The duchess’s ears fired red, and Dare earned a dark look from his sister. “If I might give you some advice, avoid such language before the dinner party.”
Ignoring Lady Kinsley’s biting response, Dare focused on the duchess. “She is not going,” he said flatly.
Temperance settled a hand on his sleeve. “May I speak with you?”
His jaw hardened. He led her several steps away.
“It is fine,” she said when they were out of earshot.
“The carriage. You get sick in them.” And he’d spare her that suffering and humiliation in being exposed to his unfeeling family.
Tenderness glimmered from within her expressive eyes. “I’m going to have to eventually ride in carriages, Dare.”
“Not with them.”
“It is a short distance, and I can handle short journeys.” She’d always been endlessly brave and proud. “I have to do this.”
They locked in a silent battle. With a quiet curse, Dare scraped a hand through his hair. There was no way around this. Whether or not he wished it or liked it, the agreement Dare had struck with the duke required him and Temperance to fulfill certain obligations. “Fine.” He bit that single syllable out through clenched teeth.
“It is going to be fine,” she promised.
He rested his brow briefly against hers. “Are you attempting to convince me or yourself?”
Her lips twitched. “Perhaps a bit of both of us?”
Dare stroked the curve of her cheek. And for a moment, with the strangers present, the tension of their past melted away as Dare and Temperance were the young lovers who’d whispered secrets to one another when the world had ceased to exist.
The moment proved short-lived.
As Temperance hurried off to join the duchess and Lady Kinsley, Dare stared after them, wishing he could return to that previous tumble during their waltz, when it had been just them, and only them.
Chapter 15
Journeying from Mayfair to New Bond Street with her new sister-in-law and grandmother-in-law, it was hard to say which part of the day was most miserable: suffering the silent, stark company of each woman or enduring the carriage ride.
No, it was definitely the carriage ride.
Her body lurched with each sway of Dare’s elegant black barouche. Sweat dampened her skin, and she discreetly patted back the moisture at her brow.
Unlike her mother, who’d prayed regularly and believed there would be an eternal peace for those who suffered—those like the Swifts—Temperance had never believed in God. She’d never had any real reason to. Living through the hell of the Rookeries, one had plenty of reason to believe the Earth, a place of darkness, evil, and danger, had been shaped in the image of Satan. Only to find herself, all these years later, discovering prayer and a hope that there was a God.
Please, do not let me be sick. Please, not now. Not before these people . . .
After she had returned to her rooms, she had ruminated on what Dare shared about his childhood and everything she knew about him . . . in those years after. She had seen firsthand what his life had been . . . and there was only one certainty: if he didn’t secure the duke’s funds, he’d be lost—forever.
As such, Temperance had risen that morning with a renewed purpose: to see that Dare earned his twenty thousand pounds. Only in doing so would he be forever free of the chains of the Rookeries. She’d even found pride in being the one to lead the charge for her and Dare.
Only to be knocked off-balance once more with the discovery that he needed her help less than she required his. A good deal less.
Of course he could dance. And do so perfectly. With gliding, graceful steps that fell in perfect harmony to a song that he also perfectly hummed, while Temperance had stumbled through the movements and steps.
“I’m not from those elite ranks, either, Temperance,” he’d claimed when he was trying to convince her to join him . . . “We would learn to navigate together,” he’d said.
All the while, he’d remained wise to Polite Society’s customs and ways.
Perfect. Always perfect.
And she . . .
Wholly flawed. Her hands went to her stomach reflexively, and she cradled that useless womb.
Flawed, in every way that a woman could be flawed.
Awful.
All of this was . . . awful.
Her stomach revolted against the sway of the carriage ride, and Temperance swallowed convulsively. So flawed that she couldn’t even make a damned carriage ride anymore.
He’d tried to spare her from this.
At every turn, he showed himself to be the man she’d fallen in love with . . . and the man she would always love. For his failings and faults and mistakes, he was one who put everyone’s happiness and welfare before his own.
And she tried to focus on only that.
Tried to.
Feeling her sister-in-law’s gaze on her, Temperance moved her hands away from her belly, and folding them, she rested them instead on her lap.
Her hands clasped firmly, Temperance focused all her energies on one: she stared straight ahead at Lady Kinsley.
This was Dare’s sister; possessed of the same dark-brown tresses and a slight cleft in her angular chin, the woman was in very many ways a physical image of her brother. And yet that was where any and all likeness between the pair ended. Dare, who with his effortless charm and ease with a smile, would have never let tension march on as this woman did. This woman, who seemed to revel in the thick discomfort that hung within the carriage.
Lady Kinsley stared boldly back; there was a directness to her gaze that Temperance admired. There was also a coldness to it, too, however. Temperance lifted her chin and continued to meet that unforgiving stare.
She may have been born to a different rank from the woman opposite her; however, people were people. As such, weakness wasn’t tolerated or forgiven in any side of England.
The carriage hit an uneven cobble, and she tamped down a groan.
Do not be sick . . . Do not be sick . . .
And then, miracle of miracles, God proved himself capable of listening to people like Temperance, after all. The carriage rolled to a slow, easy halt.
They’d arrived.
There would be time enough to focus on the misery awaiting her in a posh London modiste’s. For now, however, there was only relief that the tense, silent carriage ride had come to an end.
The duchess knocked once on the roof.
A dutiful servant immediately drew open the black lacquer panel and handed the duchess down. He reached back for Dare’s sister, but the young woman flicked a palm. At that dismissive gesture, the young man pushed the door shut.
“I do not trust you,” Lady Kinsley said the moment the panel clicked shut.
Well, the woman was nothing if not direct and honest. As ruthless as that leveled charge was, Temperance preferred this directness to the veiled insults and innuendos.
“I can certainly understand why, Lady Kinsley,” Temperance said. “I’m a stranger, and I’m from the Rookeries. I trust, therefore, you might have reservations about someone of my station.”
By the way those thin, dark-brown eyebrows crept up, Temperance’s hadn’t been the response the other woman had expected.
“However”—Temperance leaned forward—“having had dealings with people of all stations, I can personally attest people of all stations are capable of like cruelty.”
Understanding glinted in the lady’s eyes. And something that looked very close to appreciation. It was instantly gone. “My grandparents . . . My mother when she was here . . . living, were desperate to see their grandson and son again. They would accept him back into the fold, regardless of who he is now.”
It did not escape Temperance’s notice that the other woman hadn’t mentioned her father. Questions swirled around Dare’s life . . . before. “Your brother,” she made herself say.
Lady Kinsley cocked her head.
“That is, you’ve ref
erred to Dare as a grandson and son, but he is also your brother.”
Hate glimmered in the young lady’s eyes. “He is no brother of mine. He is, as you said, a stranger, and not to be trusted because of it.”
Fury threaded its way through every corner of her person, and Temperance bit the inside of her cheek to keep from hurling a stream of invectives and insults at the woman who’d question Dare. Darius Grey, who’d been a savior in the streets for so many. Even if Temperance could never and would never approve of the work he’d done, she would always respect what he’d sought to do . . . and had done with his spoils. When she trusted herself to speak, Temperance did so in carefully measured tones. “With all due respect, Lady Kinsley, you do not know Dare.”
Another person might have been properly chastised. This woman could have challenged a cold slab of stone to a contest and come out triumphant.
“With all due respect,” Dare’s sister tossed back, “my brother, as you would have me refer to him, before he was cut down from a gibbet, was ready to swing for the acts of thievery. Therefore, do not speak to me about, as you call him, Dare’s honor.” She leaned forward in her seat and didn’t allow Temperance a word edgewise. “I know people like my brother. Charmers. Scoundrels. Thieves. Glib with words. They can seduce a person into believing they are something other than they are.” Her eyes glinted like ice. “But they can’t be. They are and always will be thieves, not to be trusted.”
What had befallen this woman that she’d such a vile opinion of . . . so many? Including her own brother?
And yet . . . Temperance tried to imagine what it must be like for this woman, to find herself meeting a brother whom she’d never before known. “I trust this is difficult.”
Color filled Lady Kinsley’s cheeks. “You know nothing about anything.”
Yes, there were many times Temperance felt that very way. This, however, was not one of them. “You strike me as a capable woman. Independent. Confident. In control.”
“Don’t waste your time thinking to ingratiate yourself to me with compliments,” the young lady muttered, her color rising.
Temperance hid a smile. “They are not compliments,” she assured. “I don’t waste my time with flattery. No one from the Rookeries does.” That trait had proven problematic during her tenure at Madame Amelie’s, when Temperance had been expected to issue any and only pretty words to the clients. “You are well within your rights to feel resentment. I trust it is frustrating to have a person whom you’ve never met suddenly return.” Lady Kinsley’s mouth flattened into a hard line. “Your resentment, however right you are to that emotion, is wrongly placed. Dare isn’t the one deserving of your anger.”
“You come here, simply arriving one day, the bride to my brother’s groom, and not even knowing me, you presume to tell me who I should or should not be angry with?”
“You are . . . not wrong,” Temperance said quietly. “I’m telling you, your brother did what he had to in order to survive, and I would hope that as his sister you should find some happiness in that, and in his return.”
And refusing to engage the young lady one moment more, Temperance opened the door and jumped out.
And then promptly wished she’d never left the carriage. Which would be a first since she’d developed carriage-sickness.
A sea of brightly clad, elegant ladies streamed down the pavement, all stealing long looks and whispering as their gazes caught on Dare’s crest and then on Temperance.
Oh, bloody hell.
Temperance’s stomach lurched all over again for entirely different reasons. Raising her chin, she sailed forward with all the pride a woman clad poorer than most servants could muster outside the high-end shops. She hurried up the three steps and let herself in—only to be met with more stares.
So many of them.
This is what you agreed to.
Something about having it confirmed here, and without Dare at her side, made it all the worse. It had been one thing imagining herself suffering through this hell with Dare on her arm. With him and his confidence, she’d always believed she could conquer anything. And she was filled with the sudden, powerful urge to weep because of the fact she was alone. Because of the reminder that she’d never truly been invincible, even with Dare’s name for protection . . . as he had believed . . . and she had also allowed herself to believe.
Her breath came hard and fast in her ears as the past crept in.
You think you’re going to go and marry Dare Grey and I’ll forgive that, you whore . . .
Do not let him win here. Not now.
Her father had always been determined to steal her every happiness. He would want nothing more than to see her fail in this.
And it was that reminder, and that alone, which allowed her to bury away the pain of that day and focus on the seamstress fast approaching.
She was . . . the first woman to wear a smile. And it briefly confused and confounded Temperance. “This is my grandson’s wife,” the duchess was saying. “No expense is to be spared.”
“My lady,” the young seamstress greeted. “Shall we begin?”
Over the next seven hours, Temperance was undressed, draped, poked, prodded, turned, turned back, and turned around once more. She had more fabrics laid against her person than she’d known had ever existed. She was spoken over. About. Never to.
And when it was done, she found herself discovering a belated understanding of what the women who’d come to her shop had felt like.
A bevy of whispers went up, followed moments later by giggles.
She stiffened and braced to confront those first of no doubt many gossips . . . and . . . found a trio of young ladies, of like pale coloring, laughing as they pointed to a figure seated at the corner of the shop.
Lady Kinsley?
Well, this was . . . unexpected.
Oddly, when she’d agreed to join Dare in London, she’d anticipated being the source of gossip and cruelty because of her birthright. What she’d not expected was that coldness would be reserved for those of their lofty station.
This same woman who sat with her shoulders back but her gaze downcast on the embroidery on her lap bore no hint of the venomous figure who’d called Temperance out so splendidly in the carriage. The busybodies continued with their cruel gossip.
“Well, my mother said,” one of the ladies said loudly, “it of course shocks no one that they should find her brother, a common pickpocket, living on the streets . . .”
There was nothing common about Dare Grey. The ton, however, would think of him as a common street pickpocket, never imagining that he’d robbed at a grand level that could have seen Dare with houses and riches to rival any lord . . . but who’d instead given it away.
“Scandal follows them all, is what my mama said,” another of the pale-faced ladies piped in.
“Well, my mother says the lady not only allowed herself to be seduced by a scoundrel . . .” That last utterance was spoken more loudly than all the others, a statement made with the intention that it be heard. Altogether, the group directed their stares at Lady Kinsley. The lady in question’s mouth tensed, and her cheeks fired red. “But she’s also carrying his babe . . . That is what my mama said anyway.”
This was what accounted for Lady Kinsley’s bitterness and resentment, her ill opinion of men.
Oh, that was really quite enough.
“It is unfortunate that your mothers have so much to say in front of you,” Temperance drawled.
One of the ladies—the leader of the trio—bristled. “And why is that?”
“Because if they didn’t, we’d have blessed silence, as the three of you don’t appear to have a brain in your heads.”
As one, three mouths fell agape, and the trio’s eyes went impossibly round.
The white-clad lady in the middle was the only one to find her voice. “How dare you? Who do you think you are?”
There’d come time enough later to worry about the scandal she’d caused and the powerful enemi
es she’d found in some peer’s daughter. As it was now, all Temperance was capable of was the same Scot’s fury her mother had lamented. “How dare I scold three gossips speaking unkindly about another person in public?” She arched a brow. “I’d expect it is a far more egregious offense to be a busybody than the one calling them out.” With that, she marched off to assess a pair of ribbons hanging from a clever netting affixed to the ceiling.
“Well!” The only one with a voice amongst them stuck her nose in the air, and with a snap of her fingers that saw the other girls in line behind her, they marched over to three older, plumper versions of themselves.
Temperance tested the fabric of the ribbons, measuring the quality.
She tensed as a person joined her, and then identifying her visitor, Temperance went back to her appraisal.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Lady Kinsley said tersely.
“No. I don’t have to do anything.” Well, that wasn’t altogether true. She did have to remain here in London and play the role of chaperone to Dare’s sister if she wished to earn her five thousand pounds. But even that was a voluntary decision. “I spoke up to those women because I wanted to.”
“Why would you want to? You don’t even know me, beyond . . .” Beyond how nasty she’d been earlier to Temperance.
Temperance released a pale-blue satin ribbon and exchanged it for an ivory lace one. “I have a greater problem with women gossiping about others than with direct, forthright ones who tell a person precisely how they’re feeling.”
“Even if said person is telling you she doesn’t like you or trust you?” Kinsley asked, trailing close at Temperance’s heels as she moved down the aisle.
“I would say there’s all the more reason to trust someone who tells a woman precisely how she’s feeling. One knows precisely where one stands.”
The other woman hesitated. “Thank you,” she said gruffly. “For . . .”
Temperance spared Dare’s sister from having to humble herself. “You needn’t thank me.”
And just like that . . . there was an unspoken truce forged between them.
Kinsley stepped closer and spoke from the side of her mouth. “Ava, Anabelle, and Araneid are their names. They are the nastiest gossips, and also diamonds of the first waters. They’re very exclusive and live to make everyone whom is not accepted as part of them . . . absolutely miserable.”
Undressed with the Marquess Page 22