Candice Hern (18 page)

“Bah! Anthony is not casual in his affairs. And neither are you. It will be something more grand between you, when and if it happens.”

“Casual or grand, it would still be foolish to get involved with him. Do not forget that wager. He holds my future in his hands.”

“I rather think it is in your hands, my dear. How are the subscription numbers coming?”

“We are getting closer. But with less than a month to go, I begin to fear it is an impossible goal.”

“Do not give up, my girl.” Flora rose gracefully and shook out her skirts, then bent to kiss Edwina on the cheek. “Thank you for trusting me with
your story. Now you must trust me when I tell you not to allow an old and painful grief to own your heart. I am an expert, you know, in these matters. You must allow yourself to be free to love again, my dear.”

She turned to leave, but stopped when something on a worktable caught her eye. “Ah, more proofs for me to review? I am so pleased you have given me more tasks to do for the magazine. I don’t know when I have enjoyed myself so much.”

Edwina had indeed delegated several tasks to Flora, just as she had hoped to do when she requested an additional assistant. In particular, Flora had taken on most of the aspects of working with the printer, including proofing, scheduling, managing deliveries back and forth, and so on. It had allowed Edwina to spend more time writing, which she preferred.

“Hold on,” Flora said. “What’s this?”

Edwina sucked in a sharp breath when she saw what Flora had picked up.

Flora turned to her and frowned. “Still pamphleteering, Edwina?” She held up proofs for a pamphlet Nicholas had written on Catholic emancipation.

Edwina cleared her throat. “On occasion.”

“How frequent an occasion?”

“I couldn’t say.”

“These are printed by Daniel Imber?”

“Yes.”

“Side by side, in the same print run with
The Ladies Fashionable Cabinet
?”

Edwina sighed. “Yes.”

Flora shook her head and studied the proofs. “Dare I ask how you are financing these little side projects?”

“No.”

“Ah. I thought as much. It is a deep game you are playing, my girl. I don’t suppose Anthony knows where his profits are going?”

“No.”

“Nor your uncle before him?”

“No.” Edwina rose to stand beside Flora. “But it is not much. Not enough to be noticed. As long as the account books are not scrutinized too closely. And it supports a good cause.”

“You’d better hope Anthony doesn’t see this one.” Flora looked up from the proofs, disappointment clear in her eyes. “Did you write this?”

“No. Nicholas did. He writes most of the pamphlets we sponsor. He is still more political than I am.”

“He has skewered Cedric Quayle in this one.”

“Quayle is one of the most vocal opponents to Catholic emancipation. He only barely supported the union with Ireland, but he refuses to allow their Catholic representatives to sit in Parliament. He claims only loyalty to the king on this issue. But it is more personal. His arguments in the House
have demonstrated despicable personal prejudice. Nicholas is right to attack him.”

“Did you know Cedric Quayle is Anthony’s uncle?”

Edwina gasped. “What?”

“Anthony’s mother is Quayle’s sister. And his father is Quayle’s closest advisor.”

“Good Lord.” Edwina placed both hands on the worktable and leaned on them for support. “I had no idea.”

“I do not believe Anthony is close to his uncle, and I think you know of his shaky relationship with his father. You need not worry that he shares their views on this matter.”

“No, I doubt he does.” Edwina’s mind was racing.

“But this pamphlet would embarrass him, nonetheless. Especially if it was discovered he is even peripherally involved.”

“No. No, we must stop it.” Edwina’s stomach tied itself into knots just thinking what would happen if Anthony found out. She suspected all game playing would come to an end. He would do everything within his power to win their wager. And she would never have the
Cabinet
for her own. “I shall speak to Nicholas and have him modify the proofs or submit a new version entirely.”

“Good girl. Now, have him give the corrected proofs to me and I will make sure Imber gets them. There is no point in making two trips. As long as
you want me to manage everything with the printer, I might as well include your brother’s pamphlets. Don’t worry, I will be discreet. I don’t entirely disagree with his opinions, you know. Just take care not to offend Anthony.”

“That would be the worst possible thing I could do, considering our wager. Thank you for alerting me, Flora. And for everything else. I am so pleased to have you involved in the
Cabinet
. And very grateful for your friendship.”

She surprised herself when, quite uncharacteristically, she put her arms around Flora and hugged her tight.

Finally. He had been waiting for the perfect opportunity. These were the slow months in terms of social activity—but now there was the peace, and celebrations aplenty. She could not possibly refuse.

Tony spent several days making calls—and nights making deals at the tables—in an effort to get everything in order before paying a visit to Golden Square late one afternoon. He was rewarded for his patience by finding Edwina alone.

She was not in the library office, but in an informal parlor upstairs, a cozy room he’d never seen. A pair of paned windows overlooking the back garden flanked a small fireplace. A worn Turkish carpet covered the floor. Above the mantel hung a large painting of classical figures in a landscape. Her mother’s?

Tony was so accustomed to finding Edwina behind the mighty bulk of her desk that he was delighted to find her ensconced in a large wing chair on one side of the hearth. She looked perfectly charming with her feet tucked up under her as she read a book. She wore a simple muslin gown and was wrapped in a paisley shawl. A pair of slippers on the floor looked to have been casually kicked off. Tony was pleased she did not shift into a more ladylike posture when Lucy announced him.

“You look comfortably snug,” he said. “May I join you?”

At her nod, he took a seat in the matching chair on the opposite side of the fire. She closed her book and tucked it into the seat cushion.

“We haven’t seen much of you lately,” she said.

He grinned. “Have you missed me, then?”

“I had become accustomed to having you constantly underfoot, that is all. Have you found some other enterprise to interfere with?”

“I have been rather busy, as it happens. But I come bearing good will and an invitation.”

“An invitation? Driving again?”

“Only a short drive, and in the evening this time. I have secured a box at Covent Garden for a special performance of
Artaxerxes
with Mrs. Billington on Friday. I would be honored if you would accompany me.”

Her brows lifted slightly. “I had thought it impossible to get tickets for Mrs. Billington’s perfor
mances. Or so I read in the
Morning Chronicle
today.”

“It is to be a benefit performance for the widows and orphans of the late war, in honor of the peace, and only just announced yesterday.”

“Mrs. Billington has agreed to perform without pay? The most expensive singer in all of London?”

“She is donating her fee, I understand. The reviews of her performance as Mandane have been outstanding. I’m sure you would enjoy it. Will you go with me, Edwina?”

The expression on her face hinted at an internal struggle, as though she wanted to go but thought she should not.

“Please, Edwina. Say yes.”

“Why are you so determined to take me? There must be any number of others whom you could invite.”

“Perhaps I am courting you.”

A speculative glint came into her eyes. “Perhaps you are simply wooing me as a prelude to seduction.”

“Courtship, seduction, cajolery. Whatever works, my dear.”

“So long as you have designs on my magazine and my Minerva, I do not believe I should trust you in whatever it is you want to call it.”

“I remind you that it is
my
magazine and my father’s Minerva by rights, but I think you are merely
grasping at excuses to refuse me. Probably because you have nothing pretty enough to wear to such an occasion.”

She bristled. “I do so.”

“I’ll bet you don’t.”

“Another wager?”

“All right. I’ll wager you don’t have a single fashionable gown to wear—and I shall be the judge for I know more about what is fashionable than you.”

She flinched and he knew he had her. No woman, even one as enlightened as Edwina, wants to be told she is unfashionable. It was all right for
her
to joke about it, which she had done on more than one occasion. But to have someone else, especially a man, actually agree with her, was more than she was willing to endure. What she did not realize—or did she?—was that no matter how plainly she dressed, she would always outshine any other woman in the room.

“Unfair,” she said. “You would not be an objective judge.”

“All right. We’ll let others be the judge. If your dress makes at least one woman glare at you with envy, you win. It must be a genuine sneer of contempt, though.”

“Why not a look of admiration?”

“Not good enough. What might appear to be a lady’s admiration could just as well be politeness.
No, a truly splendid dress will inspire genuine jealousy, the type that will drive a woman to make a great show of ignoring you. I’m betting you cannot come up with something to inspire that jealousy.”

“What about a look of admiration from a man?”

“My dear, you would receive admiring looks from men if you wore nothing at all.”

Her brows shot up and a smile teased the corners of her mouth.

Tony laughed at his blunder. “Yes, well, of course you would. What I meant to say was that you would receive male admiration regardless of what you wear. Besides, you will have my admiration in any case, and I am definitely male. No, it must be a woman’s contempt. That will tell the tale.”

“So if I wear something that causes at least one woman to glare at me with chilly disdain, I win the wager?”

He wondered if she realized she had as good as accepted his invitation? She was no longer dithering about whether to accompany him, but about what to wear when she did. Edwina was more like him than she would admit. She was as susceptible to a good wager as he was.

Lord, what a thrilling ride life with her would be.

There was still one concern he needed to deal with before they came to terms. He knew she had little money. He did not want her feeling obliged to
go out and spend what she could not afford on a new opera dress.

“Let us rather put it this way,” he said. “You must wear something currently in your wardrobe upstairs. You may not go to one of the fashionable modistes and have something new made up. Nor may you borrow something—from Flora or anyone else.”

“Nothing borrowed, nothing new?”

“Correct.”

“I must concoct something fabulous from my current wardrobe? Something to make at least one other woman green with envy?”

“Well, my dear, if you think it is such an impossible task—”

“No, no. I am prepared to accept those terms.”

The look on her face spoke otherwise. But Tony had no doubt she would win this wager regardless of the modishness of her costume. She was bound to elicit more than one jealous sneer just because of her extraordinary beauty. And because every male eye would be on her, to the supreme annoyance of every female in the theater.

“All right, then,” he said. “We are agreed on the terms. Now, as to the stakes, I think whoever wins should get a boon of his, or her, choosing. Something personal. Something not related to the
Cabinet
.”

“For example?”

“Oh, I think we should designate the stakes as a winner’s choice, a boon which can be named at the time of claiming.”

“Seems a bit risky. What if my boon was to ask you to jump off Westminster Bridge? Or throw yourself in front of a speeding mail coach?”

He laughed at the wicked gleam in her eye. “Let us say the loser has reasonable right of refusal. And the winner may not choose a boon that is life-threatening, expensive, or illegal. Does that suffice?”

She pretended to consider it for a moment. Finally, she said, “I believe it will.”

“Splendid. Then I shall come by for you Friday evening and we shall see if you can twist any grande dame noses out of place.”

“Should we not record it properly?” she asked. “In your little red book?”

He nodded and pulled the betting book from his pocket. “We will need a pen,” he said.

Edwina uncurled herself from the wing chair, and her toes, clad in white stockings, searched out and found the slippers. She rose, leaving the shawl on the chair, and shook out her ubiquitous white muslin skirts. Tony followed her to a tiny writing desk in one corner. She dipped a quill into the ink pot and handed it to him. He recorded the wager and signed it, then passed the book to Edwina. She read what he’d written and initialed it.

After replacing the quill, she held out the betting
book for him to take. Instead, he took her hand and pulled her close.

“This is how we seal things properly between us, Edwina.”

He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her.

“T
hank God you’ve come, Flora. You’ve got to help me.”

“Good heavens,” Flora said as she stepped inside the entry hall. “What on earth has happened?”

“Come upstairs with me and I’ll explain.”

Edwina did not give Flora even a moment to remove her bonnet and pelisse. She took her by the elbow and hurried her up the two flights of stairs to her bedchamber. When Flora saw where she was, she offered a brilliant triumphal smile.

“So, you have done it, my girl. You have taken Anthony to bed.”

“No!”

“Then you are seriously considering it. Good
girl. Now, how can I help you? I am, of course, an expert in these matters.”

Edwina could not contain the little snort of exasperation that erupted, unladylike, from her lips. “I need your expertise in other matters, Flora. I need to put together something smashing to wear tomorrow night.”

“Well, that is simple enough.” She gave a dismissive little wave. “Come, let me take you to my modiste, Madame Lancaster. She is a wonder.”

“No, no, it must be something I already have, not something new. But look at this.” She flung open her clothes press. “It’s pathetically bare. What
is
there is dull and outdated. And I never know what goes with what. Oh God, it’s hopeless. What am I going to do?”

Flora narrowed her eyes. “What are you up to, my girl?”

“Anthony has invited me to attend the opera tomorrow night—”

“Excellent!”

“—but I have nothing to wear.”

Flora eyed the clothes press and nodded in agreement. “And you cannot purchase something new?”

“No, it has to be something here. But there’s
nothing
here.”

“Hold on a moment. Do I sense another wager afoot?”

“Yes, yes, yes. You must help me, Flora.
Please
.”
The hint of desperation that had crept into her voice was mortifying. She must get hold of herself. She was being ridiculous. It was only a small wager, after all. It was not that important.

Oh, but it was. She wanted, desperately wanted, in the most uncharacteristically shallow feminine way, to look beautiful for him tomorrow night. Not to win the wager. Or not only that, though she already knew what boon she’d ask if—when!—she did win. She simply wanted for him to think she looked beautiful.

It was all because of that kiss, the one that had sealed the bargain of this latest wager. It had not been elaborate and searing hot like the one that afternoon in the drawing room when she had proven she knew how to please a man. But it had been soft and slow and somehow terribly intimate. And where the other, more passionate, kiss had almost frightened her in the way it made her feel, this one had the opposite effect entirely. It had made her want more. And strangely enough, that thought didn’t frighten her at all.

After much soul-searching and a long, sleepless night, she was finally able to admit the truth. It was more than just her treacherous body reacting to his practiced seduction. She wanted Anthony Morehouse. And she wanted to be beautiful for him.

“Let me get this straight.” Flora began to smile. “You are to show up tomorrow night looking fabulous using only what you have at hand?”

“That’s it. But just look at this. There is so little to work with. I was hoping…well, you have such a flare for putting just the right things together. Perhaps you can see some potential in this jumble that escapes me.”

Flora eyed the various garments neatly laid out in the press—most of them white, most of them old, none of them fabulous—and tapped a finger against her lips. “This is a serious challenge, indeed. But have no fear, my dear. A good showing is not all in the gown, though it certainly must flatter in its line and color. But a direct smile, an air of confidence will always make others believe one is far more beautiful than one actually is. Believe me, I know this from experience. In your case, however, there is no need to suggest beauty. It is already there in abundance.”

“You are very sweet to say so, Flora. But I still need something to wear.”

“Not to worry, my dear. We will contrive something. It’s all in the way you put it together. Now, let’s have the whole lot out and take a look.”

Edwina shrieked when Flora scooped up an entire shelf of dresses and flung them unceremoniously onto the bed. She had emptied the top section of shelves in less than a minute, creating an enormous billowing heap.

“While I sort through these,” Flora said, “you round up the trimmings and accessories.”

“Like what?” Edwina felt decidedly out of her element.

“Anything. Any little bits and scraps of things that might be used to adorn a dress or your hair. Thankfully, you seem to know how to manage your hair, so we won’t have to worry about that. But your clothes are another matter. You’d think someone who’d lived in France for a time would have more to work with. But never mind, my dear, this will be fun. Toss anything useful over on that chaise and we’ll see what we can put together.

And so while Flora began organizing the dresses in piles that must have made some sort of sense to her, Edwina began rummaging through the drawers of the clothes press and another small chest where she kept her undergarments and a few accessories. She heaped the chaise with bits of ribbon and lace, lengths of embroidered India muslin, handkerchiefs, scarves, shawls, tuckers, and fichus.

“What about this?” she asked, holding up a length of silver cord.

“Add it to the pile,” Flora said.

Edwina received the same response for each item she found, until she stopped asking and simply tossed anything and everything on the chaise. Bits of fringe, silk flowers, feathers, plumes, tassels.

“And don’t forget jewelry,” Flora said.

Edwina dragged out every bit of trumpery she could find and laid it out on her dressing table. A coral parure, a cameo, a silver-and-paste crescent-shaped wig pin that had been her mother’s, tor
toiseshell combs, brooches, earrings, lace pins, a gold mesh bracelet with enamel clasps, a pearl necklace, a paste aigrette, a gold quizzing glass.

“This is it, then?” Flora stood in the center of the room, hands on hips, and surveyed the scope of the problem at hand.

Edwina looked at the maddening disarray and swallowed hard. “A sorry state of affairs, is it not? I’ve never cared much for fashion, never could keep straight the changes each season, and never liked wasting time getting pinned and measured by some dressmaker with a mercenary glint in her eye. I did buy a few nice things in Paris—actually, Gervaise bought them for me. I’m sure they’re horribly outdated, but perhaps—”

“Edwina, Lucy said you were—oh, my!” Prudence stood in the doorway and gaped open-mouthed at the untidy mess that had once been Edwina’s neat little bedchamber. Her voice held a note of alarm. “What’s happened? Are you going away?”

“She’s going to the opera,” Flora said, “and we’re trying to find her something to wear.”

“Oh.” Prudence covered her mouth and actually giggled. “Oh, my.”

Lord, it really was pathetic when even mousy little Prudence recognized the futility of the task.

“Come on in, Pru,” Edwina said. “Three heads are better than two, especially when one of the two
is completely useless. As you see, we have practically my entire wardrobe arrayed about the room. Surely there is
something
appropriate.”

“Strip down to your chemise, my girl,” Flora said. “We have work to do.”

And so for the next hour Edwina stood like a mannequin while Flora dressed her in gown after gown, draping scarves and sashes artfully this way and that, tying bits of ribbon here and tucking in lace there—all in ways that would never have occurred to Edwina. It was positively dizzying. Flora kept to the whites, eschewing most of the bolder-colored accessories Edwina preferred. Prudence made a suggestion or two, but primarily watched Flora at work and gave a thumbs up or a thumbs down to each variation.

“This one is the best for an underdress,” Flora said, eyeing a petticoat of white crepe with fine silver embroidery along the hem that had always been a favorite. Edwina hadn’t thought there was any hope of using it, since it was at least five years old. “The fabric is excellent and very becoming,” Flora continued. “It’s a bit too full in the back, but you are slender enough to get away with it, so we shan’t worry. But we shall have to put something else over it to bring it up to date.”

“Like a robe?” Prudence asked.

“No, more like a tunic,” Flora said as she rifled through the mountain of dresses. “Tunics are all the rage. There must be
something
here we can use.”

“What about this?” Prudence held up an enormous shawl of white crepe shot with silver and trimmed with silver spangles along the edges. “It would complement the underdress nicely.”

Flora took it from her and fingered the soft fabric. “My girl, you surprise me. This is perfect. How attached are you to this shawl, Edwina?”

“Well, I’ve always loved it. I bought it all those years ago in Paris, so it is quite old.”

“Then you won’t mind if we cut it up a bit?”

“Cut it up? No, I suppose not.”

Flora went to work. When she was done, she had transformed the old shawl into a short Grecian tunic held in place by an attractive criss-crossing of braided silver cord. The tassels at the ends of the cord were allowed to hang long in front. The sides of the tunic were gathered up over the longer sleeves of the underdress in deep drapes fastened at the shoulders with tiny lace pins of clear paste in the shape of stars.

Prudence, to Edwina’s astonishment, fashioned a wonderful bandeau of white silk twisted with more of the silver cording to be woven through her hair. She was working on an arrangement of small plumes to be attached to the bandeau with the paste aigrette, when Flora suggested no plumes and the crescent wig pin instead.

It was perfect.

“You look like the goddess of the moon,” Prudence said in an awestruck voice.

“You do look quite lovely, my dear.” Flora circled her and admired the final results. “There is still work to be done, of course. This neckline must be finished off. But it should be easy enough, a simple hem will do.” When Edwina frowned, Flora added, “You do know how to stitch a hem, do you not?”

“Yes, I suppose so. But I’m not very good at it.”

“I am,” Prudence said.

They both turned to look at her. “I like to sew. I can create a decent neckline for you quite easily. Here, let me show you.”

She pulled out a packet of pins from her reticule and began to cut and pin until it looked like a true bodice, so long as the silver cords were in place. Flora was ecstatic with the results and Edwina was simply amazed.

“Now, do you have a good pair of white slippers?” Flora asked. “Good. And decent gloves? Oh, and I think the paste earrings. There you are. Fit to turn every head at the theater.”

Edwina grabbed both women and hugged them to her. “You have saved my life, both of you. I could not have done it without you. And that is a problem, in fact. I do not know if I could re-create this again without you. Do you think…Is it asking too much…Could you both come back tomorrow and help me to get ready?”

“Of course, my dear.”

“I’d love to.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you. Both of you. I am forever in your debt.”

“It was fun,” Prudence said.

“You have a good eye, girl,” Flora said. “We’ll have to see what we can do about you next. Then maybe that handsome brother of Edwina’s will take note.”

“Flora!” Prudence blushed scarlet but would not meet Edwina’s eyes.

Was it true, then? Did Prudence have a tendre for Nicholas? If so, she would need every bit of help Flora could give her, poor thing. Nicholas flirted with almost every woman he met, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. He’d had a grand time teasing the Crimson Ladies, once he got over the aggravation of “tripping over old bawds every time I come home.” But Edwina was fairly certain he’d never flirted with Prudence. She would be surprised if he ever even noticed her.

“But first things first,” Flora said. “We must help Edwina win yet another wager with that rogue Anthony. You are certain to make him very proud to have you on his arm, my dear. Especially on that particular night.”

“Oh? What is so special about tomorrow night? Except, of course, that it is a special benefit performance?”

“Do you know what it benefits?”

“Anthony mentioned something about widows and orphans of soldiers in the late wars.”

“Yes, it is a new benevolent society, recently created. The benefit is more to call attention to its cause than to actually raise money. There is apparently a great deal of money already endowed.”

“That’s wonderful,” Edwina said as she fiddled with the tassels on the silver cord at her waist.

“It is Anthony’s endowment.”

“What?” Edwina’s head jerked up.

“Mr. Morehouse has endowed a charity for war widows and orphans?” Prudence asked.

“He has indeed, though he has done a fine job of keeping his name out of it and staying in the background. But I do have my sources, of course. It was through his efforts alone that Mrs. Billington agreed to perform.”

Anthony had done all that?

“And she is said to command the highest fees in London, if not all of Europe,” Prudence said. “It must have been difficult to get her to do a free benefit performance.”

“She may not be,” Flora said. “I have my suspicions that Anthony is paying her full fee himself.”

“Oh, my.”

Edwina could not keep a smile from her face. She was bursting with pride on Anthony’s behalf. He had said nothing about his endowment, and she suspected he never would, unless she directly confronted him about it. She had known all along, deep inside, that he was not merely the reckless gambler who lived for his own pleasure and noth
ing more. She had so wanted to believe the sweet, young boy she had once loved had not been entirely crushed and corrupted. He was still there, and she still cared for him.

Suddenly, very quietly and without hesitation or fear, a tiny corner of her heart unlocked for the first time in eight years.

“Well, what do you know?” she said.