A Scandalous Countess: A Novel of the Malloren World (17 page)

A short, portly man came in, looking exactly the part in an elaborately curled bagwig, face paint, and a cloud of perfume.

He bowed. “My lady, my lord, you honor my establishment! Jeffrey Pargeter, most humbly at your service. How may I assist you?”

Dracy saw Lady Maybury prepare to command and spoke first. “I need a suit suitable for a summer ball, sir. Alas, short notice makes it impossible to have something made.”

She put her oar in anyway. “Until recently, Lord Dracy was in the navy.”

“An honor to assist a hero, my lord,” said the unctuous Pargeter. “If you would come with me, sir, we can ascertain your measurements and discover what we have that might suit.”

Dracy went, certain that Georgia Maybury itched to come with him. He smiled. He had no objection to being managed by a lovely woman, but she needed to learn that she wouldn’t always be in command.

Chapter 10

G
eorgia frowned at the door. “I’m not sure why I’m here.”

“I’m not sure either, milady,” Jane said. “Lord Dracy seems well able to manage his affairs.”

“But he knows nothing of style and fashion.”

“Mr. Pargeter will advise him, milady.”

Georgia took a restless turn around the small room, then sat and picked up a magazine. “
The Lady’s Almanac
. I’m surprised it isn’t
The Gentleman’s Magazine
, or some such.”

“Would a gentleman accompany another here, milady?”

“And if he did, he’d be allowed to go with him into the innards of the place. There could at least be some goods on display. As it is, I’ll learn nothing. Sit down, Jane. What color do you think would suit Lord Dracy best?”

“Blue, milady,” Jane said, sitting neatly on a hard chair. “Not navy blue. A bit brighter, like his eyes.”

“Are his eyes bright blue?” Georgia asked, but she knew they were. “Perhaps it comes from looking at the sea.”

“Mostly the sea’s gray, milady.”

“You have no romance in your soul.”

“I’m only speaking the truth.”

“A
dangerous habit, that. What of his hair? He’ll need it to be curled and powdered.”

“Perhaps a wig, milady?”

“It is hard to imagine him sitting still for hours,” Georgia agreed. “A wig, then, but good wigs aren’t come upon in a moment.…”

“Milady, Lord Dracy’s not a doll for your dressing.”

Georgia looked at her maid in surprise. “Of course not. But I need him to feel at ease at the ball for the sake of Fancy Free. There can be nothing so awful as being inappropriately dressed.”

“There can be any number of more awful things, milady, and I don’t know how you’d know how being inappropriately dressed feels.”

“Jane, are you cross with me?”

Jane sighed. “No, milady, not cross. But you’re treating Lord Dracy as an amusement, and he’s not like your usual gentlemen. He’s…he’s been in the navy most of his life, living hard, fighting, killing even. You need to watch yourself.”

“You’re referring to that kiss,” Georgia said. “It was nothing.”

“If you say so, milady, but I don’t mean that.”

“You think him too rough for gentle company? Then I’ll polish him like a brass pot until Fancy Free is saved.”

“You won’t
change
him, milady.”

“I don’t want to! Lud, why are we talking this way? Yes, I used Lord Dracy as an excuse to come into Town, but what harm in that?”

“You might have raised some hopes.”

“He’d never be so foolish,” Georgia said, but didn’t entirely convince herself. “If you’re right, it’s unfortunate, but I’m sure he’ll soon see that he’s no candidate for my hand.”

“It’s to be hoped so, milady.”

“Don’t put on that dismal face. I’ll magic him into form for the ball, and guard and guide him on the night,
then with Fancy Free safe, I’ll wave him off to his muddy acres.”

Jane still had that look—the you’ll-come-to-grief-if-you-go-on-this-way-milady look.

“Perish it, there’s no reason for us both to kick our heels here. Your sister’s establishment is only a few streets away. Go there and enjoy some time together until I join you.”

“I can’t leave you unchaperoned, milady.”

“I don’t need a chaperone to walk a few Town streets. When Dracy’s business here is done, we’ll join you there.”

“Remember, milady, you must cause no new talk.”

“How could I in that time? Go, Jane!”

“I don’t think—”

“Go, or I shall become cross.”

Jane rose. “On your head be it,” she said, and left.

What on earth had she meant by that?

Alone, Georgia’s irritation slowly melted into liberation. Here she was, at liberty in Town. She could leave here now and go where she wished, do as she wished.…

She wouldn’t, for she needed respectability, but the possibility put her into a good humor. She picked up the magazine again to consider the latest styles. She’d chosen not to receive magazines at Herne, for they would have been depressing, so this was a treat.

She browsed, noting with relief that there’d been no revolutions in style in the past year, so her old gowns would not make her a laughingstock.

There were small style details, however, and some novel ways of trimming. She could have that style of point lace put on her blue instead of scalloped, but would that be shabby refurbishment?

She settled instead to ideas for new gowns. That saque embroidered with summer flowers was pretty, but what if some of the flowers were silk ones, attached as if scattered there. What if they were arranged in garlands?
Would a background of green lace in a leafy effect be too much?

A skirt gathered up into billows of lace was absurd, but if it were silk gauze embroidered with spangles it could be pretty. Even better in a color other than white. A soft brown with copper spangles?

She stored both ideas for when she was married again and could indulge.

She studied a plain blue villager dress. If the skirt was hitched up at the side, as if caught up for work…

The door opened, and Dracy returned followed by Pargeter and three employees, each holding up a suit of jacket, waistcoat, and breeches, hung together so that they lacked only the man inside.

“I thought it wise to seek your advice, Lady Maybury,” he said, perhaps drily.

Choosing diplomacy, Georgia asked, “Which does Mr. Pargeter recommend?”

“He refuses to give weight to any of the three but says all should fit after minor alterations.”

Georgia rose to inspect the offerings—a dark blue, a light blue, and a gray with embroidered flowers.

She took the lighter blue and passed it to Dracy. “Hold it in front of you, my lord.”

It was close to the color of his eyes, which really were a very fine blue, but she twitched a finger. “The gray.”

When he was holding the gray, she stepped back and considered. “I wouldn’t have predicted it, which is what makes fashion so interesting. Will it be recognized, Pargeter? I rather think that dark blue belonged to Lord Ashart.”

“You have a keen eye, milady. We’ve altered the trimmings—we’re most careful about such matters—but a true connoisseur of fashion notices these things. In the case of the gray, however, it has only been seen in Ireland. Never worn in Town, I assure you, and again, altered.”

Georgia nodded and turned back to Dracy. “You approve?”

“I’m in your hands. It’s of little interest to me.”

“Would you go on board ship improperly dressed?” she demanded.

He smiled. “You win that point.”

She nodded. “Complete your purchase, my lord, and we’ll move on to other matters.”

He went, leaving Georgia unsettled, though she wasn’t sure why. She remembered Jane’s vague warnings, but she couldn’t believe Dracy was a danger to her.

It must be the other thing Jane had said—that he was a military man. He’d fought battles, which must mean that he’d killed. He would have lived a hard life at times, which was probably why he was impatient with her. She couldn’t help the fact that she’d always lived comfortably, and she certainly didn’t wish it otherwise.

He was so different from other men she knew—from Dickon, Perry, Beaufort, and the rest. Men who’d been raised to elegance and style. He was also different from the rougher men, the sporting men like Shaldon and Vance. Their dangers were chosen.

That didn’t make Dracy a danger to her.

Not at all.

Certainly not during a walk to Mary Gifford’s house.

Having satisfied herself on that, she was able to greet him easily upon his return and leave the establishment without a qualm.

Perhaps he felt differently. As the door closed behind them, he asked, “What’s become of your maid, Lady Maybury?”

“I gave her leave to visit her sister nearby. Don’t fret. We’ll join her there forthwith. Do you need a wig, Dracy, or will you use a coiffeur?”

“I have a wig. Isn’t it unwise to be with me without a chaperone?”

“No.”

“
Then why are you pulling down your veil again?”

“Against dirt and dust. Are you saying that you are dangerous, my lord?

“In ways you can’t imagine,” he said.

He was trying to put her off balance, and she’d have no part of it. “In a naval sort of way, you mean. But we’re safely on land, aren’t we?”

On the street, with people around. Ridiculous to need the comfort of that. She dragged the conversation back into safer matters. “Your wig. Is it suitable?”

“I believe so. Should I have it powdered?”

“Most of the gentlemen will be white, and many of the ladies.”

“Including you?”

“I only powder when it’s essential. For court and such.”

“Wise, when your hair is such a glorious color.”

“Why, thank you, my lord.”

He smiled back, but said, “It can hardly be news to you. I’m not being courtly, am I? I apologize, though I do like plain speech. I wonder why white hair is so valued. After all, it’s a sign of age.”

Georgia was happy to switch to a triviality. “A question I’ve never asked! Now I think on it, I don’t know when the fashion started. I don’t believe they powdered back in the Restoration.”

“They wore those long, curly wigs. Too much hair to powder, perhaps?”

“Where fashion commands, nothing is impossible,” she stated. “The periwig did make men look romantic, though, even the most unlikely ones. There’s a portrait at Herne of my grandfather in jowly middle age, and he was a hard, harsh man by all accounts, but with that mass of curls, he could almost seduce me.”

“Until the wig came off,” he said.

“I think I’d decline the honor even before then.”

“Wise lady. We men are all hard and harsh beneath the lace and curls.”

“
My husband wasn’t.”

He halted. “My apologies…”

“No, no,” Georgia protested. “I didn’t mean it as a reproach. But Dickon was very sweet natured, very generous, gentle. That’s why it was so awful.…” She hurried on, taken unawares by a spurt of grief. “My apologies again,” she said, grateful that the veil hid tears.

“When did you last walk these streets?” he asked.

“Oh.” Georgia stopped again. “The day before. When my husband was still alive…” She swallowed and forced a brighter tone. “He would have enjoyed a visit to Pargeter’s. Simply for amusement’s sake, of course.”

“Of course. No secondhand clothing for him. He was a merry soul?”