Page 29 of The Bridal Quest

After that, it had been a quick slide into agreeing to the gray bombazine carriage dress trimmed with black gauze, a hunter-green evening dress, and two new day dresses of jaconet muslin, as well as the accessories that the other women agreed were absolutely necessary to complement the clothes.

Sated and tired, they had then retired for the day, but Maura, dazzled by this newfound friendship with one of the leading lights of the ton, jumped at Lady Haughston's offer to come by the following day and help them go through Irene's closet to select the rest of her clothes for the trip. Irene, tired as she was and rather embarrassed by her strong affection for the gold ball gown, put up only a faint protest.

The next day, Francesca had descended on the house, accompanied by Maisie, whom she proclaimed was a wizard with a needle, and all the women repaired to Irene's room, where her entire wardrobe was sifted through and talked over. No one could deny that Francesca's eye for fashion was impeccable, and her maid's prowess with a needle and thread was equally impressive. Almost before Irene knew it, with an added ruffle here or a ribbon there, a lowered neckline, lengthened or shortened sleeves, a bit of lace or a row of satin knots, her dresses were transformed into something altogether more flattering and fashionable.

She protested a little at their ruthless handling of her clothing, but the results were so attractive that she could not bring herself to make them return the dresses to their former state. What did it matter, she asked herself, if she did not dress as severely as she usually did? After all, she had made it plain to Lord Radbourne that she was not interested in being his wife, and in any case, he clearly was a man who sought a wife only for the most practical of reasons, not for her appearance. It would not matter if she looked her best; she did not need to deter his suit.

Moreover, in general there was no longer any actual need to look quite so ... plain, she thought later that evening as she studied her reflection in the mirror. She had established herself as a spinster; she was past the age when most men would even look her way if they were considering a wife. So there was really no need to downplay her looks. She could, for instance, loosen the plain knot in which she normally wore her hair. It would not hurt to try the French style of a cascade of curls that Maisie had suggested, or to put an ornament in her hair.

And even though she was wont to consider the time and effort that females spent on clothes as a foolish waste, she had to admit that the last few days had been the most pleasant she had ever spent around her sister-in-law; she had, in fact, quite enjoyed the laughter and gossip and camaraderie that the women had shared as they worked on her clothes. The pleasant atmosphere was, she knew, largely the result of Lady Haughston's efforts.

Things had not continued so pleasantly, of course. Maura could not spend ten days in an uncritical mood, nor could Irene refrain from resenting the other woman's advice and, worse, her rule-making. But the prospect of escaping Maura's presence in a few days made it much more bearable, as did the arrival of her new clothes. She could not resist trying them all on and preening, just a little, before the mirror. Nor could she resist the little spurt of pleasure she felt at thinking about the surprise with which the other young ladies would regard her when they saw her in the unaccustomed finery.

After all, while Irene was perfectly happy with being a spinster, she could not help but feel a bit of resentment at the way other young women consigned her to the social rubbish pile because of it.

Excitement had built in her over the last week and a half while she worked on her clothes, making sure they were clean and pressed, with every loose button resewn and any torn bow or ripped-out hem mended. Just packing them required a great deal of time and effort.

Although she expected to be at Radbourne Park for no more than two weeks, such a visit required a large wardrobe. She must take slippers for dancing, and an extra pair in case the first was damaged in some way. There must be riding boots in case there was an opportunity to ride, as well as sturdy walking boots in the more likely event that she decided to take a tramp through the countryside. And, of course, there must be less elegant slippers to wear during the days, at least two or three to go with her different frocks. All the shoes must be cleaned and inspected and wrapped carefully in cloth, then packed away. And that took care of only the footwear.

A large number of dresses must be packed, for she could not be seen wearing the same few garments every day. She must also take a riding habit, a carriage dress for traveling, a walking dress or two made of heavier material for the long walks she was looking forward to taking in the country, several day dresses, evening dresses for the formal suppers, and of course, two of her very best ball gowns for whatever elegant parties the Bankes might have during the two-week visit.

Then there were nightgowns, petticoats, chemises, and stockings of differing quality and weight, as well as a practical flannel petticoat in case it turned chilly and the Radbourne house was drafty. On top of that there were outer garments. It was, after all, almost September, and the weather was likely to get cooler while she was at Radbourne Park. She must have her best long velvet cloak to wear if she had to venture outside in one of her evening or ball gowns, as well as a couple of pelisses for daytime wear.

Last, but certainly not least, a number of accessories must be taken: gloves, both long and short, everyday and elegant, including leather riding gloves; ribbons and other hair ornaments; her small amount of jewelry; fans; and, of course, a number of hats. And Maura, much to Irene's astonishment, had lent Irene her own small sable muff to keep her hands warm.

"It's not yet cold enough for it, of course," she had told Irene. "But you might get a bit of cold weather by the end of your stay. And nothing makes a woman look so elegant and fragile as carrying a fur muff for her hands. You do have quite passable hands. You should play up that feature."

"Thank you," Irene had stammered in surprise. "I shall take very good care of it."

"See that you do," Maura had retorted, her brows drawing together, and Irene had hastily tucked the fur away in her trunk before her sister-in-law could change her mind.

There had been so much to do that Irene had managed to keep her excitement tamped down, but finally the day before, as she watched all their trunks being loaded onto the wagon in which Lady Haughston's maid and coachman would follow them, Irene had at last allowed the suppressed excitement to blossom within her.

She was leaving London and the stifling constraints of the ton for the freedom of the country. She and her mother would be free for weeks from the carping and antagonism of Lady Maura. There would be no talk of Maura's "delicate condition" or the months of sacrifice that lay before her, or the faintness, nausea and a dozen other ills that afflicted a woman during this time. And her mother would blossom once outside of Maura's clutches. That fact alone was enough to make Irene very glad that she had agreed to accompany Francesca to Radbourne Park.

Irene thought of Lord Radbourne; he would probably be there to greet them when they arrived. She wondered if he would be frosty in tone toward her and stubbornly sure that he would be able to change her mind. He would not woo her, of course; Irene doubted that the man was capable of something as socially skilled as wooing. But she suspected that he would in some way or another attempt to convince her that she should marry him. After all, he still needed a wife, and she did not think he was a man who gave up easily.

Of course there would be other young ladies there, and there was always the possibility that he would turn to one of them. Irene unconsciously narrowed her lips at the thought. It would be a reasonable thing to do, of course—no doubt one of the other young women would be far more likely to accept his suit, willing to give up her freedom for the opportunity of being a countess—and, Irene reminded herself, she certainly hoped that the earl would set his sights on someone else. But she was honest enough to admit that it would be somewhat lowering to have it proved to her so clearly that she was not special in Lord Radbourne's eyes, and that any other woman would serve his purpose just as well.

She told herself that it was absurd to experience even a twinge of discomfort over the matter. Certainly she did not want the earl to continue his pursuit of her, and her visit would be far more pleasant if he did not. And she was not the sort to be dog-in-the-mangerish about things. Her pride might feel a twinge of hurt, but that would be quickly over. It would be a vast relief, really, to have him cease importuning her.

Along with her heavy old-fashioned carriage, Lady Odelia had sent her conservative old coachman, as well, so their trip was slow. However, Irene did not mind. Francesca was a lively companion, and her mother, once away from her critical daughter-in-law, had talked and laughed happily until she fell asleep, so the time had passed pleasantly. And when they fell silent, Irene always had her thoughts to occupy her. She enjoyed looking at the countryside, for she had never traveled this way. Nor was she accustomed to staying in inns, as most of her journeys, such as from their rural home to London, had taken no more than one day. It was a wonderful new experience, she thought, and she intended to squeeze every last drop of enjoyment from it.

Now, as they grew close to their destination, anticipation rose in her. She pushed aside the window curtain from time to time, hoping to catch a glimpse of Radbourne Park, but she saw nothing except a tall hedge beside the narrow lane along which they rode. The carriage turned from the road onto another lane, smaller and less well traveled, and Irene pushed the curtain back again and peered out, thinking that they must have turned onto the drive to the house.

They passed a small cottage, but after that they entered into a stretch of woods and were surrounded on both sides by tall trees, whose branches arched over the carriage. They rattled along, crossing a stone bridge over a stream, and then, a moment later, the carriage emerged from the trees.

Irene unashamedly stuck her head out of the window to get her first look at the house. Before them was a vast expanse of green lawn, sloping gently upward, intersected by the drive that curved in front of the house. The house lay at the highest point, alone in its splendor, with no trees or shrubbery in front or to the sides to soften its lines.

Irene sucked in her breath. "Oh, my."

It was not the largest house she had ever seen, but it was, in its way, perhaps the most imposing. The central square of the mansion, built as a magnificent gatehouse, was a full four stories tall, anchored on the ends by twin circular towers that rose another two stories into the air. The rest of the house spread out on either side of the towers in dormered wings of a more normal three-story height. The entire thing was built of red brick, its shading varying slightly from section to section, with a few darker bricks mixed in. The ornamentation atop the towers was of terracotta, a molded brickwork resembling stone, as were the window frames. The pale autumnal sun, low in the afternoon sky, glittered off the mullioned windows and cast shadows beside the towers, adding to the majestic appearance of the house.

Both Irene's mother, who had awoken on her own, and Francesca leaned over to join her at the carriage windows, and Lady Claire uttered a soft echo of Irene's words.

"Well," Francesca commented drily. "Obviously the Bankes family thinks well of themselves."

"It's ... Well, I'm not sure what the word for it is," Irene said, still gazing at the house. "It is not what I would call beautiful, but it is certainly grand. It has an appeal."