A Kiss to Remember (30 page)

Perhaps she should be grateful she hadn’t awakened in Sterling’s arms. She might have stammered and blushed and blurted out all manner of unseemly confessions. This way, before she faced him, she would have a chance to clothe herself in the dignity befitting a duchess.

Wrapping the sheet around her, Laura slipped from the bed. But her regal demeanor was spoiled when one of her feet became tangled in the bed hangings. She was hopping up and down on the other foot, trying to free herself, when a knock sounded on the door.

Before she could dive back into the bed, the door swung open and a maidservant strode briskly into the room. “Good morning, Your Grace. Lady Diana sent me to inform you that your trunks have arrived from Arden Manor.” She froze, spotting Laura. Laura had to give the woman credit. She didn’t even bat an eye to find her new mistress standing on one foot, garbed in nothing but a rumpled bedsheet. “And not a moment too soon, I can see.”

After several conflicting sets of directions provided by well-meaning chambermaids, three wrong turns, and twenty minutes spent wandering through a warren of interconnecting rooms, Laura finally found the dining room. Her husband sat at the head of a table at least eighteen feet long, firmly entrenched behind a copy of the
Morning Post.
Diana sat near the middle of the
table, sipping tea from a delicate Wedgwood cup. The only other place setting was laid at the foot of the table. Laura was seriously considering ignoring it and taking a seat closer to Sterling when an underfootman appeared out of nowhere to whisk out the chair for her.

She sat, thanking him with a wan smile. While he moved to the sideboard to fill a plate for her, she gazed down the gleaming expanse of mahogany, feeling quite invisible.

“Good morning,” she said loudly, barely resisting the urge to cup her hands around her mouth and shout
Halloo!
as George doubtlessly would have done.

Diana murmured something noncommittal.

Sterling flipped to the next page of the paper without looking up. “Good morning, Laura. I trust you rested well.”

So that was the way it was to be, was it? Laura smiled sweetly. “Oh, very well. As a matter of fact, I can’t remember the last time I had such a deeply satisfying sleep.”

Her plate slipped from the underfootman’s gloved hand, landing in front of her on the table with a ringing crash. Diana choked on her tea, then dabbed at her lips with her napkin.

While the servant beat a hasty retreat, Sterling slowly lowered the paper, giving Laura a look that should have melted the charming little rosettes of butter on her plate.

Folding the newspaper into a neat square and tucking it beneath his arm, he rose to his feet. “I’m delighted that you found your accommodations to your liking. Now, if you ladies will be so kind as to excuse me …”

“Are you off to Hyde Park to ride with Thane?”

Diana asked, devoting all of her attention to spreading marmalade on a piece of toast.

Sterling shook his head. “I plan to spend the day in the study reviewing our properties and accounts. I’ve shirked my responsibilities for far too long already.” He patted Diana’s shoulder. “Now that I’m back to stay, there’ll be no need for you to trouble yourself with those dull ledgers and boring columns of numbers any longer. Why don’t you take Laura shopping for a proper trousseau?”

Although she offered him her cheek for a dutiful peck, Diana didn’t look any happier at being dismissed than Laura felt.

Laura waited until he was almost to the door before asking, “Haven’t you a kiss for your bride, darling?”

He turned on his heel, his mouth taut. As he leaned down to kiss her cheek, she tilted her face so that his lips grazed the corner of her mouth instead.

She heard his indrawn breath, saw his tawny lashes sweep down to veil his glittering eyes. But when he straightened, his demeanor was as formal as ever. “Good day, my lady.”

When he was gone, Diana set down her teacup. “He doesn’t like to be toyed with, you know. You’re playing a dangerous game.”

Laura dug into a slice of warm plum cake, surprised to discover that she was suddenly ravenous. “I’m well aware of that. But I’m hoping its rewards will far outweigh its risks.”

The Devil of Devonbrooke
had taken a bride. By early afternoon, when Diana and Laura began to make the rounds of the Oxford Street and Bond Street shops, all of London was abuzz with the news. It was difficult to say who was more heartbroken—the besotted belles or the ambitious mamas who had hoped to land one of the most wealthy and eligible bachelors of the
haut ton
for their little darlings.

As Diana ushered Laura into an exclusive linen-draper’s shop festooned with a dazzling array of silks and muslins and thronged with female shoppers waiting to place their own orders, the flurry of conversation died to a pronounced hush. Laura received several pointed looks, a few of them openly hostile.

One of the mercers rushed over, tutting and clucking in dismay over the pale yellow muslin gown that had seemed perfectly serviceable when Laura had donned it that morning. Before Laura could explain that she didn’t speak Italian, the tiny, dark-haired woman swept
her away to a curtained alcove to be poked and measured and prodded with a ruthlessness Cookie would have admired.

After several minutes spent enduring the indignity of having two strangers argue over the dubious merits of her bosom in fluent Italian, Laura was left to her own devices while the mercers went in search of a fresh paper of pins with which to torture her. She was standing on a low stool, shivering in her shift, when she became aware of two women conversing on the other side of the curtain. They, unfortunately,
were
speaking English.

The first voice was soft, but ripe with venom. “Can you believe he married some penniless country chit with no dowry and no title? Rumor even has it that she’s a …” Laura leaned closer to the curtain, straining to hear the woman’s sibilant whisper.

“No! You can’t be serious! A rector’s daughter?” The second woman’s titter of laughter would have been no more disbelieving had Sterling wed a charwoman. “Is there any chance it could have been a love match?”

The first woman sniffed. “None whatsoever. I heard they were caught in a compromising situation and he was forced to marry her against his will.”

Laura closed her eyes, the woman’s words striking a raw nerve.

“From what I hear, he’s not the sort of man who can be forced to do anything he doesn’t truly want to do.”

“That may be so in most circumstances, but when a man’s honor is at stake, he will go to any lengths to defend it, even marry beneath him.”

“Perhaps the girl just requires a bit of polish.”

“He can polish all he wants, but he’ll still end up with a lump of coal, not a diamond of the first water.”

The woman’s voice deepened to a throaty purr. “She hasn’t a hope of satisfying him. Have you forgotten that I know firsthand just how demanding he can be in bed? He’ll tire of the silly little commoner soon enough … if he hasn’t already. And when he does, I’ll be there. She may have won his name, but she’ll never win his heart.”

Laura was an outraged breath away from charging through the curtain and showing the treacherous vixen just how common she could be, when there was a sudden rustling of skirts in the next alcove.

“Why, Lady Diana,” crooned the woman who had been scheming to bed Laura’s husband. “I didn’t realize you frequented this shop. It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you. Your cousin and I are very dear friends.”

“Indeed?” Laura didn’t have to imagine the icy look Diana raked over the two women. The temperature in her own alcove dropped with such haste she half expected to see her breath. “He’s never spoken of you. Although I do seem to recall a fond mention of your husband. And how is Lord Hewitt these days? In full vigor, I hope.”

The fawning tone disappeared from the woman’s voice, leaving it as frosty as Diana’s. “My Bertram has been spending a great deal of time at our country house.”

“I can’t say that I blame him.” When the second woman gasped, Diana smoothly added, “The summer heat, you know. Now, if you’ll be so kind as to excuse me, I must continue in search of my cousin’s new bride. He sent me to help her select a proper trousseau. The dear man is quite ashamed of himself for insisting they marry in such haste, but he couldn’t bear to be apart from her for another day. He adores her, you know, and
is determined that she will lack for nothing as long as he’s around to spoil her.”

Unexpected tears of both gratitude and longing stung the back of Laura’s eyelids. Once, in another lifetime, Diana’s words might have been true.

When Laura emerged from the alcove a short while later, she found her unlikely champion sitting stiffly in a straight-backed chair, perusing the latest fashion plates in
La Belle Assemblée
with a jaded eye.

“I heard what you said to those women,” Laura said softly. “I really should thank you.”

Diana snapped shut the periodical and rose, her pointed chin set at a defiant angle. “I didn’t do it for you. I did it for me. Empty-headed beauties like Elizabeth Hewitt have been sneering down their noses at me for years just because I didn’t have the misfortune to marry some gouty old sot who cares less for his wife than his prize spaniels.”

“If you’re referring to Lord Hewitt, his spaniels are probably more loyal than his wife.”

Diana didn’t exactly smile at her, but her eyes did betray a faint sparkle. “I suppose you’re right. You can hardly fault the man for preferring bitches of the four-legged variety.”

The rest of the afternoon passed in a dizzying whirl for Laura. As she and Diana darted from milliner to per-fumier to shoemaker along the broad flagstone pavement of Oxford Street, she couldn’t help but think how much Lottie would have enjoyed such an expedition. Although Diana showed no interest in purchasing so much as a single trinket for herself, she insisted that.

Laura be outfitted with the finest of everything—an array of bonnets trimmed in fruit, feathers, and flowers; hand-painted fans; cut-glass scent bottles; cashmere shawls; kid gloves and silk stockings; ruffled parasols; perfumed soaps; pastel slippers and not one but two pairs of smart little nankeen half-boots; silver filigree combs and coronets; pearl-studded bandeaus; even a rather shocking pair of long drawers, which an enthusiastic silk mercer assured her were becoming all the rage in London salons. All of the goods were to be delivered to Devonbrooke Hall at the shopkeepers’ earliest convenience.

By the time they emerged from a charming little shop that sold nothing but lace, Laura’s poor head was aching from trying to keep track of all their purchases. If her calculations were correct, they had spent more in one day than Arden Manor would earn in a year.

As they strolled toward the waiting town coach, nursing bags of warm pistachios they’d bought from a vendor, a lamplighter melted out of the falling dusk to light the streetlamps. Their soft glow fell upon the shop windows, making the goods displayed within look even more tempting.

As they passed a brightly decorated toy shop, Laura halted, a soft cry of delight escaping her.

A china doll festooned in ruffles and lace sat in the window, her plump cheeks painted with a rosy blush. From her topknot of golden curls to her snub nose to her miniature kid slippers, the doll was the very image of Lottie.

Diana peered through the window. “What is it?”

“I was just thinking how very much my little sister
would fancy that doll,” Laura replied, pressing her fingers to the glass without realizing it.

Diana shrugged. “So purchase it for her.”

Laura tucked her hands back into her new swans-down muff. “I couldn’t possibly presume upon the duke’s generosity any more than I already have. He’s been far too extravagant.”

Diana gave her an odd look. “Sterling hasn’t a stingy bone in his body. He may begrudge you his forgiveness, but not his purse. If you can’t have one, you might as well make do with the other.” Diana touched her own fingers to the glass, her expression curiously wistful. “It was one of the few lessons my father taught me.”

When Laura marched out of the toy store nearly an hour later, her arms were laden with gifts for her brother and sister, including a skipping rope for Lottie and three shiny new decks of cards for George. She had refused to have her treasures delivered to the hall, not wanting to trust them to any hands but her own. Diana waited patiently while she ducked into a haberdashery to buy a pair of soft leather riding gloves to warm Dower’s aching hands on cold winter nights. She’d already decided to send Cookie one of the bonnets trimmed with ostrich plumes that she had chosen for herself.

As they approached the town coach, Diana came to a sudden halt, sending Laura crashing into her back. While one of the footmen leapt down from his perch to rescue their packages, Laura peeped over Diana’s shoulder to find the marquess of Gillingham lounging against a lamppost, top hat in hand and shiny walking stick tucked beneath his arm.