Wicked Wager (7 page)

A wicked look brightened James’s countenance. “I’ve heard Madame Dubonet is the finest modiste in London. Quite pricey, I’m sure, but Marcus can afford it.” He gave her a quick smile. Penny almost laughed aloud. Marcus Revington didn’t know it yet, but he’d gotten himself in deep this time.

****

“You’ve got to find her a maid.” James took the brandy Marcus held out. “It’s not proper for her to stay in this house without some sort of female companion, especially since you’re not married yet.”

Marcus sat in his usual chair in the drawing room and took a swallow of brandy. He’d hoped imbibing some spirits would improve his mood, but James’s reminder of his responsibilities canceled out the warm glow the brandy gave him. He was trying to avoid thinking about tonight, when he’d have to sleep on the hard, narrow bed Bowes was having made up in the spare bedchamber. Now James reminded him of another difficulty he faced with his prospective wife. “Well, I don’t imagine I can hire a maid today,” he answered irritably. “It’s nearly tea time. All the agencies will be closed by now.”

“At the very least, you must have one of the servants help her undress and see that her clothing is laundered. Otherwise, the poor thing will have nothing to wear when you take her shopping tomorrow.”

Marcus groaned.

“You know it can’t be helped. Until she has a maid to escort her, you’ll have to do the honors. And as badly as she needs new clothing, you can’t afford to delay.”

“The only woman I have employed here is Maggie, the cook.”

“Well, have
her
see to Penny then. If we eat late, it won’t be the end of the world.”

Marcus rose slowly. “I guess I’ll go talk to Maggie. Bowes would only make a muddle of it. He doesn’t seem to get on with her.”

“I’m not surprised,” James said, dryly. “Bowes is a bit full of himself. You should have seen him look down his nose at Penny when they first met. You would have thought he was the Prince Regent and she a grubby street urchin.”

“Dash it! She didn’t notice, did she?”

“Oh, I think she did.”

Marcus’s tension increased as he started for the door. He felt enraged at the idea of Penny being treated rudely. He must insist that every member of his household give her the respect she was due as his wife. It was the least he could do for the chit.

He went downstairs to the kitchen, where Maggie was cutting up vegetables. The Irishwoman gaped at him when he told her what he wanted. “You want me to wait on your wife?” She shook her head, coppery curls bobbing under her mop cap. “I don’t know nothing ’bout waiting on ladies.”

“She isn’t a lady. That is…she is, but she’s been living out in the country without female companionship for so long, she doesn’t have any notion what a lady’s maid is supposed to do. Assist her with whatever she needs. Undo her dress, help her take down her hair, comb it out.” He gestured helplessly. “She only has the one gown, so it’ll have to be washed.”

“Washed, sir?”

“Surely, you know how. You must attend to your own laundry.”

“Of course, but while I’m doing all this, who will see to supper, sir?”

Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or thinking about all the things he must do to get his wife settled in, but he was getting a megrim. “Don’t worry over it. I don’t care how late I eat. As a matter of fact, I’ll take a meal at the club. You’ll only have to feed her and the other servants, and I’m certain she’s used to plain food.”

The cook stared at him a moment longer, then wiped her hands on her apron. “I’ll try, sir, but this is all most irregular. If you’d given us some hint you were going to take a wife, we could have managed much better.”

Marcus was about to say that the arrangement was more a business venture than a marriage. Then he realized how cold and condescending that would sound. He must start treating Penny with a little more deference or the servants would never come to respect her. Of course, that didn’t really matter. She’d be going back to Horngate soon enough.

The thought eased his mood but didn’t completely reassure him. He’d known Penny a little more than a day, and she’d already turned his life upside down. He’d begun to suspect that James was right. Collecting on his wager wouldn’t be a simple matter.

This thought was reinforced when he returned to the library. “So, since Penny’s in your bedchamber, where are you going to sleep tonight?” James asked him. “Or are you going to share a bed with her again?”

“Certainly not! I’m not sharing a bed with Penny until we’re properly wed. For now, I’ll have to make do with whatever Bowes has found for me sleep on in the spare room.” Just the thought of it made him grimace.

“It’s your own fault,” James remarked. “You never bothered to do up this house properly. You have only a skeleton staff and a handful of rooms that are really livable.”

Marcus shook his head. “I never expected that a wife would be so much trouble.”

“Are you still determined to get the wedding over with and then send her back to Horngate?”

“Of course. Why would I have changed my mind?”

James shrugged. “No reason. Just thought you might be having second thoughts. Getting tired of being inconvenienced and all that.”

“Horngate is worth a few days of trouble,” Marcus snapped.

****

“Miss?”

Penny opened her eyes. At first she didn’t know where she was. Then she looked up and saw a young woman with startling red curls and a freckled face leaning over her and remembered Maggie, the Irish servant who helped her undress the night before.

“I’m sorry to wake you, miss,” Maggie murmured. “But Mr. Revington said to get you up. I guess he means to take you to the dressmaker for some new frocks.” She motioned to a cup on the table beside the bed. “I brought you some chocolate.”

Penny sat up and yawned. Picking up the cup, she took a swallow. “Oh, lovely.”

“I’m glad you like it, miss. As soon as you’re finished, I’ll help you get dressed and do your hair.”

“Oh, my hair.” Penny ran her fingers through the tangles and sighed. If she kept to her plan, she’d have Maggie put it up into her usual messy knot. But she was tired of appearing gauche and unkempt, and she really didn’t want to present herself that way in London. “I wonder if there might not be a way to curl it.”

“Well, the one parlor maid who worked here last fall did leave some curling tongs behind, so we could try,” said Maggie. “But I’ll warn you, I never done no hair curlin’ before. You might say it would be the last thing to come to my mind.” As she motioned to her own head of springy curls, Penny couldn’t help laughing. She felt quite comfortable having Maggie wait on her. The maid appeared to be a good-hearted sort, for all her lack of experience as a lady’s maid.

Between the two of them, they got Penny dressed. Then Maggie went down to get the curling tongs while Penny brushed out her hair. Maggie returned, and after heating the tongs in the fireplace, approached Penny, seated on the bed. “Here goes, miss.”

Maggie grabbed a strand of hair and wrapped it around the tongs. “How long should I hold it?”

“I’ve no idea,” said Penny. A few moments later, the distinctive smell of burning hair floated to her nose. “That’s enough, I think!”

Maggie removed the tongs and they both stared at the slightly singed curl that resulted.

“I’m not sure…” Maggie began.

“It’s fine,” said Penny. “Let’s try another one.”

This curl turned out a bit better. But the tongs cooled quickly and Maggie had to keep reheating them. When they had Penny’s hair only about half curled, a sharp knock sounded at the door. “Penny, are you ready yet?” Revington called.

“Not…not quite,” she answered.

“What the devil are you doing in there? It smells like burning feathers.”

Penny suppressed a giggle. The doorbell rattled. “Give us a moment, sir,” called Maggie.

They heard a sigh of aggravation, then footsteps receding down the hall.

“Don’t you fret,” said Maggie. “We’ll manage this yet. Mr. Revington’s a real impatient bloke, but he’ll be pleased as punch when he sees you. The curls really do wonders for you.”

Penny got up from the bed and went to look at herself in the glass over the dresser, turning her head so she couldn’t see the uncurled part of her hair. Maggie was right. She actually looked rather attractive. The next moment she felt a twinge of uncertainty. If her goal was to disgust Revington so he’d give up on marrying her, she shouldn’t be trying to make herself look nice. But she couldn’t seem to help herself. Her wretched cousin Adrian had always acted as if she was utterly repulsive, and a part of her was determined to prove him wrong.

Maggie returned with the tongs and Penny sat again so she could finish. As soon as she was done, Penny grabbed her pelisse and reticule and started downstairs. Revington was waiting for her in the library. He jumped up when he saw her. “There you are. I have the phaeton waiting outside. The groom’s been walking the horses.”

He took her arm and led her briskly toward the door. Penny felt a flash of irritation.
He hasn’t even noticed my hair!

But as he helped her into the phaeton, he glanced at her and his eyes widened. “What have you done with your hair?”

“I had Maggie curl it. Do you like it?”

“Like it?” A strange expression crossed his face. “Why…yes. It seems quite flattering.” The next moment he frowned. “I was going to engage a maid for you, but perhaps you could get by with Maggie.” His gaze shot up to meet hers. “Since you won’t be in London long.”

“That’s perfectly fine with me.” Even as she said the words, she realized she should have insisted he get her a maid. She must remember her goal to inconvenience him as much as possible. And also cost him as much money she could. She felt irritated with herself. What was it about this man that made her want to appear agreeable and pleasing?

As they set off, with Marcus driving, she asked, “Do you drive everywhere you go?”

“Usually. I like to take charge of my circumstances and not rely on anyone else.”

His words echoed what James had told her. Revington liked to feel in control. If she could make him feel as if marrying her would cause his life to spiral
out of control
, he would almost certainly give up the idea.

On the way to Bond Street, they passed numerous stylish open carriages. Revington nodded to many of the occupants, as if he was acquainted with them. While the men took little note of Penny, the women regarded her with frank curiosity. She wondered if Revington was embarrassed to be seen with her. Glancing at him, she saw that he appeared cool and distant, his usual demeanor.

They reached a street full of shops. Revington pulled the team to a halt and handed the reins to a waiting osteler. He helped Penny out of the carriage and they started down the street. As they drew near to a sign proclaiming Madame Dubonet, Modiste. Penny recalled what James had said, and exclaimed, “Can we go in here?”

Revington halted, frowning. “I suppose so. This is probably as good a place as any.”

A striking red-haired woman met them coming out, her low-cut gown revealing an expanse of lush white cleavage. “Marcus,” the woman said. “How lovely to see you!” Gazing at his face, she gave a lilting laugh.

Revington appeared startled at first. Then he smiled tightly and bowed. “Elizabeth.”

The woman turned and stared pointedly at Penny. Marcus cleared his throat. “Ah, yes…. That is…” He took a breath. “Elizabeth, may I introduce my-my fiancée, Penelope Montgomery.”

The woman stared at Penny, her blue eyes wide. Then she smiled, an altogether false smile. “Charmed, I’m sure.” She turned back to Revington. “What happened? Did your famous luck finally desert you? If you were that desperate for blunt, you could have sought out your friends. There was no need to get leg-shackled.”

“That’s not the way of it at all, Elizabeth,” Revington snapped.

“Of course not.” Elizabeth gave another trilling laugh. “I’m sure it’s quite a love match.” Nodding to Penny, she added, “Congratulations, Miss Montgomery. I wish you every happiness.” She moved away, still laughing.

Penny clutched her reticule, feeling insulted and something else, something like…jealous.

“Paid no heed to her.” Revington guided her into the shop.

They were greeted by a petite, impeccably groomed woman Penny guessed was Madame Dubonet. “What may I do for you,
monsieur, demoiselle
?” the woman said, bowing.

“My…fiancée.” Revington gestured to Penny. “She needs some new clothing. Dresses, and, er…everything that goes along with them.”

“Everything
, monsieur
?”

Revington glanced at Penny, frowned, and then turned back to Madame Dubonet. “I suppose so.”

The modiste beamed. “’Twill be a pleasure,
monsieur
.
Demoiselle
is a natural beauty, but we can make her absolutely stunning. Does
monsieur
have certain colors or styles in mind?”

Revington looked startled. “I’m afraid I’m completely out of my element in this.” He motioned vaguely. “Whatever you think will be suitable. The main thing is, she needs at least one change of clothing as soon as possible.”

“
Oui, monsieur.
”

Marcus started toward the door. All at once, he seemed to remember himself. He glanced at Penny, then at the modiste. “I’ll be back in two hours. Will that give you enough time?”

“
Oui, monsieur
. She’ll be ready.”

As the door shut behind him, Madame Dubonet gave a delighted laugh. “
Demoiselle
is most fortunate.”

Penny was still thinking about Revington’s interaction with Elizabeth, and the familiar, almost intimate way she had spoken to him. She turned her attention back to the modiste. “I’m sorry. What were you saying?”

Madame Dubonet beamed at Penny. “I was saying how fortunate you are. Many men are not so indulgent. They set the cost they will endure and refuse to spend any more. But
monsieur
has left that all up to us.”

“Oh, indeed he has.” Penny suppressed a smile. The modiste obviously felt Penny could spend as much as she wished, and Penny wasn’t about to tell her otherwise.