Brandywine: Regency historical romance (The Brocade Series, Book 1) (31 page)

“However did you find such a fine gent,
Madame??”
Josephine’s brow lifted inquiringly.

“Mistaken identity, actually. He thought he was wedding my
cousin, Helen. I was rather a shock.”

“You have a cousin named Helen? Why wasn’t I informed?” 

Josephine spoke to her entourage, but Helene couldn’t resist
answering.

“I didn’t know your address,
Madame.”

The room became silent, and then Josephine laughed.

“I’d forgotten how wonderful it is not to be surrounded by fawning
puppets, whose occupation in life seems to be agreeing with me.
Madame
Tremayne. Come, you may help me
choose a gown for this evening.”

She stood, and Helene was shocked by not only the audacity, but the woman had a perfect form. And it was covered in a white film.

“You bathe...in milk,
Madam?”

“Shhh! Don’t say it too loudly. I try to believe it’s my secret,
but that’s stupid, is it not? Milk helps keep away age and makes
my skin so soft Napoleon notices. He doesn’t notice much, does
he, ladies?”

One of her attendants answered in the affirmative, two more held Josephine’s robe for her.
For some reason, Helene found herself comparing the way
Josephine acted to what she’d expect of a queen, even one as
ill-fated as Marie Antoinette.

“Come, Madame Tremayne,” Josephine said. “Tell me all
about this lovely husband of yours. I haven’t seen many of
his size, strength, and appearance. He’s quite handsome. I noted that as well, and spoke on it, didn’t I, ladies?”

A different attendant agreed that time. Helene wondered if they took turns.

“Surely you’d not have me believe him caught by devious
methods,” Josephine continued. “Why, you two look perfectly in
love, you do.”

Helene repeated the lie about her guardian’s temper and Gillian’s love at first sight. She didn’t even
stumble.

“Delightful,” Josephine said. “I’ve been thinking of wearing
the peach satin, but it’s not opaque enough, don’t you agree?”

“Opaque?”

Helene walked into the room Josephine used for
a dressing chamber. It looked like all her clothing was made from
the same filmy material as the draperies that made up her walls.

“Oh, yes. We’ve quite set the world on its ear with our
fashions. Don’t you agree?”

“I…haven’t seen anything like it in London.” Helene tried to
sound complimentary.

“Oh, you’ve become quite British,
Madame
Tremayne! Only
those stiff-necked Brits can say something and mean the opposite.
You’ll visit again, won’t you?”

She was dismissed. It didn’t appear to be a good sign, but at least she could leave and not be blamed if
Madame
Bonaparte’s nipples were hidden. She giggled at the thought and wished there was someone to share it with.

She stopped dead at the realization there
was
someone who
would appreciate the acerbity of her comments and
probably add a few of his own. Oh no. No. Wasn’t it bad enough to suffer from unrequited love? Did she have to like his company, too?

CHAPTER FIVE

“Please tell me you’re not serious,” Helene said.

“I’ve given it some thought, darling,” Gil replied, “and I think
the new fashions are immensely becoming.”

“I won’t wear it. You might as well save your coin, My Lord.”

Helene didn’t have much more time to argue before he’d have her
at the dress shop, and the last thing she wanted was a dress
remotely resembling
Madame
Bonaparte’s.

“Come along, Helene. I admit the new style is a trifle
revealing, but you’ve got the classic form for it.”

“You jest, Gillian! I’ve all the curves of a stick, and you
know it!”

“Don’t you ever look in a mirror? Christ, Helene! I’m tired
of arguing that you’re a splendid-looking woman, and I should
know!”

Of course, he
would
say something to deflate her.
She purposely turned to look out the window. She didn’t know why she bothered arguing, anyway. It was a waste of breath. If
the great Lord Tremayne wanted her to
parade nearly naked at the countess’s little soiree, it was bound to happen. He never seemed to lose.

She could take comfort in the glance she’d had of the Countess of
Tilbury. The woman looked to wear the sheerest fabrics, available. Surely, Gillian wouldn’t choose something equal for his wife. Not after
his censure over the maid’s outfit Helene had worn just that morning.

He wouldn’t…would he?

“Gillian?”

“Not to worry, love,” he patted her knee. “I’d never allow
anything that sheer. Imagine the consequences.”

“I didn’t say a word.” 
He’d read her mind again?

“But you were thinking it. Come on. ‘Fess up.”

“
Why must we do this, anyway? I’ve several gowns I could wear
already…and I need time to rest before the festivities.”

“Rest? You?” He hooted and slapped his knee. “Surely you
jest. You looked fairly chipper when you woke me this morn. And l
et me also add your little expedition to the seediest section of town when you were
supposedly resting before luncheon. Honestly, Helene, you stretch
the bounds of my imagination to no end. Did you know that?”

“You are
not
amusing.”

“Oh, I’m
very
amusing. Just not to you. Why, darling, I don’t believe you’ll
feel tired until you’ve had a chance to stomp my toes tonight.
Don’t bother to deny it.”

“I won’t.”

“Let’s not forget we’re invited to the countess’s buffet, too. I’ve heard rumors about her entertainments, and I’m certain, if I keep you occupied
enough, there won’t be any way in hell you’ll wake me as early tomorrow morning as you did today.”

He folded his arms as if he made a valid point.
Helene swung toward him.

“I didn’t wake you, and I’m tired
of repeating it! I did
nothing
to wake you, yet you just blather on and on about it. If
that’s your usual method of discussion, you must have few takers
for your bets, My Lord!”

“It’s a waste of time and money to bet, Helene. I’d advise you against it with
the way you warp the truth.”

“I didn’t wake you.”

“Did.”

“I most certainly did not!”

“Did too.”

“You’re a complete juvenile,
Monsîeur!”

“Did you, or did you not, get out of bed first?”

“Stupid question, My Lord. I got up first, and we both know
it.”

“There you have it.”

“Have what, pray tell?”

She tossed her hands theatrically,
tired of his stubbornness. She was ready to welcome the dress shop if it
got her away from his voice.

“You woke me by your absence. You know it.”

“That’s…ridiculous.”

“If you’re trying to anger me so I won’t make you stand for a
fitting, it’s not going to work. Know why? I already sent your
measurements to the good woman. She should have your new gown ready when
we get there.”

“But, why?”

“I’ve a very good reason for acting like we’ve all the time in
the world, love…or hadn’t it concerned you that Colonel Fontenelle
and his pups aren’t escorting us, anymore?”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

“Helene. Darling. As much as I’d like to believe that, I know
better. You? Not notice something? But, I’ll just breeze past that little white one and ask. Why do you think, after acting like a sticky bun I’d sat in, would that fellow just up and disappear?”

“Oh. I’m sure his orders lie somewhere in my boudoir, My Lord.
I just haven’t had time to review them and approve yet.  I’ll let you
know the moment I do.”

“What happened at
Madame
Josephine’s, then? I barely had time
to drive around the block before you came back out. There I was,
thinking you’d be in long enough for me to at least sample the
coffee.”

“She wasn’t ready to receive, unless she usually does so
from her bath.”

“Her bath? Damn. I rather wish I’d been invited. Then
again, we know she’s not the least bit blond, is she?”

“Where’s the dress shop, My Lord? We’ve been driving for
hours, and I’m tired of conversing with you. I rather fancy a few
stick pins as more entertaining.”  She yawned for emphasis.

“Perhaps my company does dull a bit, darling. You’ll have
to forgive me, but there’s actually no one else I’d trust to accompany you. Colonel Fontenelle
isn’t wasting any more militia on us, and your maid miserably failed her chaperon’s test earlier.”

“What if I gave you my word, Gillian? I promise I wouldn’t
do anything more than fall asleep in place.”

“You have such a word? Hold, while I catch my breath.”

He
grinned, and she wished for something more sturdy than her
reticule to hit him with.

“Very well,” she began. “Tag along, then. I don’t imagine
women’s dress shops hold much interest for you, anyway. I’ve seen how boring you find them, if you recall.”

“Please. Darling. Credit me with eyes. You can’t possibly
compare the sights in the shops of London to the one I’ll get here
. The material here is much more interesting…from a man’s point of view, of course.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Find another word. I’m growing bored with that one.”

The carriage stopped before she had one, and it would’ve
been useless, anyway. Every other word that came to mind was
too complimentary. Of course, that was before the golden mesh
material was brought out and shown. That’s when Helene couldn’t hide
her reaction. The net wouldn’t keep out insects, and Gil expected
her to wear it? She wouldn’t wear it! He had no sense!

“Gillian, I...I refuse. Do you hear me?”

She whispered as
loudly as she dared.
The dressmaker seemed very pleased with the film of material on her
arm, and it wasn’t her fault that Gillian was acting senseless and blind.

“You don’t even want to try it on, love?” Gil asked.

“No.”

“Even if I assist you in putting it on?”

“Go to hell!” she hissed, then turned to the shopkeeper,
smiling as if she hadn’t just looked daggers at her husband.

“Madame,
it’s beautiful,” Helene said, “but I won’t wear it.”

“But why? I spent all day stitching, and your husband
assured me....”

Helene never had a woman cry at her words before. It
was just as unamusing as having a man unconscious at her feet.

“It’s not the stitching,
Madame,
It’s...the material. I can’t
be seen in such. I’ll catch cold.”

The woman stopped crying and suddenly giggled. Helene’s
eyes narrowed.

“Oh, darling. Didn’t I tell you? There’s an inner sheath,” Gil remarked,
innocently.

“Madame
Tremayne.”

The way the shop woman said it made it sound like an aberration.

“I wouldn’t let even the most expensive courtesan wear
such! As your husband just said. This comes with an inner dress, like a liner. The cloth is one of a kind. I swear
it’s like liquid gold. It costs nearly as much. I’ll just be a moment as I fetch it for you
.”

“Yes, please do.” Helene answered in flawless French, using her most patrician voice.

“You’ll look lovely, darling.”

“Shut up, Gillian! I’m tired of your games, but you insist on
playing them. Can’t you find another target?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, love.”

“Do you wish me to warm your bed tonight?”

He frowned. “You’d deny me what is rightfully mine?”

She nodded. Instead of feeling flushed with victory, she felt
as if she swallowed ashes.

“What if I simply decided to take it?” He toyed with a spool
of lace.

“An unwilling female? I didn’t think you were that sort.”

“Unwilling?” He snorted and considered her, his look sending
shivers down both arms.

“Ah…you’re on your honeymoon, and
so in love. I can always tell, you know. It’s like the rest of the
world ceases to exist.”  The seamstress broke the spell, as she returned.

In love?
Oh no. Was she that obvious?

The woman held out her arm, and, indeed, it looked like
someone had poured liquid gold on her. Helene gasped as she accepted the sheath. It weighed little and shimmered
with every movement.

“What...is this?” she asked.

“Eastern origin, My Lady. Your husband had to go and spot it, too!
I swear I’ll have to pay the devil, himself, to get more.”

“Oh, Gillian....” She turned to thank him, but he studied
the street outside.

“Do you wish to try it on,Madame? Come. I’ll help.”

Gillian had deserted her when she had the dresses on, but
she didn’t need his approval. The mirror told her what she needed
to know. The seamstress insisted on taking in a stitch here and a
gather there until Helene stopped her.

The sheath fit like a second skin and was quite immodest
. The gold mesh overlay altered that as it hinted at the shape beneath. Helene
had never felt more beautiful.

“Your husband has superb taste,
Madame.
It was his idea to put this net
with the dress. I was thinking a frill or two would suffice.
He has quite the eye, but perhaps I can make a suggestion?”

Helene couldn’t meet the woman’s eyes in the mirror without some of the emotions within her showing. There were too many. They were all new. And intense. She knew why. She was in love, and with that came jealousy. Worry. Fretting. Gillian was an expert on women’s clothing and he had excellent
taste. She knew why. He’d learned it from experience. By dressing his current favorite.

And just now…that was her.

“Please do,” she whispered.

“Perhaps you’ve noticed the new hairstyle,
Madame?
”

Uncertain brown eyes regarded her loose bun. There’d been
no time for her hair with the schedule Gillian decided she must
adhere to.

“The hair is cut short around the face, then curled. You’d
look ever so pretty,
Madame.
I rather fancy myself a hair stylist.
If you like, I’d be thrilled to cut it for you.”

“What about Gil...my husband? Surely he’ll be right back.”

“Oh, we have time,
Madame.
He’d gone to the jewelers down
the way. You’ve a very generous husband.”

Helene nodded. He
was
generous, and his taste was
impeccable. Her eyes narrowed. Then again…he found his wife an excellent jailer, too.

***

She’d been wrong. Gillian was
too
generous.

Helene knew it the moment she opened the box and raised stunned eyes to Gil’s. He found her a
collar of rubies so large even the fat dowagers at Almack’s couldn’t have done it justice.