Midnight Bride (50 page)

From the moment the butler announced Charles's name, no one was in doubt whether or not he would be received. "He has come. I knew he would." Her earlier anger with Charles for buying a commission forgotten,
Cecile
got up to look in the mirror above the mantel. "Is my dress all right? Is it too wrinkled? Does it make me look too young?"
Cecile
still had not forgiven her grandmother and Mrs.
Thompson for not agreeing to her plan.
Instead of the dashing gowns she had pictured herself
in,
they had chosen ones that revealed her youth.

Mrs. Westin looked at her granddaughter, pride in every line of her face. "You look fine, my dear," she said, nodding her head once again as she noted how well the simple white muslin with the golden brown
spencer
and bows became
Cecile.
Although she was not about to allow
Cecile
to be
thought fast, she had decided to allow her to try some
originai
color combinations. "Show Mr.
Beckworth
in," she said quietly when
Cecile
was once more in her seat. "Remember, my dear, that country manners are not appropriate for London. Mr.
Beckworth
is being kind enough to call. That does not mean that he will show the same partiality that he showed you in the country."

Cecile's blue eyes grew big, flashing with anger and a little dismay. To her relief Charles, though dressed in more formal clothing than he had worn in the country, was much the same. He bowed politely, taking her grandmother's hand and kissing it.
Cecile
privately admitted that had he done the same to hers, she might have swooned. Then he made his bow to her.

Taking a chair opposite to Cecile's, he smiled. Her heart raced. Charles, too, was having difficulty controlling his emotions. From the moment he had seen her, looking so much the young lady with her hair pulled high on her head and then tumbling into curls, his heart had been beating erratically. "I am pleased that you arrived in time for Mama's party tomorrow. Have your dances all been promised?" he asked as soon as he could.

"We only arrived last evening," Mrs. Westin explained. "I am certain
Cecile
has a few dances left." In truth, Mrs. Westin was not at all pleased that her granddaughter would be attending a ball before her own presentation. Had it not been for her husband's insistence that to miss the ball would be an insult to their
neighbors,
she would have refused the invitation. Mrs. Westin's dreams were filled with the horror of sitting with the chaperons and seeing her granddaughter ignored.

"May I have the first and the supper dance too?" Charles asked, knowing the limits he was allowed.

"Will you not have obligations to your family?" Mrs. Westin asked, filled with pride to think
Cecile
would open the ball with such a handsome young man. If his friends followed suit, Cecile's success would be assured. Having had only one child, Cecile's father, it was her first turn to play chaperon, and she was nervous.

Now that Charles had confirmed his dances
Cecile
saw no reason to worry. Self-assured, she assumed London would be as enjoyable as the country had been. "Please,
Grandmama
, say I may," she begged prettily. Her eyes never left Charles's face. The smile she wore was only for him.

"I assure you that I will not neglect my duties," he promised, wondering how soon it would be proper to speak to Cecile's grandfather. Then the thought of what was still unresolved returned. His smile slipped slightly.

With both young people longing to have a few minutes alone, to return to the carefree days of before Christmas, they made polite conversation. Finally it was time for Charles to make his goodbyes. He opened his mouth and to his surprise asked, "Did you bring your horse to town, Miss Westin?"

"Yes, Lady Dunstan urged my grandparents that it would be just the thing."

"May Miss Westin ride with me tomorrow about eleven?" he asked the older lady. "It is not a very fashionable time, but I think she would enjoy seeing the sights without the crush that happens later."

Mrs. Westin looked at her granddaughter sitting on the edge of her chair and then back to Charles, "I understand that riding in the park
with a groom behind is considered very ladylike today. Yes,
Cecile,
you may go."

"Thank you." Charles stood up.
"Until eleven tomorrow, then."

"Until tomorrow."

The door had hardly closed behind him when
Cecile
was on her feet, running to the window. "Do not be peeking out of that window," her grandmother said sternly, remembering her own youth. "It is very unladylike."

"Isn't he wonderful,
Grandmama
? I wonder if he will be wearing his
uniform?
"

The next day Charles was prompt. Wearing his uniform, he stood proudly.
Cecile
took his arm and then allowed him to throw her into the saddle. "Has your mare a skittish disposition, Miss Westin," he asked as they rode away.

"Never before."
Cecile,
looking radiant in a rose-brown riding habit, bent over and patted her horse's neck. Her blonde hair was pulled back under her brown velvet top hat to hang in curls down her back. She looked up and smiled. Charles felt warm in spite of the cold of the day.

When they reached the park, they cantered along, leaving the groom to follow. Although
Cecile
was interested in seeing everything from the cow being milked on the Park green to the beggars, her first interest was in Charles. "Quickly, tell me everything," she said, casting an eye over her shoulder to see where her groom was. Fortunately, he was more interested in the ladies who were selling their wares nearby than he was in watching his mistress.

Charles, in as few words as possible, gave her the basic story. "As you must realize,
Cecile,
I will not be able to approach your grandfather until the situation has been solved," he concluded.

She looked at him ready to dispute his remark, but something in his face held her quiet. Acting much more responsibly than Elizabeth or Dunstan would have believed possible, she said in a soft voice that the groom could not hear, "Do what you must, Charles. I will be here."

Only the knowledge that they were in public kept Charles from wrapping her in his arms and kissing her on the spot.
He flushed and nodded. Then he took her home.

Instead of a pleasant afternoon on horseback, Elizabeth was at
Ramsburg
House, supervising the placement of the giant urns of greenery that her stepmother had chosen to decorate the ballroom. The last one in place, she had walked into the morning room, ready to tell the ladies farewell for a few hours. The crisis she found there made her change her mind.
"Chicken patties, Louisa.
They have sent chicken patties," Lady
Ramsburg
was saying as she wrung her hands. "We shall be the
on-
dit
of the town. I will never use this caterer again. How could he have confused my order with that of the Lord Mayor?"

"He has sent someone to the Lord Mayor. His chef is probably as distraught as yours," Louisa said soothingly. "The chef and I have checked everything else. It is just as you ordered it." And very delicious, she added to herself. She and the chef had decided that someone must sample each item.

"Chicken patties instead of lobster!
What would people think of us?"

"Probably that you were setting a new style, lobster being what everyone else serves," Elizabeth said, knowing just how to appeal to Lady
Ramsburg's
vanity.

"True. Darlings, what would I do without both of you," her stepmother said, her composure restored. "Now, go home, Elizabeth. I will expect you at six. And you, Louisa, may retire to your room if you wish. I will cope," she said theatrically. Louisa and Elizabeth exchanged a smile and made their departures.

For Elizabeth, who had grown accustomed to very little time to herself, the afternoon stretched endlessly. The earl was visiting a friend, and Dunstan was somewhere in the government offices. After letting Miller wash her hair, Elizabeth drifted around her room, too restless to settle for long. The last few weeks had been so hectic that she and Dunstan had done nothing but dash from one engagement to another.

She threw herself on the chaise. When they had arrived in London, their suite had not contained one. To her surprise Dunstan had visited a furniture warehouse the next day and had one delivered. But she had been the only one to use it. She sighed, wishing that her husband were with her. Even if he did not love her, his arms were warm and his lips sent fire through her veins. She sighed again.

"Why the sigh, love?"
Dunstan asked, crossing from the door into his dressing room.

"Robert! I was wishing you were here," she said opening her arms to him. He sat down beside her, taking her in his arms.

"I have missed this," he admitted a few minutes later.

"You have been neglecting me shamefully," she said with an artistic pout.

"What time do we have to be at your stepmother's this evening?" he asked, taking a look at the
clock
that chimed five on the mantel. When she told him, he too sighed and released her. "I suppose Miller is on her way now?" he asked. She nodded. "I wish that the evening were over, and we could stay right here."

"No more than I.
All those names."
She sighed again. The scratch at the door brought their few moments together to an end. As Elizabeth dressed, she wondered if they would ever be completely alone. They were always surrounded by others. Miller held out garments of silk so fine that Elizabeth believed she could read a book through them. They felt cool against her warm skin. When she looked in the mirror, she gasped. The petticoat was concealed but did not hide her legs. Miller tied the last tie into place. Then she slipped the gown for the evening over Elizabeth's head. The undergarment was as fine as the petticoat, made of the softest silk that clung to Elizabeth's curves lovingly. Had she worn it alone as the
modiste
had told her she could, Elizabeth knew that she would have felt as though she were in public unclothed. And Dunstan would have forced her to return to her room and change her gown, she admitted as she took a long look at herself in the mirror.

The tunic followed. Also of silk but this time shot with gold so that when she moved, it caught the light, it was heavier. Banded about the neck, the high waistline, and the hem with a heavier gold design, it hung in graceful folds. Ribbons made of gold caught up her curls. Elizabeth had looked through her jewels earlier, hoping to find something that would finish the ensemble, but both she and Miller had agreed that nothing looked right. Finally she had chosen her diamond ear drops and a diamond clasp for her hair.