Enchanting Pleasures (9 page)

Peter also rushed to her side, exclaiming happily.

Gabby watched enviously. This duchess undoubtedly presented Madame Carême with no trifling problems. Her gown looked to be made out of handkerchief cloth, and it was abundantly clear that the duchess’s figure was as flawless as the rest of her.

Peter was chattering with greater animation than Gabby had ever seen on his face. She swallowed. Perhaps this beautiful duchess was the reason that Peter was reluctant to marry. Perhaps he was terribly in love with her and was even now pining away. They looked exquisite together—the duchess was just as polished and gleaming as was Peter. They would have had beautiful children.

And they seemed so intimate. Likely they were in love before the duchess was forced to marry another. Gabby had to blink away a sudden tear. How painful it must have been for Peter to watch his beloved marry someone else, probably an old, even a hunchbacked, duke!

Just as Gabby swallowed hard, imagining Peter’s agonized face during the wedding, the duchess walked up to greet her. Gabby’s romantic side had painted her in the last stages of grief, but common sense told her that the woman seemed to be glowing with happiness.

“How do you do?”

The duchess reached out her gloved hand, so Gabby took it, wondering whether she was supposed to shake it—or kiss it. She literally had no idea how one behaved toward duchesses. Perhaps she was supposed to curtsy? Finally she gave the duchess’s hand a brief shake and dropped it.

“This is my betrothed,” Peter was saying. “Miss Jerningham arrived from India only yesterday.”

Gabby could tell that it was hard for him to introduce her, presumably because of her gown.

But Her Grace seemed to notice nothing wrong.

“I, too, just got off a ship! My husband and I are returning from Turkey. We have been traveling for almost a year, and I returned without a garment to my back.” The duchess turned to Madame Carême with a smile. “That is why, dear Madame, I ventured to visit you without an appointment. I was desperate!”

She turned back to Gabby. “Please forgive me for interrupting your engagement with Madame, Miss Jerningham. Tell me, how are you finding London?”

Gabby responded despite herself to the duchess’s merry blue eyes. “I like it very much,” she said. “Although I have seen little of the city so far.”

“Why don’t we take a brief walk down Bond Street after your appointment is concluded? That is, if you do not have other plans.”

Peter was stricken by the suggestion. Gabby could see that. He didn’t want her to be seen around London until Madame Carême supplied her with better clothing.

“It seems I am to be Madame Carême’s latest creation,” Gabby said lightly. “I would not wish to ruin her reputation by being seen in this gown before she has had a chance to transform me.”

Peter groaned silently, and Madame’s eyebrows flew up. “There is little chance that anyone would mistake your gown for one of mine,” she pointed out.

But the duchess looked understanding. “Surely it would not be amiss to take a brief drive in the park? If only because I have always had a foolish desire to see Calcutta, and I would love to hear your description of it.”

For Her Grace, it seemed, anything was possible—except the appearance of Gabby’s white dress in public. Within seconds Gabby had been whisked off to the inner recesses of Madame Carême’s establishment and stripped of her clothing by Madame’s assistants. They appeared to be somewhat surprised by Gabby’s lack of a corset.

“My father doesn’t believe in corsets,” Gabby explained. “He thinks that women ought be able to dress themselves.”

Madame shuddered at the thought. She stared at Gabby in the mirror. “We will try whalebones. I shall do my best,” she said rather despondently.

“I am certain that you will turn me into a pink of the
ton,”
Gabby said reassuringly.

“Nonsense—only gentlemen are pinks,” Madame responded. But she seemed to cheer up, and then she cocked her head and said, “Of course!” With a snap of her fingers she sent away a girl, who returned with a flimsy dress in a dusky-orange color.

“I made it for the countess of Redingale,” she confided. “But the silly girl is over a month late in requesting it. I believe that she overspent her allowance again. Giving the gown to you will teach her that she cannot trifle with the top
modiste
in London.”

“Absolutely,” Gabby said rather faintly. One of Madame’s helpers was lacing her tightly into a corset. Her breasts were pushed up and out, and her waist became impossibly small. Gabby had a glimmer of hope. Perhaps Madame Carême’s magic would remake her into a vision of sophisticated beauty.

Someone threw the walking dress over her head. It settled in a puff of muslin.

“Not terrible,” Madame commented.

The gown had a high neck with an insert of brown velvet and faint brown stripes down the skirt. It was as unlike Gabby’s starched white gown as possible, given that it moved in the faintest breath of air. The only thing keeping the skirt from floating up was the line of fur at the hem.

To Gabby’s eyes, it positively screamed sophistication. “I—” Gabby took a small breath, all that was allowed given her tight corset. “I have always thought that orange was a pretty color, Madame.”

“Orange! That is orange blossom,
not
orange! I do not compose in such a color,” Madame Carême responded scornfully. “And the very best chinchilla fur around the hem,” she added.

But Gabby was getting used to her sharp tongue. “My only fear is that there’s a bit too much of me for this lovely gown.” Gabby felt as if the whalebone corset was pushing her breasts up around her collarbone. The gown seemed to strain in the front section.

In a split second Madame had the girls snipping away under Gabby’s arm and the dress was eased over her head again.

“Not right, not right,” the
modiste
murmured to herself. She had taken to circling Gabby again. “I shall have to give it more thought. This color does not set off your hair to its best advantage, for example.”

Gabby looked in the mirror. One of the girls was rapidly pinning her fallen hair back up on her head.

“And,” Madame continued, “the skirt of the gown is too narrow for you.”

Gabby couldn’t see anything wrong with the gown, barring the fact that she could hardly breathe.

“We shall have to start a new fashion,” Madame said. “For you, these French designs are not the best. And in order to be a match for Monsieur Dewland, you understand, you must be at the very pinnacle of fashion.”

She seemed to be distressed, so Gabby tried to console her, although she herself couldn’t see anything wrong with the gown. “Great achievements never come easily, Madame. Think of the person who first invented this infernal corset. It cannot have happened overnight, all the weaving and winding of whalebones, tapes, and cloth.”

For the first time since she walked into the establishment, Gabby had the sense that Madame Carême looked at
her
—Gabby—not at her clothing. Madame looked struck for a moment.

Gabby twinkled at her. She was starting to rather like the irascible Frenchwoman. “I can see it,” she continued. “You shall transform me from a…a mouse into a queen, and when I enter the ballroom on Peter’s arm, all the London folk will fall to the side and gasp. They will have one question, and one question only, on their minds:
Who
made Miss Jerningham’s gown?”

Gabby was getting quite caught up in her own story. She lowered her voice. “I won’t tell them immediately,” she promised. “I shall keep them poised in anticipation, longing to know the name of the
modiste
who effected my transformation.”

The corner of Madame’s mouth twitched. “You don’t give a bean about clothing, do you, Miss Jerningham?”

“No,” Gabby admitted. “But I am willing to try to care, given that it seems important to Peter.”

“There is one great truth to fashion,” Madame said frankly. “If a woman has no sense of presence, the most beautiful clothing in the world will do nothing for her. I have clothed a debutante in an exquisite creation and known—
known
—that men would pay no attention to her that evening. But you—well, men do pay attention to you, do they not?”

“I have no idea,” Gabby replied. “My father rarely allowed me to encounter members of the male gender. And it’s really of no consequence, given that I am to marry Peter.”

“Yes,” Madame said. Her face seemed troubled for a second. “Be that as it may,” she said, “I shall make a new fashion for you. And I guarantee, Miss Jerningham, that I will make the men of London beg to kiss the tips of your slippers.”

“That sounds very pleasant,” Gabby observed, grinning.

Madame gave one of her rare snorts of laughter. “You are an Original, Miss Jerningham. I am feeling very, very different about this commission than I did earlier.”

“Thank you,” Gabby said.

W
HEN
P
ETER SAW
his future bride walking before him out of Madame Carême’s establishment, her arm tucked into that of the Duchess of Gisle, he felt as if his life were passing before his eyes.

Gabby looked like a pumpkin: a round, round pumpkin. The cloth of her gown was ready to split around her chest. In fact, Peter was mortified to find out just how much of a chest the girl had. Women shouldn’t be so well-endowed. He shuddered to think what his future wife would look like in an evening gown, without fabric to cover up all that flesh. As Gabby walked before him, her skirts bunched at the hips, and the fur at the bottom of her gown swung back and forth. Her stride is too long, Peter thought. She does not walk like a lady.

What’s more, rather than asking the duchess polite questions or showing any recognition that she was speaking to one of the most important ladies in the
ton
, Gabby was chatting about India. India! Peter’s skin crawled. There was nothing more tedious than people who talked about India. Plenty of men around London were available to do just that. The last thing one wanted from a woman was more wearisome details.

His future wife clearly had no sense of nuance. She had no grasp of the consequence and hierarchy that structured London society. He shuddered to think what his friends would make of her and how they would laugh at him behind his back.

Gabby was still chattering away. Oh, God, she seemed to be
lecturing
Her Grace on the grammatical structure of the Hindi language. Peter ground his teeth silently. His throat felt bitter.

He couldn’t do it.

He could not marry this talkative, frumpy, plump woman who had no social graces and no instinct. It didn’t matter how much money she had. By God, he could more easily transform a merchant’s daughter into a lady.

Cold fingers crept up Peter’s spine. This awkward girl would effortlessly pull down the delicate social structure on which his happiness depended, and she would have no idea what she was doing. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair and it wasn’t right.

He’d spent six years building his position in London society, befriending the high and the low. Peter thought little of those who hoped to reach the upper echelons by trod-ding on those below or by making cruel remarks. He was unfailingly kind, and he had accepted defeats with grace. For example, there was the intimate gathering that Bladdington gave for Prinny’s forty-third birthday last year, to which he was not invited. And even though Peter’s chest burned, he was perfectly amiable with Bladdington the next time he saw him, because everyone told him that Prinny had loudly demanded to know where Dewland was and said the party was no fun without him.

Bile rose up his throat again, and Peter clenched his teeth. Father had no right to demand such a thing.

His parents were due to arrive from Bath in the afternoon to greet their future daughter-in-law. He had always found it difficult to stand up to his father, but this time he would simply have to do so.

He could not go through with this marriage.

G
ABBY
, P
ETER
, AND P
HOEBE
returned to Dewland House to find that an elegantly slung traveling carriage had just drawn up.

“It’s my new mama come to fetch me!” Phoebe cried.

Peter looked at the little girl sympathetically. He had to remember to locate that woman—Mrs. Ewing, wasn’t it? “I’m afraid not, Phoebe. That is my parents’ traveling coach. They will have returned from Bath to welcome Miss Jerningham.”

Gabby drew Phoebe up against her side in a hug. “We will find your mama,” she said. “And meanwhile, Phoebe, just think about all those lovely clothes that Madame Carême is making for you!” For Phoebe, too, had ordered a complete wardrobe.

Phoebe’s eyes brightened. “Mademoiselle Lucile said that I would have a gown with pin tucks and puff sleeves.”

“Absolutely,” Gabby replied. “Why, it’s just as well that Peter has not located your mama yet. Because I would like the pleasure of your company, and your new garments will not be delivered for some weeks.”

In Phoebe’s eyes shone the passion of a young woman who already understood—even at the tender age of five—the importance of a first impression. She had had a lovely time looking at pictures of children’s clothing in
La Belle Assemblée
with Mademoiselle Lucile, one of Madame Carême’s assistants. “I shall wear the gown with puff sleeves,” she said. “And then my mama will love me more.”

Gabby frowned and was about to say something, but the footman opened the coach door. She was just a bit nervous to meet the viscount and viscountess. What if they were as disappointed with her as Peter seemed to be?

But there was no viscount. And within a few minutes of entering the sitting room, it became clear that she might never meet the viscount at all.

“He slept and slept,” the viscountess was saying, weeping and wringing her hands. “When I finally woke him, Thurlow looked at me, but I could tell that he didn’t know who I was.”

Quill was standing in the middle of the room, saying nothing. Peter turned white and sank into a chair.

“Last night he did recognize me,” the viscountess continued. “But the doctors say he is unlikely to recover the use of his limbs. And worst of all, he doesn’t seem to be able to speak! Although this morning, when I explained that I had to go to London for a day and tell you what had happened, I’m sure that he heard me. Because I asked him to close his eyes if he understood, and he did. He blinked his eyes.”

She started weeping harder, and Quill moved over and gave her an awkward hug. Kitty held out her free arm, and as Peter moved toward her, Gabby turned and fled from the room. There was something about seeing Kitty Dewland cling to her two sons that made tears come to her eyes. She had tried her entire life to please her father, but he would no more think of hugging her than of complimenting her.

Gabby swallowed hard and climbed the stairs to her bedchamber. The truth was that if her father had an attack and couldn’t speak, she would probably be grateful. That was a terrible, terrible thought.

I would have taken care of him, Gabby thought defensively. But even as she pictured the tender care she would have given her father, she knew it would have been just another attempt to gain love. And it would have failed. If there was one lesson Gabby had learned from her childhood, it was that no amount of wooing could make someone love you.

Gabby rang the bell, and Margaret appeared after a moment. “I’m to be your lady’s maid,” Margaret said happily. “Mrs. Farsalter confirmed it.”

“How lovely,” Gabby said. “Then for goodness sake, Margaret, help me loosen this infernal corset.”

Margaret looked surprised, but she began to undo the small buttons that ran up the back of the orange walking dress.

The problem was that when Margaret had unlaced the corset enough so that Gabby could take a deep breath, the gown pulled even tighter in the front.

Margaret looked at it dubiously. “Mrs. Farsalter is a dab hand with a needle. Perhaps we should see if the seams can be taken out.”

“Madame Carême already did that. I’ll just wear this shawl, Margaret. See? If I keep it draped over my front, no one can see that the bodice is a little tight.”

“Are you quite sure, miss? Because we could tighten your corset just a trifle.”

“Absolutely not. I’m quite certain that we will be taking luncheon at home.” Gabby reckoned that Peter was the only one in the household who might notice the inconvenient tautness across her breasts.

Margaret nodded. “Given the master’s condition, I expect you’ll be marrying right away. Perhaps Mr. Peter will obtain a special license.”

Gabby looked at her curiously.

“I didn’t mean to be presumptuous, miss. Mr. Codswallop had an uncle who had such an attack, and he didn’t linger. The family will go into mourning.”

“Oh, of course,” Gabby murmured. Presumably Margaret was saying that one couldn’t marry when in mourning. Yet more English rules that she had never learned. For some reason the idea of marrying Peter by special license wasn’t quite as exciting as she would have thought a week ago.

She shook off the feeling. It was time for luncheon, and she was absolutely ravenous.

The meal was a strained affair. “I must return to Bath,” Kitty Dewland explained to her young guest, “but I have sent a note asking my dear cousin, Lady Sylvia, to act as a chaperone in my absence.”

Kitty gained a spark of animation when Quill murmured something under his breath about her choice of chaperone. “Lady Sylvia is of the highest character,” Kitty snapped. She added, “Besides, it is very difficult to obtain a chaperone now, when the Little Season is upon us!”

And then she burst into tears. “Oh, if Thurlow is not able to take his seat in Parliament, it will positively break his heart!”

Gabby was very pleased to find that Peter was endlessly kind to his mother, rubbing her hand and murmuring in her ear. Quill sat silently across from them, and after the third or fourth eruption of tears, Gabby could tell that he was becoming irritated. And yet…poor Lady Dewland. It was clear that she had never contemplated the idea of her husband being incapacitated, and the pain was almost too much for her.

Halfway through luncheon, Kitty clutched Peter’s wrist. “I cannot sit here for another moment,” she declared, her voice breaking. “All I can see is my Thurlow’s face, waiting for me to return.” She stood up. “I am delighted to have met you, Gabrielle. I trust we can have a long coze the moment Thurlow is back on his feet. Why, I shall likely be gone only a few days.”

Gabby murmured agreement, although it was abundantly clear to her that the viscount would be very lucky to speak again, let alone walk.

“You cannot return to Bath alone, Mama,” Peter said. Both men had leapt to their feet when Kitty stood up. “I shall accompany you and stay as long as you need me.”

“Oh, no, I could never allow that,” Kitty said in a distressed tone. “Why, dear Gabrielle would be most inconvenienced if you left at this moment!”

Peter and Gabby spoke at the same moment. “He must accompany you,” Gabby said earnestly. It was clear that Kitty and Peter shared a special relationship.

“I could not think of being away from you during this terrible ordeal,” Peter said.

“But your friends,” Kitty protested feebly. “They must think it very odd if your betrothed is in London and you are in Bath.”

“They certainly will not,” Peter said, with the utmost confidence of someone who knew that his sense of social protocol could never be questioned. “My place is by your side.” He pressed her hand.

Kitty smiled at him tremulously. “I shouldn’t. Oh, I shouldn’t.”

Only Quill frowned. “I am persuaded that Peter should be here with Gabby. After all, they are to be married, and she only just arrived from India. It does not sound as if Father is in immediate danger, and I can easily accompany you to Bath for a few days.”

Gabby shot him a look. “Lady Dewland, Peter must accompany you and stay as long as you need him,” she said warmly. “I insist. I will not allow Peter to stay here when he could be of so much comfort to you.” Obviously Peter would be much more of a consolation to his mother than Quill would be.

“At any rate,” Peter said, “Gabby is not prepared to enter society. We ordered a new wardrobe for her this morning, but Madame Carême estimates it will be over a month until she is able to deliver it. Given Lady Sylvia’s presence, no one can question the propriety of Gabby staying here in London.”

“In that case,” Kitty said with obvious relief, “perhaps I will accept your escort, Peter. Are you quite sure that you won’t be disappointed, Gabrielle dear? I am certain that Thurlow will be better in a matter of a week or so, and I should hate to injure our relationship in any way. I am
so
looking forward to having you as my daughter-in-law!”

Gabby leaned forward and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Peter is yours for as long as you need him, Lady Dewland.”

Kitty laid her hand against Gabby’s cheek for a moment. “We are lucky to have you, my dear. I can see that you will be a great comfort to me.” And that was the closest that the viscountess ever came to acknowledging that perhaps Thurlow would not be out of his bed in a week.

Gabby watched Lady Dewland and Peter set off in the traveling coach—after some eleven bags of Peter’s had been piled precariously on top—with just a touch of envy. It wasn’t that she resented Lady Dewland’s delight in Peter’s company, but she did slightly resent Peter’s delight in his mother’s company. In the past two days, he had never looked at her with such glowing attention.

Because you haven’t earned it, Gabby told herself. He loves his mother, and he will grow to love you.

Quill was standing sturdily on the pavement beside her. He took in the slight droop to Gabby’s lower lip in an instant.

“What would you like to do this afternoon?” he asked, amazing himself. He never took excursions in the middle of the day. He had far too much work to do. Even now he could feel a rising tension due to the stacks of reports awaiting him. But he disliked seeing Gabby look dimmed by his brother’s absence. At least she showed no sign of tears. Quill couldn’t abide women who cried all the time.

“I should like to take a little trip around London,” Gabby replied. “But you needn’t accompany me, Quill. I shall hire a hack. I believe that is the proper term?” Gabby had questioned Margaret about London conveyances earlier in the day.

“Out of the question,” Quill said. “I will take you wherever you wish to go.”

“In fact, I would prefer to take this particular trip by myself.”

“No.”

Gabby waited, but nothing more seemed to be forthcoming.

“As I said,” she repeated politely, “I would prefer to take a trip by myself. May I borrow your carriage?”

Quill sighed. “Gabby, a lady does not travel anywhere—ever—on her own. When you know your way around London, you may take the carriage on a brief shopping excursion or to make a call. But that is the extent of an English lady’s solitary travel.”

“Thank goodness I am not fully English,” Gabby replied amiably. “Perhaps it is my French side that makes me so certain that I shall safely spend an afternoon on my own. I would not wish to keep you from your work.”

Quill, who had just been remembering the papers awaiting his signature, instantly changed his mind. “I have no work scheduled for this afternoon. I will accompany you.”

Gabby had the sudden thought that perhaps Quill didn’t want to be alone, given the saddening news about his father. It was unfortunate that his mother showed such a clear preference for one son over the other! Likely Quill was feeling neglected.

She turned and walked back into the house, absentmindedly handing her cashmere shawl to Codswallop.

Quill swallowed. What kind of gown had Gabby obtained from Madame Carême? He had never seen such an enticing garment in his life. It looked like something a courtesan might wear. From the back it perfectly outlined the rounded curve of her bottom. A curve that was longing, begging, to be cupped in Quill’s hand.

And the bodice of the gown was even worse. The flimsy muslin seemed to have been molded to her chest.