Once Lucy had returned to help Gemma into her stays, they’d visited Henrietta and tried to tempt her downstairs for breakfast.But though she’d risen from bed and allowed herself to be dressed, Henrietta had insisted she wasn’t hungry.They’d left her sitting in the chair by the smudged, dirty window, looking out at the chilly spring morning with her hands lying listlessly in her lap.
Gemma pressed her lips together.“Mama will be fine.The journey was difficult for her, she needs rest.And goodness knows this place was a shock!But she will recover.In the meantime, I shall enlist more help this very morning.”
“Oh?From whom?”Lucy leaned in, batting her eyelashes.“Handsome Hal, the barman?”
“Hal can go to the devil,” Gemma said sharply.Damn it, she really did need to apologize.She would.She just had one thing to do first.“Remember that big manor house we passed on the road here, just outside of the village?”
Lucy nodded, and Gemma lifted her chin.“Well.We may have come down in the world somewhat, but I should think a country squire with a dozen hounds would still be happy to receive a duke’s daughter as a visitor.And if he’s rich enough, perhaps I’ll marry him.”
“Hmm.And even if he isn’t husband material, it would be good to get the local gentry on our side.That’s the first step in convincing the rest of the aristocracy that this place is worth a visit.”
“Exactly.You’ve a head for business as well as a nose for gossip.”
Lucy snorted, but her cheeks pinked a bit with pleasure.“Let’s go upstairs and find your most ravishing morning dress.Perhaps this country squire will be the answer to all our problems in one fell swoop.Can’t hurt to look your best.”
For the first time since conceiving of the plan, Gemma was struck by the reality of what she was trying to do.If she succeeded, if all went as well as it possibly could and she triumphed beyond imagining—she would have to marry a man who was currently a stranger, who might be of any age or disposition.Whom she might not love, or even like.
It was the way of the world, of course.Her world, the world of aristocratic titles and generational wealth and family legacy—but Gemma had been raised by parents in the throes of the most epic sort of romance, and her father, in particular, had been very clear that Gemma was absolutely not to marry for any reason other than love.
“Gemma, my girl,” he would say as he stood very still and let his valet tie his cravat while Gemma sat on the floor and watched.“There is nothing worse in this world than being forced to live out your days trapped in a loveless marriage.I will never give my blessing to a match for you unless you are both wild for one another.”
And, true to his word, he had never even hinted at a wish that she accept one of the gentlemen who occasionally sniffed about the skirts of a wealthy duke’s daughter.To be fair, Father had been quite wrapped up in his own whirl of parties, gambling, and merrymaking, as well as his undying passion for his second wife, but Gemma had always appreciated the sentiment.It had made her feel very special, to know that her fate would not be that of most girls of her class.
But then he’d overturned his curricle in a foolish, drunken race against one of his drunken fool friends, and now…Gemma was no longer special.
She would have to face the reality that most women faced, and make the best of it.
Marriage was a fairly straightforward business arrangement, after all: security and social standing for her; a body in his bed and a mother for his children for him.
For some reason, the prospect of a convenient business arrangement of a marriage had seemed simpler yesterday.She supposed it was easier to consider the prospect of a life without passion before she’d experienced passion for herself.
Standing up from the table so quickly that the chair scraped loudly against the floor, Gemma said, “All right.Help me get dressed to seduce your potential future brother-in-law.I have a call to pay.”
She couldn’t afford to waver or indulge in the sort of fantasy her mother had been lucky enough to live out, Gemma lectured herself firmly as she followed her sister upstairs.
Passion was all very well, but it wouldn’t save her family.
An hour later, Gemma did a slow twirl in front of Lucy, who clapped her hands.“I wish I had a looking glass,” Gemma fretted, patting at her hair.
Lucy, who’d proved surprisingly adept with a comb, surveyed her with a critical eye.“It’s not that different from braiding a horse’s tail.I think it looks all right, especially once you put the bonnet on.”
After quite a bit of deliberation, they’d selected a draped celadon muslin day dress embroidered at the hem with dainty tendrils and leaves of a slightly darker shade of green.The floaty fabric was so fine, it was necessary to wear a plain white underdress beneath.It gave the whole gown a dreamy, cloudlike air, as though a stiff wind might blow it away in a swirl of mist, leaving Gemma in her corset and drawers.
Tiny puffed sleeves hugged Gemma’s upper arms, their frills edged with satin ribbon of the same darker green.More of the ribbon threaded along the neckline of the bodice, which was fashionably low and straight across Gemma’s bosom.The ivory lace fichu tucked into her décolletage somehow served to draw attention to the soft curves of her breasts, rather than preserving whatever modesty she possessed.
It seemed a shame to cover it up with the forest green velvet spencer, but the air had enough of a nip in it to convince her.
Gemma surveyed herself critically.She thought she’d managed to strike a nice balance between fashionable sophistication and the sort of simplicity a country gentleman might prize.
“Shouldn’t I come with you?”Lucy asked.“It’s more the done thing, of course, but I’d only be in the way if you want to start a proper seduction.”
Gemma considered, then shook her head.“Rules are more relaxed in the country, and anyhow I’m getting to the age where it makes more sense for me tobea chaperone than to have one.Just don’t tell Mama.”
“I’m worried about her.”Lucy picked at the embroidery on her sleeve cuff.She was in another mourning gown, a dark blue printed cotton sprigged with the tiniest flecks of white flowers, and it jarred Gemma a bit to see her baby sister in such a grown-up dress.The dark colors of mourning suited her in a way that the whites and pastels worn by unmarried young ladies did not.
“Let us look in on her again and try to coax her out for a walk,” Gemma agreed, but when they descended on their mother and tried to convince her to join Lucy for a stroll through the village, Henrietta refused to leave her room.
“Oh, girls,” she sighed, the lace of her cap fluttering gently as she lay back in her chair by the window.The remains of her breakfast sat, the tray barely touched, on the spindly-legged table beside her.“I’m far too weary to stir out of doors at present.Perhaps tomorrow.”
