In the Wake of the Wind (18 page)

“You weren’t to know,” he replied. “And Charlotte can be trying, I do realize, but
I
find it helps if you remember what difficulties she faces every day.”

“Poor woman, how dreadful for her,”
Serafina
said, filled with a newfound compassion for her sister-in-law. “And yet she never complains, which says worlds about her bravery. What a hard life she has had.”

“Aiden’s life hasn’t been much easier,” he said quietly. “Between feeling responsible for his mother’s death and Charlotte’s accident, never mind dealing with his father’s problems, Aiden has lived his own life of hell.”

For the very first time Serafina’s heart went out to her husband. She could just imagine him, a motherless child, living at Townsend with a crippled sister and a drunken father, shouldering the weight of responsibility on his shoulders from an early age.

And to have to marry her only because his father, no longer capable of making rational decisions, had forced Aiden to it—that explained a very great deal to her about Aiden’s bitterness.

Serafina
made a decision then and there. She might be terribly disillusioned about their marriage, but Aiden didn’t deserve her disdain or her anger, not after what she’d just heard. If he wanted a proper countess, then a proper countess he’d have, even if she could give him nothing else.

“Very well, your grace,” she said, standing very straight. “I will allow you to teach me whatever it is you think I need to know.”

“You will?” he said, catching up her hands in his, his expression delighted. “I must confess that I’m relieved to hear it. Shall we begin tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” she agreed, wondering just what she was getting herself into. “But first we have to get through dinner, and I assure you, it will not be a pretty picture.”

“Oh, I can make anything pretty,” he said cryptically, then left her at the door with her basket of rose prunings.

Aiden crossed his legs in front of him, pondering the array of fabrics that Mme. Bernard had spread out in front of him, wishing dearly that he was not in London, but at home with his bride. He tapped his finger against his mouth, feeling at a complete loss. He wasn’t in the habit of ordering women’s clothing, only looking at it.

“Hmm, let’s see. As I explained, my wife will need everything from the inside out. I trust you can see to the chemises, nightdresses, stockings, all that son of thing without my help.”

“Naturally, monsieur.” Mme. Bernard inclined her head. “Of the highest quality, of course.”

“Of course,” he said, thinking he really ought to have brought along one of his old mistresses to advise him. Tinkerby wasn’t going to be much use if the bewildered expression on the man’s face was anything to go by.

“And Monsieur will be wanting morning dresses, walking dresses, carriage dresses, evening dresses?”

“Yes. Four of each—no, make that five. You know the sort of thing—but nothing too frilly. My wife is best suited to simplicity.” He brought Serafina’s image to mind, trying to imagine her dressed like a lady of fashion, not an easy picture to conjure up, since he’d far rather imagine her without anything on at all. Now
that
had been an appealing picture. Beautiful
Serafina,
just as God had created her, a shining example of womanhood.

“Monsieur?”

Aiden reluctantly dragged his attention back to the matter at hand. “What I want
is …
is elegance,” he said. “And comfort.”

“Comfort?” Mme. Bernard said, taken aback by this preposterous request. “But, monsieur…”

“Comfort,” he repeated firmly. “The countess has a perfect figure, so there’s no need for whalebone all over the place. And no scratchy materials. I won’t have her itching like a monkey.”

Mme. Bernard regarded him as if he were a lunatic. “Whatever your lordship wishes,” she said doubtfully.

“Good. Oh, and I’ll need two ball dresses as well. That should do it. I’ll leave the styles up to you.” He craned his head and looked at Tinkerby. “Colors, Tinkerby,” he commanded.

“Colors?” Tinkerby said, scratching his chest. “Do you mean her ladyship’s? Well, her hair is dark brown and her eyes are—”

“I know her ladyship’s coloring, you cods-head. I meant her favorite colors.”

“Oh right, your lordship,” he said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Can’t say as I’ve ever noticed. She’s always outdoors though, so you might want to make her blend in like a nice piece of spring grass.”

“Never mind,” Aiden said impatiently, turning back to the dressmaker. “Pastels. Nothing simpering like pink or blue, though. Rose, peach, sea-green, that sort of thing.”

A light laugh came from behind him. “Aiden, darling, I can see you’re as useless as ever when it comes to understanding the finer details of a woman’s wardrobe.”

Aiden looked over his shoulder. “Good heavens. Harriet!” He stood and kissed her hand, thinking that God had taken care of the matter after all and provided him with the perfect help. Harriet always had been overly fond of expensive clothing, but she was also one of the most impeccably stylish women he’d ever known. “How are you, my dear? It’s been an age.”

“Well over three years,” she said, but she didn’t look the least upset, a relief since at their parting she had created one of those emotional scenes he so despised. “Do I understand correctly that you have married?” she said, tapping her fan against her gloved fingers. “I couldn’t help but overhear.” She cast a curious look at Tinkerby, her lips trembling with amusement.

“Very recently,” he said, watching her warily for any signs of jealousy. Lady Harriet Munro might have a husband of her own, invalid that he was, but she preferred her lovers unattached.

“Why, how wonderful for you, darling! Town has been abuzz with the news that your father ran up some terrible debts and put you in the River Tick. May I assume the marriage brought with it a hefty compensation? Otherwise I don’t think you could afford to be patronizing dear Mme. Bernard’s superior establishment.”

“My marriage bailed us out of our difficulties, it is true,” he said cautiously, unwilling to give Harriet too much information that she could use to spread gossip.

“What good news. Is she anyone I know? I must have missed the marriage announcement.”

“I haven’t had a chance to notify the papers, but I don’t believe you can have met
Serafina.
She’s the only daughter of the late Lord Segrave, but she’s lived in an isolated part of Wales these last eleven years.”

“Segrave … Segrave—oh, yes of course. She must be related to Edmund, then.” Harriet nodded, filing away Serafina’s pedigree in the tidy place in her brain where those things belonged. “Well, darling, I do commend you for wanting to see to your wife’s wardrobe, but I do think Mme. Bernard might find my suggestions a great deal more useful than yours, and I’d be happy to help.”

“An excellent suggestion,” he said, relieved that someone else was willing to take over the task. “I’ve already told Madame what sort of thing I want, but I’ll leave you to son out the details. Thank you, Harriet. I appreciate your offer.”

“Nonsense. I have nothing better to do with my afternoon and it would amuse me to attire your wife. You do know how I like to spend money,” she said with a little smile. “I gather money is no object?”

“None. My only concern is that my wife be suitably attired for her position. Oh, and I need everything finished and delivered in three weeks.”

“Three weeks, my lord?” Mme. Bernard looked as if she might keel over with shock. “But this is impossible!”

“Nothing is impossible,” Harriet said. “Three weeks and you can double the bill, isn’t that right, darling?”

“What?” Aiden said, having already dismissed the matter. “Oh, fine. Whatever it takes to see the job done. Good day, Harriet, and thank you again.”

He was about to walk out when another thought occurred to him, and he turned back. “You have my sister’s measurements on file, haven’t you, madame?”

Mme. Bernard nodded, dazed.

“Excellent, throw in a few morning and evening dresses for her—nice and sober. Come, Tinkerby, let’s go. I have a meeting with a moneylender.”

“But, monsieur—my payment?” Mme. Bernard said, suddenly panicking at that ominous word.

“Send the bill to Grillion’s Hotel. Not to worry, you’ll be paid promptly and in full.”

He marched out, feeling inordinately pleased with himself.
Serafina
had been unexpectedly easy to dress. He hoped she wasn’t going equally difficult to undress, but he had a sinking feeling it was going to be a long time before he got the chance.

Serafina
appeared for dinner, apprehension heavy in her heart. She walked into the dreaded drawing room, only to find Raphael chatting with Charlotte, who was actually smiling.
Serafina
could scarcely believe her eyes.

“Serafina,
here you are at last,” Raphael said, standing. “I’ve just been telling Charlotte what marvelous work you’re making of the gardens.”

“You—you were?” she said, glancing over at Elspeth, whose face was twisted into the usual scowl she wore whenever she was subjected to Charlotte’s company. She’d buried her head in a book as if she could shut out Charlotte’s presence.

“Indeed,” Raphael replied. “I noticed the difference in front of the house as soon as I arrived. The beds are tidy for the first time in two years. You’ve made a big difference in Townsend’s appearance.”

Serafina
couldn’t help but be pleased that someone had noticed her efforts. “Thank you,” she said. “I’m hoping when Aiden returns that I can persuade him to hire a full complement of gardeners. There’s so much more that needs doing.”

“If Aiden is going to spend money on anything, it will be the interior of the house,” Charlotte said, her eyes sharpening at Serafina’s suggestion. “Too much has fallen into disrepair to be neglected any longer. And the household staff needs to be considerably enlarged. I had to dismiss a full fifteen servants when my father squandered the family fortune.”

“I’m sure Aiden will take your requests under advisement,” Raphael said tactfully. “For the moment he has enough to do trying to get everything else in order.”

“I meant no criticism of my brother,” Charlotte said, her mouth thinning. “Aiden will turn his attention to Townsend as soon as he possibly can. I was only saying that the gardens can wait, but the furnishings cannot for they will continue to deteriorate and it will cost twice as much to refurbish them. But then my sister-in-law can’t be expected to know about the running of large houses.”

Raphael cast a brief glance at
Serafina
over Charlotte’s head, his expression sympathetic. “I am sure
Serafina
will learn very quickly,” he said, looking back at Charlotte. “With your help,” he added hastily as Charlotte’s face darkened ominously. “To be sure, no one knows as much as you about managing Townsend, Charlotte.”

“I would think not,” she snapped. “But then
Serafina
has shown no signs of listening to anything I have to say.”

Serafina
forced herself to remember that Charlotte was in constant pain. “I’m sorry if you think I don’t listen,” she said, deliberately making her voice gentle. “Perhaps that is because I am unused to a great deal of conversation. I will try harder to attend in future.”

“That would behoove you well. It is a virtue to attend to those older and more experienced,” Charlotte said tightly, but at least she looked slightly mollified.

“May I offer you a glass of wine,
Serafina?”
Raphael asked, his eyes dancing wickedly. “Plum has decanted a particularly fine claret and you might find it just the thing.”

Serafina
cheerfully could have punched him. “No, thank you,” she said, not giving him the satisfaction of a reaction.

Charlotte nodded approvingly at her for once. “Wise of you. ‘Woe unto them that rise up early in the morning that they may follow strong drink.’ Isaiah, chapter five, verse eleven.”

Serafina
sighed. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard Charlotte quote that particular piece, even if Lord Delaware wasn’t present to hear it. At least
Serafina
understood better now why Charlotte plagued him with her quotations.

“Ah, but what about ‘A man hath no better thing under the sun, than to eat, and to drink, and to be merry,’” Raphael quoted straight back at Charlotte. “Ecclesiastes, chapter eight, verse fifteen.”

“Raphael!” Charlotte said in extreme disapproval. “You mustn’t take the Bible’s words out of context.” Her expression softened. “Even if you are teasing me. At least you know your scriptures.”

“How could I not?” he said. “You have quoted them at me for nearly as long as I can remember. And in this instance, I believe Ecclesiastes was right, for he was commending the enjoyment of life, was he not? I couldn’t agree with him more, and it wouldn’t hurt you to practice a little more enjoyment yourself.”

Charlotte colored hotly. “God did not put me on this earth to enjoy myself, but to toil in His cause. He made His wishes perfectly clear by putting me in this chair.”