Chapter Three #2
While her mother had been unable to concede defeat and accept that Margaret was all but on the shelf, her father had always said he would support her whether she married or not, for which she was eternally grateful.
Most young ladies did not have that luxury and had no choice but to find a husband, any husband, if they were to avoid the ignominy of becoming a governess or an elderly lady’s paid companion.
Fortunately, her father had assured her that would never be her fate.
She knew that both parents cared about her happiness; it was just unfortunate that her mother thought the only way a woman could be happy was to marry, to whom was an irrelevance, although a man with a title would of course be the preference.
Hence her reason for this subterfuge. But she doubted her honourable father would understand or accept the duplicitous scheme she had concocted with the Duke. So on this one occasion she would leave him in the dark as to her true intentions.
A decisive rap on the door interrupted her thoughts and announced the arrival of Gertrude. Her mother rushed across the room to open the door and whispered something to her lady’s maid.
‘Gertrude is going to help you with your undergarments while we wait for Molly,’ her mother announced, once again taking her seat. ‘As you said, you don’t want to be late for the ball.’
Margaret suspected that a concern about punctuality was not the reason for Gertrude’s presence but consented to her helping her out of her dress and stays.
When she turned her back so Gertrude could do up her corset, her mother’s plan became obvious.
Gertrude’s strong fingers pulled in the laces so tightly the air burst out of Margaret’s lungs.
‘I can’t breathe,’ she gasped out, as Gertrude’s fingers worked methodically up the crossed laces, pulling the corset even tighter, the whalebones digging into Margaret’s ribs. ‘Please, not so tight.’
Her plea fell on deaf ears. Gertrude gave the laces one last decisive tug, tied them at the top and turned her around to face her mother.
‘Perfect!’ her mother declared. ‘You’re quite the hourglass now.’
‘Mother, I will not…’ she panted out. ‘I can’t…’ But her cries were ignored as attention turned to Molly, arriving with the altered dress.
Before she had time to demand they release the constricting corset, the gown had been lowered over her head and the buttons up the back secured. Then all three women stood back to survey their work.
‘You have such a lovely figure, my dear,’ her mother declared. ‘Now that your days as a debutante are coming to an end you should show it off more.’
Margaret walked across the room to inspect herself in the full-length looking glass and could hardly recognise the woman who was staring back at her.
‘No, I can’t go out looking like this,’ she said, pulling at the top of her dress, only to have her hands swatted away by her mother.
‘If you must cover up that ample bosom, do it with your fluttering fan, so you can give the Duke sly hints of what will soon be his.’
Colour exploded onto Margaret’s cheeks and a strange tingling rushed through her body, while her heart hammered in her chest as if trying to escape.
The Duke was going to see her dressed like this.
He was going to think she was making all this effort for his benefit.
He was going to think she was taking this make-believe engagement seriously.
‘Oh, good, you don’t need rouge after all,’ her mother said.
‘Make sure you blush like that when in the company of the Duke and try to look suitably coy when you do so. And be a bit more flirtatious tonight than you usually are. Until you’ve got the Duke up the aisle there’s always a danger he’ll slip through your fingers. And no one wants that.’
Margeret drew in a deep settling breath, or at least she drew in a breath as deep as her restricting corset would allow.
The last thing she intended to do was be coy and flirtatious in front of a notorious rake.
When it came to women he hardly needed the encouragement, and she certainly did not want him thinking she would soon be his, or that her plunging neckline was some sort of enticement.
This was all starting to feel like a very big mistake.
The impulse to confess all was growing increasingly stronger.
She should admit the truth. Then she could hide away in her bedchamber and never see the Duke again, and certainly not dressed as if she was trying hard to keep his interest and not let him slip through her fingers, as her mother kept saying.
But there was no going back now. She’d got herself into this situation. Now she would just have to face this evening with as much composure and dignity as she could muster.
‘Right, let’s get this over and done with, shall we?’ Margaret picked up her gloves and fan while doing her best to ignore her still pounding heart, knotted stomach and burning skin.
‘Oh, don’t be so sour-faced, Margaret. This is the happiest day of your life. Well, your second happiest. The happiest will be your wedding day.’ Her mother sent her a coquettish look. ‘Not to mention your wedding night.’
No, do not mention the wedding night, Margaret wanted to entreat her mother.
Even though that event would never take place, she did not need to imagine what it would be like to be in the Duke’s bed.
If she was to have any hope of keeping her jittery nerves under control, she could not think about him in that manner.
Desperately trying to collect herself, she stood in the middle of the room, her feet seemingly incapable of moving, but just as Margaret was needing more time, her mother seemed to finally see the need to make haste.
‘Come on, my dear,’ she said, linking arms with her daughter. ‘I think we’ve kept your future husband waiting long enough.’ With that, she all but pulled Margaret out of the door, down the stairs and towards the ballroom, where they were announced by the footman.
All chatter fell silent, with only the sound of the chamber orchestra filling the air, and every head turned in their direction.
This was a new experience. Margaret usually entered unnoticed and immediately took her place in the corner with the other wallflowers, where she would be ignored all night.
And she wasn’t sure she liked this sudden attention.
The same could not be said for her mother, who was positively glowing with happiness.
She nodded regally to the staring guests and Margaret expected her to start twirling her hand in a wave reminiscent of visiting royalty.
While her mother thought she was witnessing everyone giving due acknowledgement to a future duchess, Margaret knew exactly what they were thinking.
They were wondering how a woman like her had managed to snag the most eligible man available, a man with a reputation as a rake, one it was assumed was unlikely to ever settle down with any woman and especially not an ageing wallflower.
The Duke walked across the room and bowed in front of them. ‘It appears an official announcement will not be necessary as news has already spread of our forthcoming nuptials.’
‘I only told Lady Chedmore and I swore her to secrecy,’ her mother said, beaming with happiness. ‘But she was obviously not to be trusted with such exciting news.’
For once Margaret was pleased to have a garrulous mother, because in the Duke’s presence she was feeling unaccountably shy.
What on earth was wrong with her? She was not shy.
She did not blush. She was never coy. What was next?
Was she going to become flirtatious and giggly as debutantes were expected to be?
‘Well, I believe we owe them a show,’ he said, bowing once more. ‘Will you do me the honour of this dance, Miss Whitmore?’
Margaret knew she had no option but to accept as good manners demanded it, and she should also make some effort to pretend this was a real courtship. But it would be easier to get her fizzing nerves under control if she did not have to touch the Duke.
He held out his hand, those smiling blue eyes staring into hers as she continued to hesitate. Then, as if measuring the heat of a burning stovetop, she tentatively placed her hand on his, grateful that gloves were protecting skin from skin.
With everyone in the room watching, including the footmen and maids, he led her into the middle of the dancefloor. Perhaps that was all this was. Her nervousness had nothing to do with the Duke. It was simply because she was not used to being the centre of attention.
This realisation did nothing to stop her heart from beating faster when he placed his hand on her waist. She was sure she could feel the warmth burning through her gown, corset and chemise and straight onto her skin. Cautiously, she placed her hand on his broad shoulder.
He was dressed in a black swallow-tailed coat and crisp white shirt and Margaret knew it was not possible to feel his muscles through his clothing, but for one moment she was sure their coiled strength rippled under her fingers.
They moved off in time to the music, swirling across the highly polished parquet floor.
He was a superb dancer. But given his reputation with women she would expect nothing less.
She also had to admit being swept around the room by him was far from unpleasant.
He was a much better partner than all of the men she had danced with over the last three Seasons.
They’d generally been clumsy oafs, either young men who were presumably practising with her before they moved on to court the young ladies who really interested them, or old men who took pity on the wallflower but were so past their prime they could do little more than shuffle along out of time to the music’s beat.