Chapter 15
“The women must have been sewing all day.” Padua looked down at her ensemble while Eva stood back to assess it.
The red overdress had been lengthened with a broad panel of lace.
The cream dress beneath it sported rows of lace, too, showing below.
Bits of lace had been cut and attached to the low neckline.
“It should do for dinner,” Eva said.
Padua thought it would do for a ball. It was the most beautiful dress she had ever worn.
She lifted the looking glass off her dressing table and stared at herself.
At Eva’s instructions, her maid had dressed her hair differently.
The curls did not appear disheveled the way they normally did, but instead piled artistically on her crown.
Her eyes looked very big, but she suspected that was because she could not quite believe what she saw.
Eva came over. Her hands rose. “You will wear these.” She attached an earbob to Padua’s right ear, then moved to do the same to the left.
Padua felt the bobs. Small red jewels, their weight swung merrily when she moved her head. “You are spoiling me, Eva.”
“I think you deserve a bit of spoiling. There are not many women who could even hope to bring Lord Ywain Hemingford to his knees. I confess I am enjoying the show.”
“He is hardly on his knees.”
“He has forgotten himself. Gareth is fascinated.”
“Probably because I am the least likely woman to cause his brother to behave out of the ordinary.”
“You do not give yourself enough credit. I know how that is. I was the least likely woman to attract Gareth. It took me months to realize that was the reason I did. He had grown jaded. In light of that, apparently I was actually interesting.”
Padua did not think it had been so simple. Gareth doted on Eva. His love for her showed in his eyes. He did not merely find her interesting.
“I must go and see to my own dress,” Eva said. “You look stunning, Padua. I cannot wait to see Ives’s reaction.”
After Eva left, Padua walked about to get used to the dress. She did not want to be stiff like a puppet. The raw silk of the underdress made elegant little swishes when she moved, but it fell like water around her legs.
She laughed at herself, and forced herself to sit at the writing desk in her bedchamber.
She opened one of the letters that had arrived.
Jennie wrote demanding to know where she had gone after sending the ambiguous note that she would leave Langley House and London for a few days.
She added that Mrs. Ludlow had hired a replacement to teach mathematics.
Jennie suspected the woman lacked the ability to complete even mid-level arithmetic ciphers.
Padua took no pleasure in reading that. It saddened her to know that if there were a student in the school who possessed the interest and ability to learn more, the opportunity would never be afforded her.
She lifted the other letter. This one came from Mr. Notley. Her reaction on reading it after breakfast had been confusing. It should have brought her joy. While it did, that emotion had been tempered with another. Even now as she read the few lines jotted by his clerk, a wistfulness claimed her.
He expected to have news soon about her father’s inheritance, he wrote. He would contact her through Langley House, as she had instructed. As for her father, he still refused to see Mr. Notley, so the lawyer’s hands remained tied.
He mentioned nothing about arranging that food be brought to the prison. Having taken on the charge, Mr. Notley did not find any need to reassure her he executed it. She did not doubt he did.
Time to go below soon. She sat, waiting. She faced the bed. Would Ives come here tonight? Probably so. They both knew their time was limited, even if they did not speak of it. A magical place, far away. A different world. Not her world. Not even his anymore.
* * *
“Who decided I wanted a proper dinner party?” Lance indicated his opinion of the decision with the way he pulled on his cravat’s wrapping fabric. He kept sticking a finger between it and his neck, as if the binding interfered with his breathing.
“Eva,” Gareth said.
“I do not know why servants immediately defer to a woman once one enters the house. I was not even consulted.”
“She commanded they not bother you with such minor things.”
“That is because she knew I would countermand her orders.”
Ives did not join in the bickering. He watched from the chair in which he lounged in the drawing room. Most of his mind dwelled on Padua, and their time on the hill during the afternoon.
“Stop complaining like a peevish boy,” Gareth said.
“You have grown too comfortable with living alone, Lance. It breeds a disdain for the least formality. The butler said that sometimes you forgo a proper dinner entirely, and call for bread and cheese. If we had dallied on the Continent, we would have found a barbarian when we finally returned.”
“I am not objecting to decent food. I am complaining about this damned cravat. It gave my valet unseemly pleasure to garrote me with it, and he objected adamantly when I wanted one less formal. He overdid the starch in this collar too. I will probably cut myself on it.”
Gareth looked to Ives for help. Ives shrugged.
“If you must know,” Gareth said. He hesitated.
“I must know,” Lance prompted.
“Eva wanted to have a proper dinner because she wanted Miss Belvoir to experience one in a duke’s home.
The woman is your guest. The least you can do is wear a starched collar, lest she think you believe her not worth the trouble.
You forget what your station means to others, and how visiting here carries certain expectations on the part of others. ”
Lance had nothing to say to that.
Ives roused himself. “That was very thoughtful of Eva. If a woman is a guest of a duke, she would like to live as she believes dukes do.”
“Eva is nothing if not insightful,” Lance said, defeated.
Gareth strolled over and sat near Ives. “The ladies should join us soon.”
“I expect so,” Ives said.
“You appear quite peaceful, Ives. Contented. It is good to see you without the scowl you so often wear when in Lance’s company.”
“That is because here at Merrywood, he cannot do the things that make me scowl.”
“Ah. I thought perhaps it was more than that.”
“Such as what?”
Gareth looked innocent. “The weather. The quiet. The country often brings relaxation. Contentment.”
“He does appear contented, doesn’t he?” Lance interjected. “You should come down more often, Ives. The country air seems to agree with you these days.”
“You only want me here so you will have someone to get into trouble with,” Ives said.
“As if I would be so lucky as to have you agree to that.”
Gareth’s attention had turned to the door. He cocked his head. “Ah, here they come.”
The slightest footsteps. The barest rustle. The two ladies appeared in the doorway.
Ives’s mouth went dry.
Padua had been transformed. She was always lovely, but—
He stood along with his brothers. Gareth sidled close. “Miss Belvoir looks exceptionally beautiful tonight, doesn’t she?”
Ives tore his gaze off Padua and turned it on Gareth, whose own gaze remained fixed on Ives’s face. “Yes.”
“The red really complements her color, I think,” Gareth mused. “Don’t you agree?”
He nodded.
Gareth leaned in closer. “You probably should try to close your mouth now. I don’t want Eva to enjoy herself too much at your expense.”
Ives finally noticed Eva. She smiled at him. Smugly. Then she spoke. “Let us all go into the dining room. We need not stand on ceremony for that. After all, we are family and intimate friends.” She looked right at Padua when she said the last part. Then right at Ives, before she led the way out.
* * *
“You looked especially lovely tonight.” Ives offered the compliment along with a kiss after the white light of release dissipated.
Padua had joined in more this time than in the past. Emboldened, she had taken his cock firmly in hand, and experimented with giving pleasure.
Her efforts had charmed him to a ridiculous degree.
“I felt lovely,” she said. “It was kind of Eva to deck me out like that.”
Not entirely kind. Eva’s motivations reflected her view of the affair. She thought he was taking advantage of Padua. She believed he was being a rake, much as her husband used to be.
“I think,” Padua murmured as she curved her body against his, “I have never felt so beautiful before in my entire life.”
Her admission touched him. Of course such things mattered to women, and what they wore affected their views of themselves. That Padua carried herself with confidence even when dressed in ugly gray did not mean she did not feel conspicuous in her lack of stylish dresses.
“You should have a new wardrobe, so you always feel that way,” he tried.
She did not reply to that. He cursed inwardly. It was a hell of a situation. He had bought wardrobes for women he barely cared for, but this woman would not permit it. I am not that kind of woman. Damnation.
She turned on her side and looked at him. “Surely you have had lovers whom you did not keep. I prefer this be like that. Did you buy wardrobes for the ladies in those affairs?”
It was his turn to withhold a reply.
“Oh,” she said. “You have never had an affair like that before, have you? Just a lover, not a mistress.”
He would regret this. He just knew it. “Such entanglements are full of complications.”
“What kind of complications?”
“Unspoken ones. Expectations. Obligations. Sensitive topics.”
“Such as the expectation that you marry, like you mentioned this afternoon?”
“In some situations, yes.” Or the expectation that there is love.
“Surely that does not apply when the woman is an adult.”
“If she is married, no. Widowed, no. Known to be worldly, no—”
“Worldly like your opera singers, you mean.”
“Different from them. Just independent minded. More like you, actually.”