Chapter Twenty-Three #2
“I pray one day to tell both how much I adore them,” Whitchurch declared.
“Once your daughter and I marry, you should prepare to be a part of Victoria’s life,” Benjamin assured. He would not recommend the man to Graham as a clergyman, but Benjamin would find Victoria’s father a position in London, perhaps as a tutor for divinity students.
“When will you marry?” Whitchurch asked.
“Victoria is set on mourning her sister for six months,” Benjamin explained.
“Mourning!” Whitchurch exclaimed. “I must mourn my daughter in a village which believes her to be a fallen woman.”
“Perhaps you do so privately. I do not imagine Lord Betts would approve,” Benjamin warned.
“Could Mr. Jonas have been Cassandra’s attacker?” Whitchurch asked the question he should have spoken hours earlier.
“We cannot say with confidence,” Benjamin warned, “and you should continue to be wary, but without young Betts’s announcement of Miss Cassandra’s passing, we would not have known where to look.”
On the day his lordship departed for Hampshire, Victoria had an unexpected visitor. “Pardon, Miss Whitchurch,” Mr. Patterson said, “Lady Orson awaits you in the main sitting room.”
“Me?” Victoria asked. “I was not expecting her.” She rose and ran her suddenly moist hands over her day dress to smooth out the wrinkles.
“Pardon me, ladies,” she said to the women sewing the current orders for Mr. Sustar.
“I should speak to her ladyship. Lady Orson is wife to Lord Thompson’s eldest brother. ” She nodded for Mr. Patterson to lead.
When she reached the sitting room, she said, “Forgive me, my lady. I did not mean to keep you waiting.” The woman turned, and Victoria thought she looked upon a goddess. No wonder Lord Orson had fallen in love with the lady: Lady Orson was absolutely stunning.
“It is my fault,” her ladyship declared.
“My darling Orson told me his brother Thompson wished his betrothed to be referred to a proper modiste, and I took it on myself to learn if you would be available today for measurements and the like. Now that Marksman is up and about, Lady Theodora is quite busy with the arrangements for their wedding next week and…”
“Yes, Lord Thompson spoke of returning for the wedding. He is in Hampshire speaking to my father regarding our engagement,” Victoria explained.
“Naturally,” her ladyship declared. “Lord Thompson is always the one for details. Anyway, I thought it would be a good idea to have Madame Emmeline fit you for Theodora’s wedding.”
Victoria blushed. “I had not planned to attend the wedding. My sister has recently passed, you see, and I would not wish to embarrass Lord Thompson.”
Lady Orson frowned. “I know it is not my place to say so, but my dear Orson will tell you such will not prevent my acting. Are you not fond of Lord Thompson?”
Though Victoria was often plain speaking, she was mildly shocked to hear a lady of the haut ton to be more so. “Lord Thompson is the best of men, and I am blessed to know him.”
“Good,” her ladyship declared. “Lord Thompson deserves happiness. As I understand it, his lordship plans to change the face of London, but to do so, he will require a strong woman to support his efforts. Such means you must step into his world, just as he has boldly entered yours.”
“I do not understand how a new dress for me will affect Lord Thompson’s future,” Victoria argued.
“Lord Marksman and Lady Theodora will marry on the 13th of August. As part of the family, Lord Thompson must attend. On his arm should be the woman he means to marry. Without her there, all of society will wonder at why he is ashamed of the woman to whom he has proposed. Though Lord Duncan has assisted in creating a story for your sister and the boy, Mr. Betts will still speak ‘his truth’ to those who will listen. A man who has ruined a woman does not endure the same style of ramifications that fall upon the lady’s shoulders.
Betts’s bragging will have fewer listeners if you arrive on Thompson’s arm to an important marriage between two of society’s most influential families. ”
“I never considered the invitation in those terms,” Victoria admitted.
“Moreover, Madame Emmeline is the most prestigious modiste in all of London. She only dresses the very best. She will dress you, as she has dressed all the women in Lord Duncan’s family.
Fetch your wrap. My carriage is waiting.
We will have Madame Emmeline take your measurements for immediate and future garments and you may choose from several styles that will flatter your figure and satisfy your modesty.
You will require a dress for the wedding, but such does not mean it must be frumpy or stern.
Something gray, perhaps, with a hint of blue to bring note to your eyes.
You will come to Duncan Place and dress for the wedding there where a whole staff will be available to do your hair properly and see you dressed so Lord Thompson never forgets the moment.
Your hair is a beautiful black and so wavy.
It will provide you with the necessary fullness to make you the envy of every woman in the church. ”
Benjamin had arrived home late Monday afternoon to discover an ecstatic Miss Whitchurch. “You shall not believe it, my lord,” she gasped as she related how Lady Orson had arrived at Macalhey House to escort Victoria to a modiste that Lady Emma favored.
He could not have offered an opinion, for he had known very little about how an expert modiste and a proper lady’s maid could take a woman with an extremely pleasant countenance and turn her into a “dark” goddess, but he was soon to learn the magic of addressing a woman’s figure properly.
On this most special of days, like his brothers, Benjamin had been waiting with Orson and Beaufort in the main foyer when Lady Emma made her appearance: Her ladyship paused at the top of the stairs for the full effect.
Benjamin heard the hitch in Richard’s breathing.
The lady was truly beautiful, but Lady Emma’s presence was not the one Benjamin sought.
Lady Emma was followed closely by Lady Annalise Dutton, Marksman’s sister.
The lady’s red locks were styled perfectly, and she looked nothing like the girl they had watched for months as part of Lord Honfleur’s household.
Yet, though Benjamin thought her pretty enough, he had not quite believed Graham’s observations that Beaufort affected the young woman until he heard Navan’s breath catch in a similar expression of affection as Richard had displayed moments earlier.
Then it was Benjamin’s turn. Miss Whitchurch’s hair, dark and wavy, was customarily styled in a tight knot on the back of her head, but Lady Emma’s personal maid had let the glory of the woman’s hair encircle her head to frame the perfection of her features.
The pale gray day dress, appropriate for her grieving, fit her figure like a glove.
Blue threads throughout the cloth kept it from appearing as simply a statement of grief and a respectful acknowledgement of the lady’s loss to a symbol, as well as her future place in his life as his countess.
Her blue eyes searched for his approval.
Benjamin gave it as a full smile claimed his lips. He met her on the steps to offer his arm. She was perfect. “Remind me to send Lady Orson flowers tomorrow. The woman is brilliant,” he whispered as he led “his” Victoria to his carriage.