The Duchess Diaries: The Bridal Pleasures Series (28 page)

“Damn,” he said as a small carriage hurtled toward him, forcing him to jump onto the sidewalk. “Who the blazes drives like he owns the street?”

“Wynfield!” Devon shouted from the seat of his phaeton. “Would you like to go to the arcade for an hour? I am in need of a new hat.”

Gideon was about to refuse but then he shrugged. “Why not?” he muttered as he climbed up beside his future cousin-in-law. Devon had already done his worst—unless he ended up causing an accident with his reckless
driving.

“I should buy Charlotte a wedding present, anyway,” he said to himself.

“Don’t buy her another blasted diary.”

“I have something else in mind.”

He and Devon parted company as soon as they entered the emporium. Sir Godfrey noticed Gideon right away and abandoned another customer in the middle of a sale to attend him.

“Your Grace! Your Grace!” he cried, in the event that no one had noticed a peer of the realm in their midst. “How good it is to see you again this soon! What can I do to be of service?”

He stared down in embarrassment into the man’s expectant face. No wonder Kit had stolen Sir Godfrey’s intended for his own. The blundering fellow didn’t have a clue except when it came to business.

“Would Your Grace like to examine the hunting horn more closely? I have a knife that complements it.”

“I’m looking for a wedding present, sir. The weaponry will have to wait until our anniversary.”

Sir Godfrey’s eyes widened. “Oh, good one, Your Grace.”

Gideon nodded at a group of young ladies who had stopped to stare at him. “I would like a fan—”

“Ivory, gilt, or feather?”

“Is there a difference?”

“A difference?” Sir Godfrey shuddered. “I should say. We also carry tortoiseshell or mother-of-pearl—”

“It—”

“Silk or chicken skin?”

“Chicken skin? Definitely not.”

“A fan with a peephole to convey mood, or a mounting for the more modest?”

“I’ll be damned if I know. One of each, I suppose. I would like to surprise my betrothed before the wedding.”

Sir Godfrey flagged his assistant down with the fan he had removed from a counter display. “Please bring out every fan we have in the shop for His Grace.”

The assistant shook his head in apology. “You’re holding it.”

“What?” Sir Godfrey said, snapping the fan shut. “We had three dozen in here the day before yesterday.”

“Yes, sir. But yesterday a lady came in and bought up the whole lot.”

“Who was she?” Sir Godfrey asked.

“The head of that academy, sir. She had it put on her account.”

Sir Godfrey handed the fan to Gideon. “Bring me the account book.”

Gideon crossed his arms, tapping the fan in irritation. He caught Devon’s eye across the store, and before he knew it Devon was standing at his side.

“What do you want me to do?” Devon asked, turning his head to the side.

“What are you talking about?”

“Your distress signal.” Devon glanced down at Gideon’s hand. “You summoned me over with your fan.”

“I did no such thing—do you mean to tell me that
you
know how to converse with a fan?”

“For God’s sake, Gideon, there isn’t a gentleman in London who doesn’t know at least the rudimentary language of the flutter. It isn’t only a matter of seduction. It is about survival.”

The assistant reappeared with the heavy account book opened in his hands. Sir Godfrey stared at the names listed in the previous day’s column of sales.

“Lady Alice Clipstone,” he said, his lip curling in recollection. “That would be the owner of an academy that struggles to attain the reputation enjoyed by Your Grace’s fiancée. She has bought on credit again, I see.”

“Are you suggesting there is a rivalry between the two academies?” Gideon asked, motioning at the account with the fan.

“Oh, indeed. I would say, in fact, that you would not find more intense competition between the various fencing schools in town.”

Gideon considered this. He would mention it to Charlotte and to Sir Daniel.

“Thank you, Sir Godfrey. This has been an elucidating conversation. I would like to purchase the diary and silver inkstand that Miss Boscastle admired.”

“Yes, Your Grace. They will be delivered to—”

“The Marquess of Sedgecroft’s residence.”

“And a magnificent place it is, Your Grace.”

T
he duel was behind Gideon. The energetic schoolmistress whom Charlotte had hired as her replacement was ensconced at the academy. At last Charlotte felt free to indulge in joyful anticipation. It was impossible, actually, to feel anything but joy, with Jane and her female entourage celebrating this marriage as if it had not come about by unconventional circumstances.

Still, from a Boscastle perspective, all was well that ended in a walk to the altar. Everyone in the family knew that a genuine romance followed no proper rules at all. But somehow all the ingredients—a dose of passion, a sprinkling of secrets, a measure of honor, and two hearts drawn together by an intangible force—combined to make a union that would not only survive but thrive over the course of time.

Charlotte had given up hope that her diary would be returned. The only consolation was that none of her writings had shown up in the scandal sheets. Gideon had
mentioned Sir Godfrey’s remark about Lady Clipstone’s rivalry. Charlotte explained that it had something to do with her cousin Emma, but she didn’t know what, and besides, she had more urgent matters on her mind.

Her wedding dress had finally been finished by a dedicated corps of seamstresses whose needles had flown and stitched morning and night to create magic. Now all that she needed were her corset, chemise, and a few traveling essentials. Jane’s Italian shoemaker had fashioned the most perfect wedding shoes in the world—burgundy leather adorned with diamond-studded buckles that glittered like stars.

Jane was also taking her to the controversial dressmaker this afternoon. Madame Devine had a talent for designing attire that drove men so wild they willingly drained their pockets.

Charlotte was amazed at the bystanders milling about the Georgian-style brown-brick shop. “What are all those gentlemen waiting for?” she asked Jane.

“They’re hoping for a glimpse of the customers, many of whom are Cyprians and courtesans.”

“Then what are we doing here?”

Jane stepped out of the carriage, lifting her head at the low whistles that followed her to the door.

When Charlotte hurried to join her and a chorus of cheers went up, Jane laughed and pulled her into the care of the two footmen who escorted customers into the shop.

“I was mortified the first time Grayson brought me here,” Jane whispered as they climbed the stairs to the fitting rooms. “Really, Madame creates her fashions for one purpose only—for the pleasure of a gentleman to remove.”

To Charlotte’s surprise Madame Devine already had
a corset selected, ivory silk with steel underpinnings that pushed up Charlotte’s breasts, nipped in her waist, and emphasized the flare of her hips. Charlotte felt as if she were fitted up more for a medieval joust than a marriage, but the result was so provocative it seemed certain Gideon would liberate her from the contraption before long. Miss Peppertree would approve.

“The duke will be delighted,” Madame Devine announced when the fitting, exhausting for everyone, finally came to an end.

An auburn-haired woman in a leghorn bonnet and a striped scarlet-and-gold silk dress stepped forth from a dressing screen.

“Audrey,” Jane said warmly. “Have you met Miss Boscastle?”

“I haven’t had the honor.” She lowered her voice. “But I’m happy to admit that I have not seen His Grace since the news of your engagement broke.”

Charlotte smiled, knowing that her family considered Mrs. Watson a friend. “I hope you never see him at your house again,” she said honestly.

Audrey took in Charlotte’s face and figure. “I’ve a feeling he will not return.”

Charlotte would make him sorry if he did, especially since she was ordering evening dresses and gauze night rails that only a courtesan would wear. She might not have convinced him not to forgo the duel. But she was determined to keep practicing her ways of persuasion. After all, she studied for years to be a lady. She didn’t expect to put less effort into becoming a wife.

“Mrs. Watson,” she said, glancing around to make sure no one could hear them, “I am grateful for the information that Jane passed to me from you.”

“Oh, good. I hope you’ll put it to use.”

Charlotte smiled. “I already have.”

Millie woke up screaming the moment that Nick put his hands to her throat. He leaned back, clapping his hands over his ears, and muttered, “Oh, my God, not you, too,” and fell back onto the pallet.

She stared down into the bodice of the dress she hadn’t bothered to remove for bed. “What are you trying to do to me, Nick Rydell? I ’ad a bad enough time of it last night. Don’t you see these bruises—”

“Look at it.” He sat up and fished the ornate sapphire necklace out of her cleavage. “I was trying to clasp it on you. I saw the bruises. Gimme his name and I’ll take care of the sod tonight. Can’t you find a better class of clientele?”

She stared at him suspiciously. “ ’Ow much gin did you drink?”

“None.”

“What are we gonna do for money if I keep this thing?”

He reached behind him for his trousers. “I didn’t say you could keep it. I only wanted to see what it looked like on you.”

“You woke me up for that?” She thumped back onto her pillow, her arm covering her face.

He pulled her arm down from her face. “Don’t let no one else see it. I’ll be back.”

She studied him in curiosity. “You’re gettin’ rid of that book?”

“Yeah.”

“Thank God. It was unnatural to see you readin’ every night.”

“Well, it’s over.” He went to the door. “Don’t go to work tonight. I’m taking you to Vauxhall.”

“I don’t ’ave a clean frock.”

“I’ll find one.” His gaze strayed to the bruises on her neck. “Go to sleep. You look…I don’t know.”

“Hey.” She sat up again, grasping the necklace in her hand. “I forgot to tell you. Your old friend Sir Daniel was lookin’ for you last night. I told ’im you was dead.”

“Good girl.”

“Threatened to ’ave me carted off if ’e saw me on the corner again.”

“Time to rest up then.”

“Rest?” She sank down again. “You shouldn’t read, Nick. I think that book made you go off upstairs.”

He hesitated. He almost asked her whether what Barney had said was true. Maybe he didn’t want to know yet. But he did know that he couldn’t afford to sit about another day losing himself in a damn diary. Millie was right. It was unnatural. Ever since he’d started to read the thing, he’d slipped from his game. He wanted to be rid of it. He wanted his wrath back because without it someone harder would take his place on the streets.

C
harlotte looked at the bridal gown that hung from the wardrobe door. It was so beautifully made that she had fallen asleep last night staring at it. She could not wait to wear it for Gideon tomorrow at the wedding. And then, later that evening, to let him release her from the layers of figured silk and frothy lace.

She touched the skirt like a talisman as she passed the wardrobe to enter the dressing closet. She had just heard one of the maids come in through the adjoining door, presumably to tidy the chaos that Chloe and Jane had created, bringing various shades of stockings to match the vibrant pink of the gown.

She pushed open the door, a smile on her lips that vanished as soon as she saw a strange man sifting through the jewels on the chest of drawers. He spun around to face her.

She gasped in recognition. “You. You’re the one I saw at the window.”

He clasped his hands together. “Please don’t scream again. I’m not gonna ’urt a hair on your lovely ’ead. Just listen. I’m beggin’ you. Do you understand?”

She nodded, her heart beating erratically in her throat. “What do you want?”

“I brought you back your diary. Look. On the desk behind you. There it is. Not a page missing.”

Her eyes lifted in disbelief. “
You
took my diary? You were the face in the window. But why? I don’t know you. Who are you? What could have possessed you?”

“You ’ave a rival. She paid me to do a job, but I don’t like ’er. I like you.”

Charlotte closed her eyes for a moment, gathering her wits. “You shouldn’t like me. I have caused more trouble than you can believe.”

He laughed. “Me, too. I never knew a lady had thoughts like you. I never looked at love like you do, if you know what I mean. All these things men and women do together, well, you made ’em sound pretty.”

“No.” She felt a lightness spreading through her. “Yes, I do know, actually. And you’re not going to do anything horrible to me? I’m about to be married to the duke of my dreams, and even though he doesn’t love me, I have loved him since the day I first saw him.”

“The duke’s a fortunate man.”

“He won’t be if he finds me dead.”

“Dead? Oh, love, you don’t understand. All I want is a dress and a token of your esteem given without a fuss.”

“A token? What sort of token? Wait, don’t answer that. Did you just say that a
lady
paid you to steal the diary?”

“That’s right. I can’t give you ’er name. But I started to read it, and I was moved by your passionate confessions.”

Charlotte sensed he was omitting a crucial part of this story, but as long as he gave her the diary and didn’t hurt her, she would play along and make sense of it later. “You…were
moved?
” She lowered the fan she had covertly pulled from a half-closed drawer to protect herself if he laid a hand on her. “You mean someone paid you to steal my diary and you’re returning it because—”

“Yeah. I’m losin’ money on this transaction. If anybody on the street ’ears what I’ve done, I’ll be laughed out of St. Giles.”

She forced herself to look deeper than his scarred face and long hair and mouse gray coat. If he washed up, combed his hair, and put on a suit that fit, he could be presentable. He— Her thoughts froze. In the doorway that led into another bedroom was the new chambermaid who had passed Weed’s inspection. Their eyes met. She willed the girl to keep hidden.