Jo Beverley - [Rogue ] (15 page)

Startled at this casual reference to the marquess's parentage, Beth could only say, "Oh."

The duchess smiled her sweet smile which always had a dimming overlay of sadness. "It needn't be a forbidden subject between us. St. Briac was dashing but totally unreliable. He was a mess of fiery emotions, a constant explosion of impulses. I could have married him, you know. He had property, and though a poor prospect for one such as I, was not totally ineligible. He asked for my hand, but I would not marry him. He was too... explosive."

So that was where the marquess got his temper. "And yet I am to marry his son," said Beth.

"Lucien is not very like him, I assure you, Elizabeth. He is a lot like me and I, as you can see, am a very practical woman. He also has modeled himself a great deal on the duke, who is everything that St. Briac was not."

Beth had suspected there was a deep love between the duke and duchess, hidden somehow by the formality of their lives. She saw it clearly now as the duchess spoke admiringly of her husband. But why then did they live as they did? She tried to imagine the duke and duchess.... Hastily she controlled her mind.

The duchess said again, "But as Lucien has that touch of wildness and a temper, I wondered if he had upset you."

"It is only my situation, Your Grace, which disturbs me. It would be the same with any man." Even as she said it, Beth knew that was not true. The marquess had a particular genius for setting her on edge.

The duchess, the practical woman, shrugged.
"C'est la vie.
And I am afraid I must disturb you more. There will be callers and there is the ball to consider. I am afraid, my dear, if you do not wish to be a quiz, you are going to have to allow us to procure you new clothes. Lucien said you would agree to this."

Beth looked down at her simple yellow round gown. She had thought such gowns ubiquitous and unremarkable.

"Yes, I know," said the duchess with a deprecating smile, "But it looks homemade, my dear. We are not going to try to pretend to anyone that you bring a fortune, but they are bound to wonder why we don't dress you."

"Very well," sighed Beth. She had, after all, given her word to the marquess. "But I must have some say in my clothes."

"But of course," said the duchess happily. "Now come along."

Beth had already discovered that the duchess could move with great speed, and she was almost running as she kept up with the older woman on the way to her rooms. A footman was sent to find the head seamstress.

"Mrs. Butler is well able to make a stylish plain gown and will take your measurements. We will send a muslin toile to London and have a ball gown made for you. In fact," she said with a shrewd glance at Beth, "I think I will send Lucien. It will get him out of the way and give him some light relief. He can execute a number of necessary commissions far better than a servant. We must look at the periodicals."

Another footman was sent off to bring these from the duchess's suite.

"We must do something about jewels, too," said the duchess. "Lucien will buy you some, but there are pieces among the family jewels which you should have." Another footman went hurrying on his way.

In Beth's room they went straight into the dressing room.

"You had best slip out of your gown, my dear," the duchess said briskly. Beth did as she was told and put on her wrap.

"Underclothes," said the duchess, as if making a mental list. "Silk nightdresses." Beth felt her cheeks heat up again. "Do you wish us to buy you a full wardrobe now or would you rather purchase it for yourself when you are married?"

"Does it make any difference?" asked Beth, feeling like someone who has moved one small stone and caused a landslide.

"It depends on where you are to honeymoon and how soon you intend to take up fashionable life."

"I don't know."

"Ask Lucien," said the duchess. Beth was not sure if it was an instruction or another mental note.

By then the summonses were having effect. A tall gaunt woman, followed by a little maid carrying a basket and a selection of swatches, proved to be the seamstress. She swiftly took measurements of all parts of Beth's body as the duchess chattered on about types of gowns.

"Round gowns," she said. "Of the simplest lines, I think. You agree, Elizabeth?" Before Beth had time to respond, she went on. "Muslin. Let me see. This cream jaconet is lovely, isn't it? Or this figured lawn...."

Beth gave up and allowed the duchess to choose three gowns to be made quickly—one of figured lawn, one of jaconet muslin sprigged with green, and one of plain cambric. She also gave orders for the beginning of a trousseau of personal garments, all to be monogrammed.

The dressmaker left, and Beth resumed her maligned homemade gown. She was immediately drawn over to look through the fashion magazines with the duchess. She was prepared to protest if she thought the choices unsuitable, but otherwise she was resigned to letting the duchess make them. What did she know of such silly matters?

In a moment, it seemed, six grand, and surely expensive, outfits had been selected to be ordered from London. "And a habit," said the duchess firmly. "And boots."

Next, the beleaguered Beth had a small fortune of jewelry spread casually on the table before her—silver, gold, diamonds, rubies, emeralds, sapphires, pearls. She could not help her fingers going out to touch a beautiful diamond bracelet that shot fire in the light of the sun, and a string of softly glowing pearls. She pulled her hand back. Truly she was being seduced, and not with kisses. She resolutely refused to accept anything except the string of pearls, traditional ornament of a gently bred young woman, a set of amber baubles which did not look expensive, and, under pressure, some diamonds. She chose a delicate parure as being the least overwhelming.

"It is very pretty," said the duchess doubtfully, fingering the diamonds, "but the stones are small. Will you not take this one?" she asked, opening a case to show a magnificent set in which huge diamonds flashed blades of rainbow colors.

Beth shrank away. What had Beth Armitage to do with a thing like that? "No, Your Grace. Truly. I much prefer the other."

"
As you wish
,
my dear
,"
the duchess said with her typical Gallic shrug.

* * *

Beth could not imagine the hours which must have been worked in the Belcraven sewing rooms, but one of her new gowns, the green sprig, was ready the next day when the first callers came. It was a very simple gown, gathered with drawstrings at the waist and only ornamented by a green silk sash, and yet it was much superior to her own creations. The duchess inspected her and was pleased. She tried to prevent Beth from wearing one of her caps but failed. In some way the caps had become a symbol for Beth and she would not give them up.

The guests proved to be close neighbors, a Lady Frogmorton and her daughters, Lucy and Diane. They were accompanied by a friend, Miss Phoebe Swinnamer, a young lady of quite remarkable beauty. Of which, thought Beth, she was far too aware. Still, she had to admit that it would be hard for the possessor to ignore a perfect oval face, translucent skin, big blue eyes, and thick, glossy, mahogany, waving hair.

There was something disturbing about the young lady, however—about the way she looked at Beth and the marquess, and the way her friends looked at her. It didn't take genius to see that Miss Swinnamer wished to be in Beth's position. It was clear that Lucy Frogmorton also was envious. Beth then supposed that most of the young ladies in England shared that feeling.

For the first time she thought how ludicrous it was that fate had delivered this supposed honor to one of the few sane women who did not want it.

Beth was still puzzling over Phoebe Swinnamer when the young lady managed to snatch a seat beside her. Beth realized that the duchess had been delicately attempting to prevent just such an occurrence.

"Do you live in Berkshire, Miss Swinnamer?" Beth asked politely. After years of teaching, jealous young minxes did not frighten her.

"Oh no," said Phoebe with a slight smile which did not reach her eyes. "My home is in Sussex, but we spend a great deal of time in London."

"Then you must enjoy it. I have rarely visited the capital."

"It is my duty," said Phoebe. "I am my parents' heiress. I must make a good match."

Beth smiled. "I am sure with your beauty and fortune, the choice must be entirely yours, Miss Swinnamer."

There was the slightest stiffening of Phoebe's beautiful features, though it was clear she never let the stronger emotions disturb them. "It is kind of you to say so, Miss Armitage." She looked around. "Belcraven is very beautiful, is it not? I spent the Christmas here."

Beth now understood that Phoebe had been a serious contender for the marquess's hand. Were they in fact disappointed lovers? Selfishly, it had never occurred to her that he might have had to give up a chosen partner to make this match. Beth glanced over at him, but he was relaxed in friendly talk with the Frogmortons and there was nothing to learn.

She looked back and saw Phoebe had noted that look with satisfaction. Beth took hold of her wits. The little cat was out to make trouble. She doubtless had faint hopes of somehow spoiling the present arrangement and reviving her chances. Beth knew there was no possibility of that and had no mind to have her life made more difficult by the girl.

"Personally," she said, "I prefer a quiet family Christmas."

"And where does your family live?" asked Phoebe, probing for a weakness.

"I lived with my aunt in Cheltenham," countered Beth. "Are your parents here with you, Miss Swinnamer?"

"No, my mother is in Bath while my father lingers in Melton. I'm surprised," she drawled, with a somehow familiar look at the marquess, "Arden is not still there. He adores hunting in the Shires."

"The power of love," said Beth sweetly. "I was not in such a mighty hurry to be wed, I assure you, Miss Swinnamer. But the marquess was positively insistent."

Phoebe's charming, shapely nose became decidedly pinched.

Before she could rally, the duchess was there, drawing Beth away. "You must come and talk to Lady Frogmorton, my dear." As soon as they were out of earshot, she said, "I do hope the girl did not offend you, Elizabeth."

"Of course not," Beth said. "I'm well used to young misses. But am I correct in thinking there was an attachment between her and the marquess?"

"Not an attachment," the duchess said quickly. "She did seem to have a great deal to offer, and Lucien considered her—partly at my urging, I confess. I do not think he was ever particularly drawn to her. In fact," she admitted with a rueful twinkle, "he was called away shortly after Christmas on some mysterious urgent business, much to poor Phoebe's annoyance."

Beth shared the amusement, relieved to think her future husband wasn't nursing a broken heart. They had enough trouble without that.

She sat down to gossip with Lady Frogmorton, a kindly woman who said everything that was proper. Beth had been right about the jealousy of the daughters, however. Lucy, in particular, being the elder and sharply pretty, with vivid dark-haired, cherry-lipped looks, eyed Beth with disbelief. Beth supposed she would just have to become accustomed to this reaction.

When Lucien came to join them she was grateful for the way he behaved. There was no crude outward show of fondness, of course, but in the way he stood beside her and the tone of his voice he clearly convinced the visitors that, strange though it was, this mousy and rather old woman had stolen his heart.

Beth recognized, however, that this salve to her pride was bought at cost to her heart. When he acted so proficiently it was all too easy to fall under the spell, to forget this was a pact imposed ruthlessly and supported by threats of violence.

She watched carefully when he exchanged pleasantries with Phoebe Swinnamer. Beth couldn't hear the words, but his attitude was friendly and brotherly. In as far as she was capable of it, Miss Swinnamer looked cross, and Beth took unkind satisfaction from that. It was unfortunate but human to dislike a young woman who was so set up in her own opinion and who clearly regarded Beth as something lower than an earthworm.

The next day brought the vicar and his wife in the company of Sir George Matlock, the local squire, and Lady Matlock. They, too, Beth thought, looked at her with a trace of puzzlement, but accepted matters, doubtless due to the marquess's excellent acting. They were also, however, inclined to gush. Beth found it strange to be looked up to as a member of the ducal family when she still felt like Beth Armitage the schoolmistress.

She feared it would be much more of the same at the upcoming ball. Beth helped the duchess and Mrs. Sysonby to address the hundred invitations.

"I confess," she remarked as she dipped her pen into the ink well again, "this seems a great many invitations for a country ball."

"Oh, but this is a small affair," said the duchess. "As there will be other events in London we are only asking the local people and at least half will have to decline." She tidied one stack with deft fingers. "Some men are still in the Shires. Women are visiting family. Some have already gone up to Town. But, even so, they would be affronted if we failed to send an invitation."

This was no relief to Beth. She could still apparently expect over thirty families to come and gawk. She wished she was being sent an invitation, for then she could refuse.