with his behavior and I think that really it is more the unrepentant attitude he takes than the actual actions themselves.”
“That would be Lady Lydia?” Miss Murdock asked.
“Yes. You've met her?”
“Just this morning at breakfast. She does seem very proper.”
In the Brief Eternal Silence Page 16