Chapter Fifteen
“As soon as we have finished breakfast, Merrie, we must go shopping.” Arabella came into the breakfast parlor, infused with energy the following morning. “I have ordered the barouche. We will go directly to Bond Street.”
Meredith, after some anguished soul-searching, had decided that she could afford the indulgence of one or maybe even two London gowns. Having agreed to play her part in this game, it would be self-defeating to quibble at detail. She therefore agreed to the excursion cheerfully and went for her pelisse and hat.
The Bond Street establishment that enjoyed the patronage of the Marchioness of Beaumont bore little overt sign of a place of business. The ladies were ushered into a sitting room where they were encouraged to repose themselves on little gilt chairs. Refreshments were brought, and with them arrived a most elegant lady of ample proportions, who greeted Lady Beaumont with a mixture of deference and familiarity that irritated Meredith as much as it puzzled her. Arabella, however, seemed not to notice.
“Madame Bernice, my cousin is but newly arrived from Cornwall and has need of certain things.”
Madame Bernice, running an appraising eye over the cousin's cloth pelisse and chip hat, agreed wholeheartedly with this statement as she made haste to assure her customers of her pleasure in being able to serve them. A discussion then took place, in which Meredith bore little part as much because the terms were unfamiliar as because her companions rarely referred to her.
There was much talk of the relative merits of gauze and muslin, of the new French cambrics that were becoming so popular. A variety of gowns was paraded before them. Merrie agreed with Arabella's comments since she was too bewildered, initially, to formulate her own opinions and, indeed, found all of the gowns quite delightful. She presumed that, once she had seen all that Madame Bernice had to offer, she would be permitted to make her selection although how she was to choose from the array of promenade gowns, morning and afternoon dresses, driving dresses, and evening gowns became a monumental question.
She had just decided that her wardrobe lacked an evening gown and that a promenade gown might be an interesting possession since she had never owned one, not being in the habit of promenading, when Arabella stunned her into stupefaction.
“We are agreed then, my love.” Lady Beaumont drew on her gloves and stood up. “Since you must have gowns you may wear immediately, we will take the yellow craped-muslin promenade gown, that very pretty sprigged muslin, and also the cream cambric. It will look so well with your hair. The lavender silk for evening because it is so perfect with your eyes. We will visit the warehouses and choose materials to be made up for the rest of your wardrobe. Madame Bernice will go through patterns that we may examine. You must trust her, my dear. She has never yet failed in knowing exactly what style will suit.”
Madame smiled complacently and said that she rather thought the more classic styles would exactly suit Lady Blake's face and form. It would be a great pleasure to dress one of her ladyship's trim figure.
Meredith found her voice at last. “There is some misunderstanding. I beg your pardon, Bella, I am entirely at fault. I should have explained my situation before we came here; I did not realize you did not know it.”
Arabella was looking at her aghast and the modiste's sharp eyes narrowed. The Marchioness of Beaumont was one of her best customers, and madame was far from averse to the prospect of dressing the country cousin. But, unless she was much mistaken, a word that was never mentioned was about to rear its ugly head. The cousin was going to discuss money.
“Madame Bernice, would you leave us for a minute?” Arabella recollected herself. The modiste inclined her head, smiled with only her lips, and sailed from the room.
“I am so sorry to have embarrassed you, Bella,” Meredith apologized hastily. “I am not in a position to buy more than two gowns, and, to be candid, if the price is as high as I fear, then I must settle for only one. We may certainly look at materials and patterns that Nan may make up for me. But that is the extent of my ability.”
“But my love, Damian willâ”
“He will not!”
Arabella flinched at the flashing eyes, the sharp crackle in the previously modulated voice. “I do not know what you have concocted between you,” Meredith went on, “but I can assure you that I and only I am responsible for expenses of this nature. I have accepted your hospitality most gratefully, but that is as far as it goes.”
Arabella pulled a rueful grimace. This stumbling block had not occurred to her, but it was a major one. Merrie could not enter society in gowns made up by her maid. And the gowns were only the beginning. There were hats and shoes of every description, shawls and scarves, gloves and mittens and stockings, cloaks and wraps. The list was endless. Her brother had said to spare no expense. Had he not envisaged his mistress's reaction? Or had he hoped Arabella would succeed in persuading her? Well, his sister decided firmly, he was going to have pull the coals out of this fire himself. Even for a beloved twin, he had laid too much upon her shoulders already.
“It must be as you say, of course.” She smiled amicably at Merrie. “Do you wish to choose one of the gowns we have seen? I would suggest either the yellow craped muslin or the cream cambric.”
Disarmed by this easy capitulation and guiltily conscious of how she must have embarrassed her hostess in front of the modiste, Merrie agreed to take both gowns. If necessary, she would have to send to lawyer Donne for more funds. The money was earmarked for the estate; however, once she was back in Cornwall and had resumed her customary activities, she would replace it easily enough. But she was only at the beginning of this adventure, Merrie reminded herself. It were far too soon to think of its conclusion.
Bella had a few words with Madame Bernice who, as a result, beamed and congratulated Lady Blake on the two gowns she had chosen as effusively as if she had bought all those listed earlier by Lady Beaumont. Meredith responded with a smile and did not concern herself with this
volte-face.
Obviously, the modiste would swallow her disappointment, maintaining her courtesy in the interests of good relations with such a valued customer as Lady Beaumont.
Arabella prudently put the rest of her planned morning aside since she rather suspected that visits to milliners and bootmakers would not find favor with her ferociously independent guest. Resolving to send a message to her brother at the earliest possible moment, she suggested to Meredith that they return home for luncheon and then perhaps Meredith would care to explore the neighborhood around Cavendish Square a little. She herself was in the habit of resting for an hour or so in the afternoon and hoped her guest would not mind being left to her own devices.
“Not at all,” Meredith concurred easily. “I should like to walk outdoors of all things. It will not cause raised eyebrows?”
“Oh, no, for you will have a footman to escort you,” Bella assured her.
That did not strike Meredith as at all necessary but, if it was considered to be so, she would accept it with a good grace.
Accordingly, she was safely out of the house when Lord Rutherford arrived to answer his sister's urgent summons.
“What's to do, Bella?” He greeted her in his usual forthright fashion. “From the tone of your message, I expected to find murder and mayhem.”
“It is a great deal too bad of you, Damian, to put me in this abominable position,” his sister told him roundly. She had received him in her boudoir where she reclined on a striped chaise longue, a copy of Mr. Southey's latest poem lying neglected but prominently displayed on the table beside her.
“Cut line, Bella,” Rutherford advised equably, picking up the book and leafing through the pages.
Arabella told him the story in no uncertain terms. “I will not be put in the position of executing those tasks that you find distasteful, Rutherford, and so I tell you. It is not at all comfortable to be with Merrie when she is put out,” she concluded, falling back against the cushions.
Rutherford could not help a rueful grin. “No, I do know what you mean. But do not rip up at me further, Bella. I swear that I had no intention of putting you in an abominable situation or of expecting you to deal with unpleasant tasks.”
Bella, somewhat mollified by this assertion, demanded in robust tones to know what her brother intended doing about the pickle since his plan could clearly not go forward if Meredith was not to be persuaded into an ample and suitable wardrobe.
“To tell the truth, I had not envisaged this,” he admitted. “I had thought that, having accepted the situation in principle, my obstinate little termagant would have no qualms with the details. Experience should have taught me otherwise.”
“So, what will you do?” his twin persisted.
“Wait for her downstairs.” Rutherford bent over the chaise longue, raising one elegant white hand to his lips. “Poor Bella, it was quite outrageous of me to expose you to a Merrie Trelawney tantrum.”
Arabella smiled, completely appeased. “I would not describe it as such. But her eyes flashed in a most alarming fashion and her voice was quite different. I wish you will make all right so that I do not have to be always watching my step.”
“I shall do so as soon as she returns,” he promised, moving toward the door, adding casually, “I think it likely that you will be dining alone tonight, sister.”
He left Bella in frowning contemplation of the implications of that statement. If her conclusions were correct, they should bring a blush to the marchioness's respectable cheek. They did not, however, Arabella being a pragmatic soul beneath the affectations demanded by society. She returned to Mr. Southey with a degree of reluctance. It was a tediously long poem, rejoicing in the title “The Curse of Kahama,” but one must be able to talk of the latest poems should they happen to become the rage.
Lord Rutherford repaired to the library, meeting his brother-in-law in the hall on the way. The two men had considerable respect for each other although they were little in each other's company.
“How d'ye do, George?” Damian shook the lean hand.
“Well enough, Damian,” came the reply. “I'm glad you sent that relative of yours to Arabella, y'know. Just what she needs.”
Rutherford pursed his lips, saying quietly, “a little more of her husband's company might not come amiss, Beaumont.”
The marquis looked slightly taken aback at this blunt statement. “You know how things are, Rutherford.”
His brother-in-law shrugged. “Just a piece of fraternal advice, George. Take it or leave it.”
“When we've got these demmed Corn Laws passed, Damian, things will go easier.” Beaumont gave a weary smile, clasping his brother-in-law's shoulder. “I am sensible of Bella's needs, but what's a man to do with only one body? I cannot be making love to my wife in her boudoir and arguing for the protection of agriculture in the Lords at one and the same time.”
“True enough,” Damian agreed. “Forgive me if I spoke out of turn.”
Beaumont made haste to assure him that he had not done so, and the two parted, one with a thoughtful frown as if troubled by some uncomfortable reflections, the other satisfied that he had sown a necessary seed.
Meredith, having explored Piccadilly, which she knew from Patience to be the heart of the fashionable quarter, was in excellent spirits as she walked back to Cavendish Square, the footman a discreet ten paces behind her. She had discovered Hatchard's and had feasted her eyes on the bow window filled with all the newest publications. There was a sad dearth of new books in Cornwall, and the prospect of such riches on her doorstep was heady indeed. The annoying constraints of a tight budget were, as always, to be considered, but a small indulgence was surely permissible. In addition, there must be lending libraries in the vicinity. She would consult Bella on this score as soon as may be. This afternoon would also be a good opportunity to write letters to the boys. Her host had just this morning offered to frank her correspondence, and she had a myriad impressions to impart to her juniors although avoiding reference to Rutherford and his sister was going to prove a formidable task. That brought the other, most pleasurable thought. Damian would be joining them for dinner this evening. It had been agreed between brother and sister that Meredith would not venture upon the world until various necessary changes had been made in her appearance, and she had had time to settle down and learn her way about. Meredith, for her part, was not at all sorry for the delay. She was perfectly happy to submit to the artistry of Bella's hairdresser, perfectly happy to expand her wardrobe so long as she could do so without outrunning the carpenter, and, for entertainment, she found that the prospect of a family dinner in Rutherford's company was, for the moment, excitement enough.
Damian, who had left the library door ajar for this purpose, heard her light tones in conversation with Grantly and went into the hall.
When she saw him, her cheeks flushed delicately with pleasure. “Why, Lord Rutherford, how delightful. We were not expecting you until this evening.”
He raised her hand to his lips, feeling the slight tremor of her fingers. “I had some business to transact with Bella, then thought that I would wait until you returned from your walk. Did you enjoy it? Where did you go?” Chattering in this inconsequential fashion, he maneuvered her across the hall and into the library, closing the double doors firmly behind him.
Meredith gave him a sharp look as she pulled off her gloves and slipped out of her pelisse. “I had intended to run upstairs and leave my things,” she said thoughtfully, tossing them on a chair and untying the ribbons of her hat. “It would appear, sir, that your business with me is somewhat urgent.”