‘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 theton, 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.
Wantwas 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.
