Sari Robins - [Andersen Hall Orphanage] (10 page)

P
rescott tried to quell the sudden skip of his heartbeat. Whereas before, Edwina’s face had merely been one that drew a second glance, now he was finding it hard to tear his gaze from her.

Edwina raised a hand to her hair. “Don’t you like it?”

Chiding himself for not being more subtle about his reaction to her altered appearance, Prescott bowed. “I do like it. The style is becoming on you, Edwina.”

Instead of the tight chignon, piles of ebony curls carefully adorned her head, giving her oval face a sense of proportion, which, in balance with her nose and chin, added appealing character to her features. Her dark brows had been shaped to accentuate her luminous eyes.

All in all, the effect was…striking, like a rare bird that catches your gaze with a flash of color and then mesmerizes with its natural splendor.

But all was not natural with Edwina’s appearance. Prescott did not like the white powder covering her face, neck and shoulders. Nor did he favor the smudges of crimson delicately applied to her cheeks and mouth. To his eye, those changes were unnecessary and overdone, despite the artful application.

Edwina adjusted her sleeve. “The gown is very different from my usual attire. It takes some getting used to.”

“It’s perfect.” He meant it. The dress was alluring, giving a hint of the bounty beneath, without being bawdy. The elegant cut accentuated the graceful curve of her swanlike neck, the width of her moon-pale shoulders, the ripe swell of her breasts and the small waist that a man could hold between his hands. Moreover, the royal blue shade was the ideal accent to her lovely skin and the unadorned silk just begged for a man to skim his hands over it. In all innocence, of course.

“Mr. Prescott Devane, I presume,” came a singsong voice.

Tearing his gaze from Edwina, Prescott turned, noticing for the first time a lady in acquamarine. The woman had the studied grace of the great actresses who’d trod the boards, and with her flaming hair and crimson lips, there was only one person she could possibly be.

“Miss Figbottom, I presume.” He bowed. “Prescott Devane at your service.”

“My, oh, my, the stories haven’t told the whole tale about you, darling.” She was obviously a veteran in the art of flirtation. Gliding over to the bottle green chintz chaise, she sank down with a flourish of aquamarine ruffles, popped open her lacy black fan and languidly
swayed it before lush crimson lips. “If my attentions weren’t already engaged, I might just consider breaking my ‘no redhead’ rule.”

“His hair is not red,” Edwina murmured, fingering the lace of her sleeve. “It’s auburn.”

“Close enough,” Miss Figbottom clucked.

Prescott raised a hand to his heart. “I feel honored that you would even consider the possibility, Miss Figbottom.”

“Fanny, darling,” she corrected with a wide smile. “You must call me, Fanny. I’ve heard so much about you, I feel as if I already know you.”

Dr. Winner stepped into the parlor. “So good to see you again, Fanny, my dear.” Moving over to the chaise, he accepted the actress’s proffered hand and leaned over to plant a kiss. Straightening, he explained, “Sorry for the delay. Your man, Stanley, had sliced his hand in the kitchen and I wanted to check the dressing.”

The woman’s veil of coquetry fell away as she straightened and asked with obvious concern, “Is Stanley all right?”

“Oh, he’s fine,” Winner reassured, with a squeeze to her fingers. “It’s a nasty cut, but it should heal soon enough.”

Prescott noticed that the good doctor did not release Fanny’s hand straightaway.

Sighing, the former actress leaned back. “Thank you, Michael. I appreciate you seeing to him. And I insist that you allow me to pay for your services.”

“Very well,” Dr. Winner readily agreed, surprising Prescott. Then the doctor’s lips lifted into a smile. “Later I’ll have some of that fancy cognac you were telling me about.”

Fanny trailed her white-gloved hand across her powdered shoulder, leaving no doubt as to her intentions. “Oh that as well, darling.”

Prescott had to give the woman credit; Fanny Figbottom certainly knew how to work with the hand she’d been dealt. Moreover, her environment was set to display her attributes to greatest advantage. Everything in the room, the walls, the furnishings, down to the rug of emerald waters, was a variant of the color green almost as if an accessory to the actress’s attire.

Poor Dr. Winner didn’t stand a chance. And by the puppy-dog look on the doctor’s face, he didn’t seem to mind in the least.

All in all, the room, the aquamarine ruffles, the crimson lips…left Prescott feeling as if he were being worked upon, a sensation he did not favor. He preferred his women less…contrived.

Turning, he noticed that, in contrast to Fanny’s flamboyant display, Edwina seemed ill at ease. Her shoulders were set stiffly, her chin lifted as if preparing to receive a blow, her bare hands clenched before her so tightly her knuckles showed white. The rigid line of her lips did nothing to lessen the uncomfortable impression.

Tearing his attention from Fanny, Dr. Winner declared, “Why, I hardly recognized you, Lady Ross. You look beautiful!” Facing the actress once more, he added, “You’re a genius, Fanny!”

Fanny preened. “I’m merely the sculptor…”

“It’s unbelievable the difference!” Dr. Winner marveled. “Don’t you think, Prescott?”

“It’s an improvement.” Tilting his head as if considering, Prescott couldn’t help but tease, “Much needed, of course.”

Edwina glared and Prescott was glad to see some of the fire back in her eyes.

Just then, Stanley appeared in the doorway, leading two servants into the room.

“How are you, Stanley?” Fanny leaned forward, concerned.

The stout carrot-headed butler smiled at his mistress, giving one the sense that he and his employer had a less formal relationship than most. “I am well, thank you.” He nodded to the doctor. “Again, Dr. Winner, I’m much obliged to you.”

“It was nothing,” Dr. Winner dismissed. “Just keep it clean.”

“I will be sure that he does,” Fanny declared, with a henlike cluck.

Turning, Stanley directed as the servants set up the tea service.

Prescott strolled over to the hearth. A hearty fire flamed therein, adding a smoky aroma to the rose perfume scenting the air. Prescott assumed that it was Fanny’s fragrance as, for some inexplicable reason, he doubted that Edwina would wear such a heavy scent. Wondering if she still wore lily of the valley, he stepped closer and was gratified to know he was right.

“How do you fare, my lady?” Prescott murmured, seeing that Dr. Winner and Fanny were engrossed in conversation.

“Well, thank you.” She exhaled.

“You seem…ill at ease.”

Looking up at him, she gave him a wobbly smile. “I’m just, well, unused to”—her hand motioned to her hair—“all of this. It seems a bit much, don’t you think?”

Prescott had a rule when dealing with ladies; never say anything negative about a woman’s appearance, no matter how true. But for some reason, he found himself yearning to tell Edwina exactly what he thought. Still, that little rule had served him well. “The truth?”

Biting her lip, she nodded. “Please.”

“The gown is perfect, the hair quite becoming. But you don’t need the powder or face paints. And your brows are nice, albeit a bit thin for my tastes.”

She blinked. “You’re certainly quite forthcoming.”

Shrugging, he tilted his head. “You asked.”

“I suppose I did.” Edwina frowned. “Are you always this honest? For, if so, I would certainly do well to brace myself the next time I ask for your opinion.”

Prescott felt his lips lift, but before he could reply, Fanny intoned, “Let us enjoy the tea before it grows cold.”

The apple tarts were delicious, as was the tea. Top-rate; no reused tea leaves for Fanny Figbottom’s guests. Prescott wondered how successful her “presentation” business was, given that there did not seem to be a well-heeled sponsor in the wings. Prescott knew that Dr. Winner didn’t have the kind of blunt that a woman like Miss Figbottom usually required. Seeing how the two of them looked at each other, though, it was unlikely that finances entered into the equation.

Fanny, Dr. Winner and Prescott exchanged pleasantries, discussed the weather, gossip and the like, yet, all the while, Edwina remained silent. At most she gave a monosyllabic reply now and again. Had he insulted her with his frank assessment of her appearance? She hadn’t seemed as concerned with her appearance as most of his acquaintances. Had he misjudged her?

Fanny rose with a fanfare of aquamarine ruffles. “If you will excuse us a moment? I would like a word with Edwina, if you please.”

Quickly, the men jumped to stand. “Certainly.”

Edwina set her teacup on the table and rose.

Fanny’s gliding sway gripped Dr. Winner’s attention, while Edwina moved like an automaton, all gears and levers within a royal blue gown.

Once the ladies were gone, Dr. Winner seemed to recover. Walking over to the doorway, he peered outside. “I can’t see them. They must have turned the corner.” Dr. Winner paced to the hearth and back again. “You must do something about Lady Ross, Prescott.”

Prescott reclined into the green sofa. “What do you mean?”

“Something to make her less ill at ease. She can hardly project the image of lady in love if she can’t relax around you.”

Prescott scratched his forehead. “The lady obviously has no experience as an actress. Perhaps your Fanny can give her some tips?”

Winner’s cheeks reddened. “She’s not
my
Fanny…” He spun on his heel and paced back again.

“But she will be.”

Stopping midstep, Dr. Winner turned, his russet eyes bright. “You think?”

“Undoubtedly.”

A worried look entered Dr. Winner’s brown gaze. “But I’m not a rich man, Prescott…”

“The woman doesn’t seem to be in need of that kind of support. Moreover, she seems terribly interested in your attributes.”

Dr. Winner beamed like a school lad who’s just been
told he has the summer to play. “I’ll confess, I’ve been hoping…”

“Fanny is obviously enamored.” Prescott tilted his head. “Unlike Edwina…”

Winner’s lips sank into a frown. “You must fix this, Prescott. Even though it was an arranged marriage, Lady Ross came to feel quite deeply for her husband. During those last dark days for Sir Geoffrey, she refused to leave his bedside. She would not eat, she would not sleep. She was devoted to him and still evidences an ardent attachment seldom exhibited in young women these days.” Dr. Winner exhaled. “She’s a deep-feeling lady who clearly loved her husband so profoundly she refuses to even consider the possibility of remarrying. This ruse must be very difficult for her.”

“But not for me, the shallow
cicisbeo
that I am…”

Winner scowled. “Don’t be melodramatic, Prescott.”

Exhaling loudly, Prescott nodded. “I suppose something must be done…” A sweet idea flashed in his mind. “I will speak with her, see if there’s not something I can do.” He smiled. “No doubt inspiration will come to me.”

In the dormer down the hallway, Fanny rounded on her client. “I told you to remain cool with your fiancé, not act as if he has the plague!”

Edwina stared over Fanny’s head, out the window behind. Green leaves jostled against the yellow stained glass as if vying for a better view of the discussion. “Our relationship is just fine…”

“Do you want to keep your fiancé or not?”

“Of course.”

“For no man wants a lady wound tighter than a clock,
one who’s stiffer than a light post, as charming as a chill—”

“All right, I grasp your point.” Edwina stared down at her gown, trying to explain, “I suppose I don’t feel like…me in this attire. It all feels so…artificial.”

Fanny’s irritation was palpable. “It’s a façade, but you don’t change. That’s the beauty of it; you control how you’re perceived.”

“I would like to be judged on what’s here.” She pressed her hand over her heart, then to her temple. “Or here. Not by the shape of my brows. To be frank, I am the kind of woman who values those things more than appearances.”

Planting hands on hips, Fanny raised a brow. “And what ‘kind of woman’ do you think I am?”

Edwina blanched. “Wait, no…you can’t think that I meant…”

“Well, what did you mean then, Edwina? Because it all sounds like Holy Willy nonsense from where I’m standing.”

“I don’t know,” she moaned. “I don’t understand it myself, Fanny…”

Biting her crimson lip, Fanny’s eyes narrowed. Suddenly her eyes widened as if an idea burst upon her. “When was the last time the earth shook for you?”

Edwina blinked, uncomprehending.

“Oh, dear Lord in heaven.” Fanny raised her arms skyward in supplication. “You need Prescott Devane more than I thought.”

“What…what are you talking about?”

Lowering her arms, she grasped Edwina’s hand. “Let us hope that his reputation is more fact than tales.”

At that moment, Edwina felt as if Fanny was speak
ing in tongues. Her bewilderment must have shown on her face because Fanny explained, “What you need is a hot, salacious roll in the bedsheets until you and your fiancé have to peel your bodies apart.”

Edwina felt her cheeks heat as she peered around the hall hoping that no servants overheard. “Uh, Prescott and I agreed…uh, not to engage in such…activity until after we’re married.”

“Oh fiddle!” Fanny waved a hand. “You’re a widow, for heaven sakes!” She winked. “Where’s the harm in a bit of play before the bells chime?”

“Uh, I…well, we agreed.”

“But you need to loosen up if that’s going to happen,” Fanny went on as if Edwina hadn’t spoken. “Else he won’t believe you’re interested enough to be his betrothed.”

And neither would the rest of the world.
Edwina started. “Oh, dear…” Her voice trailed off as she realized the importance of Fanny’s expertise to make this ruse believable. She leaned forward. “What should I do?”

As Fanny scratched her chin, Edwina could almost see the wheels turning in her head. “Follow his lead. Sit near him whenever possible. Let him touch you. Be charming.”

Edwina gnawed her bottom lip. “I’m not very good at charming…”