I’ve attempted to speak to your brother, but
gave it up as a bad job before I could be tempted to throttle him. Suffice
it to say Seth will be attached to his hip whenever he leaves the house.
Thorny tells me you took the air in the Square this morning. With the brisk
breeze, I look forward to some flattering color in your cheeks tonight at
table. Are you quite certain Adam wouldn’t care for Jamaica? G.
I will assume you are being polite in your
distance, but would appreciate some direction as to how to deal with these
invitations written to my name. J.
Redgraves don’t respond on command. We either
grace curious hostesses with our presence, or we don’t. Burn them. We aren’t
ready. Don’t forget your fitting at two, on Thursday. I shan’t be available.
Take the puppy, but beware scratching behind his ears. G.
I was told you do not care for green beans. I
was then careful to order them for tonight’s dinner. J.
Ha! Prepare for fish chowder at tomorrow’s
luncheon table. A pity I will be busy with my tailor. G.
The fish chowder was well received in the
servant dining hall. Do you ever plan to spend an evening in Portman Square?
J.
You are sometimes even more beautiful in
sleep. I look forward to the day I’m blessed to observe you in slumber at my
leisure, and then kiss you awake. G.
* * *
T
HAT
NOTE
HAD
APPEARED
just this morning, on her pillow, after she had so let down her guard
as to show she missed him. What a sly one he was. The less she saw him, the more
she wanted to see him. The more politely he treated her, the more she wanted him
to be the man she remembered, the man who had fisted his hand in her hair and
brought his mouth down hard against hers, the man who had lifted her in his arms
and carried her to her bed.
“
Madame?
You approve?”
Jessica shook herself back to attention. She held out her arms,
to see that they were encased in silken cobwebs of ivory lace, long cuffs
dripping halfway to her fingertips. Goodness, she had been dressed without her
conscious participation. How had that happened?
“If
madame
were to turn about, so,
to see this grand creation in the mirror?”
What Jessica saw stole her breath.
She was wearing a thin silken shift, the bodice all lace to
just below her breasts, the simple skirt falling from there to the six or more
inches of lace edging her ankles. The dressing gown was composed completely of
this same lace, the most exquisite lace she’d ever seen, tying just below her
breasts, covering her so very modestly, yet still the most enticing and, yes,
inviting creation.
She supposed she looked virginal. She supposed she looked like
a woman looking forward to ridding herself of that virginity. All in
one—innocence in the cut of the cloth, subtle decadence in the materials.
“His lordship pressed us most firmly in the design,
madame.
Each bolt of material, each ribbon and button,
each gown, each
ensemble,
all to his specifications.
All
très magnifique!
We have been closed to everyone
save him these past nearly ten days. Every day he has been here, reducing my
girls to tears, pressing us to rush, to change, to alter, to make everything
perfect. So demanding, yet so generous! He brings them sweet cakes, and combs
for their hair, and every day the flowers, so many fragrant bouquets my Giselle,
she sneezes all day long, and must do her sewing in the attics. He knows them
all by name and they are all half in love with him, silly girls that they are.
But he is a genius, no? He must love you very much,
madame,
to see you so well.”
Jessica didn’t know how to respond to that. Gideon Redgrave
always had his reasons for anything he did, she felt certain of that. He planned
for her to make her
entrée
into society on his arm,
and he wanted attention called to her, to the both of them. “Yes...a genius.
It’s, uh, it’s...do I really look like this, Marie?”
The petite Frenchwoman squeezed Jessica’s hand. “She who sews
the seams can only do so much,
madame.
The rest lies
with you. Shall we see more?”
“Oh. Oh, yes. We’ll see more. We’ll see all of it,” Jessica
said, smiling even as she blinked back tears. No matter what the reason for
Gideon’s close involvement in her wardrobe, she had never felt so wonderfully,
gloriously
pretty.
“Do you suppose we could do
something with the lavender?”
“I have just the matron who would adore it,
oui.
But not for you, no, no, no, not for you. I was
to put it on you first, so you could, as his lordship said, see the error of
your ways. Ah, such a man! Do you wish the silly fribble to return,
madame?
”
“The silly— Oh. No, thank you. Perhaps some tea and cakes for
Mr. Collier are in order. Are there many gowns? How long do you think we’ll
be?”
The modiste began counting on her fingertips. By the time she’d
begun her second round on her fingers, Jessica could see Adam would be cooling
his heels in Marie’s small sitting room for a considerable length of time.
She bent her arm to stroke the soft lace. If this was the
beginning, what else was she about to see? More importantly, was this how Gideon
saw her?
Adam could wait for her. If he wanted to be up to the mark in
all things pleasing to women, as he said he did, he should learn early on that
the virtue women most admired in a man was his ability to display patient
forbearance when being forced to cool his heels whilst she was shopping.
* * *
G
IDEON
WAS
PACING
THE
drawing room when
the dowager countess floated into the room, still stripping off her long kid
gloves, then tossing them over her head one after the other, so that Soames,
trailing behind her, could snare them out of the air.
“Goodness, pet, you’re looking harassed. When you vow not to
bed a woman until she’s properly wed, in the interim it would behoove you to not
have her sleeping under your own roof. At least, were you at Redgrave Manor, I
could suggest you cool your ardor by immersing yourself in the pond. I don’t
think many would understand you leaping into the Serpentine in the Park,
however.”
Soames, neatly snagging the second glove, couldn’t restrain his
chuckle.
“I’m just so gratified to amuse you both,” Gideon said, looking
at Trixie’s reticule, a silly thing of beads and ribbons, and judging it too
small to hold what he’d hoped to see. “You failed?”
Trixie walked up to him and raised a hand to pat his cheek.
“Let’s be clear about this, Gideon. I tease you. You do not insult me. Soames?
Give the boy what he wants before he expires of anticipation.”
“Yes, my lady,” the butler said, tucking the gloves into his
pocket and then reaching inside his waistcoat to withdraw a rolled sheet of
thick vellum and handing it to Gideon.
The Special License. She’d done it. It had been his blunt that
helped ease the way, granted, but it was Trixie’s way with persuasion that had
turned the trick with the speed of the thing. He unrolled the document and
quickly scanned it. The archbishop could sign, of course, but so could any
number of other high church officials. “Whose signature is this? I can’t make it
out.”
“You aren’t supposed to, pet. Suffice it to say the license is
completely legitimate and aboveboard.” The dowager countess subsided onto her
one-armed couch, drawing her dainty feet up beside her. “Did you ever wonder
what
below
board could be?”
Gideon was still working on deciphering the signature and
answered absently. “To be aboveboard, as I know the term, means keeping your
hands above the gaming table at all times. So to be below board, you’d have to
keep your hands—”
“Precisely where I had them as our mostly eminent church
official was signing the license. Interesting.”
Soames turned on his heels and left the room, his ears
positively burning red.
“I have to keep reminding myself not to walk into your little
traps,” Gideon said. “Did you enjoy that?”
“Soames’s embarrassed reaction, or my ability to bring things
to attention? I would have to answer yes to both. Oh, don’t scowl, pet. Next
you’ll be telling me you’re putting in an application to warble in some choir.
You knew what I was going to do when you applied to me for help. If I learned
nothing else from my unlamented husband, it is the power of sex. We females hold
most of that power, by the way, and can enjoy its rewards longer. By the time
you’re my age, Gideon, you’ll be happy most evenings with a roaring fire, your
dogs at your feet and a snifter of brandy at your elbow, while I consider
myself, modesty aside, to remain near the top of my form. After all, most times
all it takes is a strong
hand.
Ah, finally I’ve
managed to raise a blush from you.”
“You’re right, I shouldn’t have asked for your help. I tried to
tell myself you would apply to some bonds of friendship with whomever you
visited today. I should have remembered you don’t have friends, do you,
Trixie?”
“No, I don’t. I have family. And, if the gods are kind, and
you’re truly as hot to bed this woman as it would seem, soon I will have more of
it.”
“And here I was earlier, wondering why I don’t visit as often
as I should. I don’t wish you dead, Trixie, but I do selfishly wish you
older.”
“And cuddlesome, perhaps even quaintly dotty?” she asked as he
dangled a slim diamond bracelet in front of her eyes. “Ah, now isn’t that
pretty? Your thanks would have been enough.”
“Then I’ll have it back?”
“Give it to your wife once I’m planted,” she said, holding up
her arm to him so that he could close the bracelet about her wrist. She turned
her hand this way and that once the clasp was secured, admiring the way the
diamonds, formed into an endless circle of petite flowers, caught the sunlight
streaming in through the windows. “Quite lovely. You’ve exquisite taste, pet. Do
you have any news for me?”
“No, nothing. I’ve stopped wearing the rose, you’ll notice. I’m
keeping a close eye on the nincompoop, but nobody’s approached him. Frankly,
I’ve reached a dead end.”
“A temporary setback only, I’m sure. Now a kiss, please, and
then you may go. I’ve an engagement this evening, and to shine at night, it is
sometimes necessary to nap during the day.”
Gideon bent to kiss her cheek. “You’re admitting to age,
Trixie?”
“One must sometimes make allowances, yes. I’ve invited Guy
Bedworth here for a midnight supper, and it wouldn’t do to not be awake on all
suits with that one.”
“Bedworth? The Marquis of Mellis? That doddering old fool? What
do you want with him?”
“That doddering old fool, pet, was at one time the youngest
member of your grandfather’s original
coterie
of
scoundrels. Before you count on your fingers, yes, your grandfather died roughly
forty-eight years ago. The marquis won’t see seventy again, or even
seventy-five, but was still, shall we say, amorously active when your father
decided to resurrect what he may have thought a family tradition. Naturally,
Guy, risen to the title by that time, was invited to participate, and to lend
his expertise in the finer points of ceremonial rites, I would imagine. As a
sort of mentor.”
“And to continue in that role after my father died? Perhaps
even as long as five years ago?”
“Who’s to say, one way or the other? Well, in point of fact,
Guy is to say, which I sincerely intend to have him do tonight.”
A sudden thought struck Gideon. “How would my father have known
the marquis was a member of Grandfather’s...coterie?”
“Through the journals, I suppose,” Trixie said, shrugging. Then
her eyes went wide. “I did tell you about those blasted journals, didn’t I? Dear
God, maybe I
am
growing dotty.”
Gideon sat down on a corner of the low table. “Grandfather
wrote things down? About...about his group?”
“No name, pet. Simply the Society. He thought it safer that
way. Your father wasn’t quite so brilliant and devised those ridiculous golden
roses. Although they have made your search for members that much easier, which
proves your grandfather’s point, doesn’t it?”
Trixie began turning her new bracelet over and over again
around her wrist. “But, yes, he very carefully catalogued their actions, year by
year. They all did. In excruciating detail. Dear God, there were drawings,
charts, codes. They called them testaments, of all things. Truthfully, I burned
the ones I found in your grandfather’s study. What went on during the blessedly
few years of our marriage was not, I felt, anything to preserve for the ages. I
was young and powerless, and he... But that was a long time ago. Unfortunately,
I couldn’t locate all of them. The rest were hidden somewhere.”
“At Redgrave Manor?”
“In the Manor, or somewhere on the grounds. I never found them,
but clearly your father did. And they all kept journals, each member, before
annually handing them over to your grandfather like the fools they were, as it
was up to the Keeper to review them, check them for veracity and then assemble
all the information into their
bible.
I never found
that, either, although I had seen it a time or two. Some of the etchings were
very nearly true art, if disgusting. The things I read, however, the things I
could tell you about people the world admires? Ah, but most of them are dead
now, so what does it matter?”
“Was my grandfather a Jacobite? Were he and his devil’s dozen
plotting treason?”
Trixie smiled. “No. His motives were even less laudable, I’m
afraid. He did what he did, they all did, merely for the pleasure of it.
Half-hearted Satanists, reckless libertines, naughty little boys obsessed with
their drunken preoccupation with sex. It was left to your father to see the
opportunities for something more. When I realized...”