Chapter Eight
The next morning, Caroline received a note from Rockford telling her to meet him at Mrs. Maxwell’s.
She had no idea what a man such as he wanted at a modiste; perhaps he needed to purchase hair ribbons for his mother before leading Caroline down an unspooling path of ecstatic sin. Rather than ask Edmund to accompany her, Caroline hurried to see if Sybil was home, and if she wanted to join in an outing. As she was desperate for more information on Caroline’s fraternization with the earl, Sybil happily agreed.
“You’re certain Lord Rockford said Mrs. Maxwell’s?” Sybil asked.
“Read the note if you doubt me.” Caroline took it from her reticule and passed it over. They’d stopped just outside of the modiste’s shop on Oxford Street.
In truth, Caroline had been impatient since receiving the note this morning, urging to get here and see Rockford again.
That is, she wanted to see what mischief he’d decided upon this time. The man himself held no interest.
“I don’t see him.” Sybil peered in the window, glanced about the street.
“Then I’ll be the first to arrive and shall crow about my triumph.”
“Must you turn everything into a competition?” Sybil groaned as Caroline tugged her into the shop.
The bell tinkled over the door as the girls entered and exchanged pleasant hellos with several ladies. Lady Weatherford was looking over a few varieties of lace, and Mrs. Hampton was choosing between two colors of silk. Even though both ladies were kinder members of the ton , Caroline still felt anxious around them. They were both effortlessly elegant, the very images of what a society woman should be.
What Caroline could never become.
“Where the devil is he?” she whispered to Sybil.
“Try not to look put out.” Sybil spoke low, pretending to study a line of bonnets. “It’ll draw attention.”
“That’s one thing I’ll never understand about the ton . They spend all this money and effort on looking perfect and being seen, but they don’t wish to be noticed.”
“The world’s a mysterious place.” Sybil held up a swatch of dyed muslin. “Does this suit my complexion?”
“Miss Devereux?” a lady asked. She was an older woman dressed in fine, if slightly ostentatious, clothes. She beckoned to Caroline, wearing a wide smile. It was the kind of smile that suggested she was being well paid.
“Oh, bugger it. What’s that man done?” she hissed. Sybil only pushed her forward. “Mrs. Maxwell?” she said in a louder voice.
“Your gown is nearly ready, my dear. The payment is taken care of, and all we need do now is make a few little alterations.”
It did not take a genius to realize that Rockford had bought her this undoubtedly fashionable gown. The only true question was why the devil he’d done it, and what danger it might pose to Caroline.
Indeed, his little purchase was currently helping her in her quest to be noticed by the ton , and she doubted Rockford intended this to be a painless process.
She felt Lady Weatherford and Mrs. Hampton watching her with rapt interest. Nice women or not, they would talk about this, and Caroline hoped this was all not leading to some humiliating climax. Perhaps there was something wrong with the dress itself.
“I, uh, don’t recall ordering a gown,” she said.
Mrs. Maxwell tittered. “His Lordship did say it was to be a surprise. Come! Allow me to show you.”
Caroline was trying to sort out how to best maneuver through this when two girls from the back brought out a pile of shimmering cloth. As Caroline watched, they revealed the dress with a flourish.
Caroline had never been one to care overly much about dresses, but no one needed to explain to her that this was a most singular gown. She almost started laughing, because they had to be mad to bring this to her. She’d spill ink all over it, or fall into a pond; she wasn’t the sort who’d be able to wear this with the required grace.
The gown was of warm, pale lavender silk and embroidered along the hem and bodice with silver thread. Designs of leaves and wildflowers had been sewn with exquisite care. The neckline was daringly low, but Caroline knew it would set off her bosom in a marvelous fashion. The sleeves were almost Grecian, dainty cap sleeves with soft folds of extra silken fabric that floated about the arms.
It looked almost like something a goddess of the hunt would wear, dancing across the forest floor by moonlight. It was both beautiful and sensual, yet above all it suggested movement and freedom. It was everything Caroline had always wanted in a gown but never been able to articulate.
“Oh,” was all she said.
“It’s gorgeous,” Sybil breathed. She dared to stroke the fabric. “Caro, you’ll be astonishing.”
“I’m only surprised Lord Rockford didn’t come here himself to see my reaction to his…generosity.” Caroline tried to hang on to her wits.
“Well, His Lordship requested I give this to you when you came for your fitting, Miss.” The modiste appeared delighted as she handed over an envelope; she must have thought she was part of something out of a French novel, all secret assignations and scandalous embraces.
Caroline opened the envelope.
Miss Devereux,
Kindly allow Mrs. Maxwell to see to your alterations and wear this tonight. I shall pick you up at eight o’clock in my carriage. Don’t bother with a chaperone, I’ve sorted all that out.
Lord Rockford
She’d never known his equal. Not his equal in handsomeness, nor in ruthlessness, nor in surprise. The man was up to something, and it could be dangerous for her reputation. Until she was married, Caroline still needed to keep that bit of her spotless.
“Let me see.” Sybil helpfully took the paper and read. “He doesn’t say where you’re going.”
“Of course not. I might have a chance to prepare myself beforehand,” Caroline muttered.
“At least he’ll have a chaperone.”
“For all we know, it’ll be some kidnapper he’s paid off to dress in a cloak and bonnet and look like a harmless old maiden aunt. But then the minute we’re out of sight of home, the rogue will reveal himself and put a knife to my throat. They’ll have me at the docks within an hour, bound and gagged and placed on a ship for relocation to the Greek islands where no one will ever find me.”
Sybil blinked, then blinked again.
“I love you, Caro, but perhaps you should stop writing Gothic stories for a while.”
Well. Perhaps she had a point.
“Ah, Miss Devereux? Would you like to have the fitting now?” Mrs. Maxwell also looked somewhat unnerved by Caroline’s apocalyptic vision of a night out.
“Thank you,” she muttered, and allowed the girls to help her with the dress.
Caroline didn’t know how Rockford had guessed her measurements. Perhaps he’d paid special attention to her figure. That thought heated her cheeks and made her angry. She shouldn’t like this! The man was trying to throw her off balance. Even if he didn’t want to ship her to Greece, he had some kind of plot in mind.
Caroline considered what to do while the modiste and her assistants finished primping and adjusting every detail of the gown.
“There, Miss. You are indeed a beautiful sight.” Mrs. Maxwell beamed, hands clasped together as she admired her handiwork.
Caroline’s harsh thoughts vanished as she studied the woman standing before her in that mirror. She wasn’t looking at herself; now she was looking at her mother.
Perhaps it was the way the gown accentuated the line of her shoulders, or perhaps it was the way the pale lavender played with her own delicate coloring; regardless, Caroline looked regal. She looked like a calm and competent woman, the image of serenity and grace. It was so at odds with how she felt inside, a wild maelstrom of a human being, that she couldn’t help but gawk.
“You look beautiful.” Sybil squeaked, her hands to her mouth. “Caro, you’re a vision.”
“Th-thank you.” Caroline stepped off the stool and examined the way the gown moved. She regained a little of herself again with movement.
Her mother had always been still as a porcelain figure, unruffled even by the wind.
The silk gown floated on Caroline’s frame, and the movement caused the leaves and flower petals sewn into the skirt’s hem to ripple about.
She was both free and calm. She’d never seen a dress like it.
“Thank you. This is quite remarkable.” She could barely speak, she was so stunned.
“When His Lordship sees you, he’ll be gobsmacked,” the modiste said.
Yes . Caroline placed a hand upon her hip and smiled. The goddess in the mirror smiled as well, looking more than a little sly.
Lord Rockford expected her to fuss and fidget with the gown, to be so overwhelmed by his largesse and extravagant taste that she would be easy to manipulate. Caroline would show him how unlike herself she could be.
…
Gabriel looked out the window when the coach stopped before Devereux House.
He’d been looking forward to this evening ever since he’d decided upon the special “outing” he’d arranged for his young lady. And he had spent all afternoon picturing how Caroline would look in that cut of gown, salivating a bit at the thought.
“Now remember,” he said to the woman seated opposite him. “You’re my great-aunt Marjorie on my mother’s side.”
“Love, fer ten pound I’ll be yer Aunt Fanny an’ play with yer balls fer free.” The older prostitute beamed at him. Gabriel had gone to the brothel to proposition the madam, which had surprised her greatly. When he’d told her the part he needed her to play, she’d roared with laughter and agreed on the spot.
“Now remember, Aunt Marjorie is deaf. And mute.”
The woman shrugged. “Long as I get to keep these fancy duds, I’ll be quiet as you like.” Indeed, he’d provided her with a burgundy silk gown and matching pelisse. She was well disguised.
Gabriel got out of the coach and handed out his “aunt.” They entered Devereux House to find a delighted Baron Devereux awaiting them.
“Lord Rockford. Caro is just coming down. I must say, she looks exceptional tonight; your generosity at the modiste was noted this afternoon. Lady Rexbridge’s daughter mentioned it at tea.”
The old man was probably delighted that Gabriel’s lavish generosity was being talked about all through town.
Gabriel felt for Caroline; here she was struggling to keep her family afloat while her father just allowed her the privilege of taking care of him.
Gabriel introduced his (thankfully silent) Aunt Marjorie and smiled when he heard a delicate footfall on the stair. Would Caroline enter with timidity, or would she simply tumble down the last few steps? Would she be angry with him for making her a subject of gossip?
Comely as she would appear in the lavender, the magnificent gown must have unnerved her; he looked forward to her yelling at him in the coach.
“Good evening, Lord Rockford,” she said.
That voice could not belong to Caroline. It was far too soothing and low, and the woman dressed in his lavender gown couldn’t be her, either.
This woman was done up perfectly, not a strand of golden hair out of place. She was the picture of serenity and detached amusement, smiling upon him as though he were some humble supplicant who’d come to kneel at the goddess’s feet.
Gabriel forgot how to breathe or think.
He’d known she’d look beautiful in that gown, but even he couldn’t have anticipated how the fabric would caress the slight voluptuousness of her curves, or frame her admittedly generous bosom.
The animal in him was always present, and he could feel it clawing to get out. Being the gentleman had always bored him. Rogues lived fuller lives, enjoyed the wilder ecstasies of love. Those base instincts screamed inside him now. The sight of Caroline like this, some ethereal deity dressed in lavender silk, made him want to rip the gown to shreds and ravish her. Bring her down to earth, pinned beneath him and loving their exertions.
“Blimey,” ‘Aunt Marjorie’ said in appreciation.
Lord Devereux frowned. “I thought your great-aunt was mute?”
“It’s a miracle,” Gabriel muttered, then took Caroline’s hand and brought it to his lips. “You look lovely,” he whispered, then released her fingers.
“Thank you, my lord. Shall we?” Caroline took obvious enjoyment in his newly stupefied state.
She’d played him beautifully, he had to admit. That was the first and last point she’d score against him tonight. The venue Gabriel had chosen would overpower her girlish sensibilities.
He couldn’t bloody wait.