Page 18

"You're up and out early today, Julian."

Startled that anyone was awake at this hour, Julian halted his footsteps and turned.

"Good morning, Grandfather," he said, keeping his voice steady.

His grandfather nodded in acknowledgment of the greeting but it was clear he did not wish to speak of trivialities.

"When I was a newlywed, they had to pry me away from my bride.

Yet you seem determined to be as far from yours as you can.

And the rest of the family as well. I find that rather curious. "

"I find the fact you are up and dressed so early rather curious, though I have the good manners not to mention it."

Undaunted, the older man tried another tack. "Laurel is quite lovely and engaging. Penny and I have enjoyed getting to know her. Yet you could not be bothered."

"You seem unusually interested in the state of my marriage. I was given to understand you required me to have a wife by your birthday. I have done so and brought her here as proof. I was not aware you expected me to share every detail of my marriage with you."

Lord Ebersole sighed and his countenance softened. "I am your grandfather. Your happiness means a great deal to me. From all appearances, you have married a young lady who is appealing and pleasant-mannered. I only wonder why you are not availing yourself of the pleasure of her company."

"We spent the last few hours in the same room, is that not availing myself of the pleasure of her company?" Julian hated to be misleading, but his grandfather was being particularly obstinate.

"It is not my place to interfere," his grandfather began.

"And yet, here you are," Julian interjected.

"My apologies," Lord Ebersole said. "I shall endeavor to mind my own business.

Good day." Julian watched as his grandfather turned and walked away, and it struck him that his grandfather had aged significantly in his absence.

His step was steady, but not as brisk as it had once been.

His hair, what remained, whiter. His shoulders more rounded.

Possibly worse was the air of disappointment which seemed to surround the older man.

I really am a monster, Julian thought, yet again. It seemed to be a familiar refrain in his mind.

Sitting astride his prize thoroughbred, Zeus, for a morning ride was usually one of the highlights of Julian's day. The quiet, the beauty of the countryside and seeing the sun come up over the horizon all calmed him.

But today his mind swirled. Additionally, his shoulders and hips hurt from sleeping on the blasted settee.

After arriving home well after supper last evening, he had eaten a plate of cold meat, bread and cheese then forced himself up the stairs to his bedchamber.

Never before had he dreaded entering his private sanctuary.

But never before had the room contained a bewitching woman with fiery hair and a mischievous glint in her eye.

His wife. By rights, he could have climbed into the bed and claimed what was his. Her virginal maidenhead.

The mere thought of her body beneath him sent his pulse racing. His hands stroking over her silky flesh, kissing her sweet pink lips. Her gentle hands caressing him in return.

But he did not deserve such things. He was a monster, inside and out. Forcing her to marry him. Oh, he knew they had agreed to a short-term alliance which suited both their purposes, but she was penniless, homeless and her reputation in tatters. She would have agreed to anything that night.

No gentleman worthy of the title would have gone through with the arrangement and bound her to him for a lifetime.

But a monster would. And did.

He had stood next to the bed watching her sleep.

Her hair was in one long thick plait, like a crimson-haired Rapunzel.

She had kicked off some of the covers. In the dim moonlight coming from the window, he could see the outline of her body through the filmy concoction she wore.

Was this another of her creations? Did she have any idea how seductive it was, with lace around the bodice and a pink ribbon bow which just begged to be tugged upon until it gave way, revealing the treasures beneath?

He remembered the way it felt when he had put his lips to the tender flesh of her throat. The urgent desire to draw her to him and pay homage to every inch of her lithe body which had rushed through him.

But she had rejected his advances. Her claim that this was a business arrangement was sensible. Certainly much more sensible than what was going through his mind.

However, he knew it for what it was; a polite excuse. A ladylike way to say, "Your touch repulses me. You are a monster."

He had thought he'd developed immunity to the stares and whispers and in many ways he had.

But he had come to believe he and Laurel had established a rapport during the brief time they'd known each other.

Between dispatching Lord Onslow at Hyde Park and their conversation during the ride to Hazelden, he felt a bond had formed.

A budding friendship, at the very least. She had not shown any revulsion to his wounds then.

She had, in fact, seemed eager to be friends.

Was it worse to think that his touch, regardless of his appearance, had caused her to reject him?

Yes.

And so, rather than climb into the bed and sleep with his arms around his bride, he went into his dressing area and slept on the settee. How he had managed to fall asleep at all, knowing what waited in his bed mere feet away, was a mystery.

"Woah!" he exclaimed, and Zeus stopped so quickly Julian nearly toppled over the horse's neck and onto the dewy morning grass.

He had not meant for the horse to stop, he had merely called out in surprise when a memory came to him.

He'd woken with a pillow beneath his head and a blanket tucked around his body.

Urging Zeus to continue their journey, Julian searched his mind for additional images and sensations. Laurel adjusting the pillow beneath his head. Her hand resting on his scarred cheek.

He'd thought it was a dream but now he was not so sure.

Perhaps she did not believe he was as much of a monster as he did.

Hideous.

It was the only word to accurately describe the samples which Mrs. Davenport had brought forward as suggestions for Penny’s new gown.

On a different person, possibly a dowager, they might be perfectly appropriate but Penny was a young lady in the bloom of youth. She ought to wear colors and styles which made her feel her best.

Laurel knew many believed fashion was silly and an unworthy pursuit for a woman of her standing and probably more so now that she was the Countess of Strathmore.

But to Laurel, it was not about showing off or drawing attention to oneself, but about the wearer of the garment feeling her best. To be comfortable and confident.

The gowns which Mrs. Davenport had provided for Penny were probably comfortable considering how loosely they fit. Laurel had done her best not to judge the poor girl's wardrobe but once the subject was brought up, it was as though she could see nothing but errors in Penny’s garments.

'Twas not the girl's fault. She was alone in the world save a gruff brother and a doting grandfather. Men who cared for her a great deal but had no ideas of fashions or the needs of a young lady.

Laurel had grown up with even less positive influences, but she'd always taken great comfort in pretty things and fashion magazines.

She had a natural flair for what would look best on a person.

If she'd been asked to explain it or write an instruction booklet for someone else to follow, it would have been impossible.

For Laurel, it was more instinctual than technical.

"Well, that is nice," she heard Penny say to Mrs. Davenport as she brought out a dingy orange fabric sample. If nothing else, Penny was exceedingly polite. But there was a polite way to tell Mrs. Davenport the color was odious and would wash out the rosy pink of Penny's cheeks.

"I wonder," Laurel ventured with a patient smile at the dressmaker, "if you have something in a lavender shade?"

"Lavender?" Mrs. Davenport appeared well and truly stunned by the suggestion.

"Yes, lavender," Laurel replied, firming her tone but keeping the smile on her face. Perhaps she was growing into her role as a countess more quickly than she would have expected, for after a brief pause, Mrs. Davenport scurried off to the back room of her shop.

Penny glanced up at Laurel. "Thank you," she whispered. "I did not wish to hurt her feelings but that color was atrocious. Even Julian would have been able to see that."

Then the girl’s eyes went wide and she clapped both hands over her mouth.

"Oh dear," she finally said after lowering her hands.

"I did not mean that the way it sounded.

It came out all wrong. What I meant is a man like Julian, who has not a whit of sense about style or fashion, not because he has only one eye. "

Penny's face flushed deep red. "Please do not think I am evil. I love my brother with all my heart and he is a good man. I would never mock him or anyone else who had an injury."

"Please do not be concerned," Laurel said, laying a hand on the girl's arm to calm her. "I never thought you meant anything other than that your brother is rather obtuse about many things relating to the fairer sex."

"Thank you," Penny said. "You are so understanding and I am ever so pleased to have you for a sister."

Before the guilt of Laurel’s deception could become too strong, Mrs. Davenport appeared from behind a curtain with a bolt of lavender fabric in the exact shade Laurel had in mind.

"It is perfect," she said when the proprietress set the bolt in front of them. Laurel peeled off a length from the bolt and draped it over Penny's shoulder while the girl looked into a mirror.

Even Mrs. Davenport could see the difference the correct color could make. "Well, I'll be," she muttered.

Laurel took a bit of glee from that. She had no desire to belittle the dressmaker. However, educating others to the importance of the correct color and style choices was a passion for Laurel and she hoped Mrs. Davenport would be more open to trying some new approaches to her creations.

Whatever progress had been made in the color selection was truly tested when Laurel brought out her sketch of a dress for Penny.

It was one she had envisioned weeks before and put down in her sketch pad and when Penny asked for her assistance, Laurel knew it would be just right.

Penny had been eager to see the drawing which Laurel had placed in her reticule before they set off that morning but Laurel had told her it was a surprise.

Considering the gasp which emanated from Penny when Laurel laid the paper out on the table for the three of them to discuss, her new sister-in-law was pleased.

Mrs. Davenport was not.

"Why, that is completely inappropriate for a girl such as Lady Penny," she said, then realized her blunder and looked to Laurel. "My apologies, Lady Ashford. 'Tis not my place to say."

"Lady Penny is no longer a little girl. She is nearly of age for a Season.

She will need an extensive wardrobe and I am certain she would rather have those dresses made here, by you, than by a London dressmaker.

Perhaps this will be a trial run for a whole new endeavor. If you are willing, of course."

Mrs. Davenport was not an unkind woman, nor was she foolish. Laurel could see her mentally calculating the profit from an entire wardrobe for a young lady's Season and she quickly had a change of heart.

"I am eager to get started," she replied with a smile.

"Wonderful," Laurel said.

Penny's eyes shone with excitement as Mrs. Davenport took her measurements and made some notes.

Laurel's own excitement was growing as well. She could not wait to see Penny in this new creation, and she watched with a careful eye as Mrs. Davenport took down the information she would need to make the dress.

The bell over the door jangled, indicating a new arrival. Since she did not know any of the locals, Laurel was not particularly interested in who might have entered the dressmaker's shop, but a decided change passed over Penny's face which drew Laurel's attention.

"Good morning, Your Grace, Lady Horsely," Mrs. Davenport said, halting her attentions to Penny in order to greet her customers. "I will be able to assist you in just one moment after I finish here."

Lady Horsely? Why was the name familiar? More importantly, why had Penny's happy expression turned sour? It could not be a coincidence.

And then she remembered. Was not Horsley the surname of the young lady who had broken Julian’s heart? But she had married another, so surely this Lady Horsely was not the same person. But, most likely a relative.

"My sister and I have an appointment, should not that take precedence?" the woman whom Mrs. Davenport had referred to as ‘Your Grace,’ said in a tone which indicated it was not really a question.

Mrs. Davenport appeared torn and Laurel felt a bit of pity for her. "Please, go ahead with your appointment," she said to the harried dressmaker. "I will finish with the measurements and write them down for you."

"Thank you, Lady Ashford," Mrs. Davenport said with a sigh of relief before turning to the newcomers.

Considering that Lady Horsely was the duchess’s sister, Laurel had to assume she was the woman who had once held her husband's affections. And then married a duke. Instinctively, Laurel rolled up the sketch for Penny's gown and returned it to her reticule.

"Lady Ashford?" the duchess said, finally bothering to notice Laurel and Penny.

"Oh my, is that you Lady Penny? Why I have not seen you .

.. " then her voice trailed off. Presumably she did not want to finish the sentence with "I have not seen you since I tossed your brother aside in his time of need. "

She moved determinedly in their direction. "Lady Penny, would you be so kind as to introduce me to your companion?"

Penny's face flushed and a sense of protectiveness for the younger lady filled Laurel, making her wish to give the duchess a good telling off, but she did not.

"I would hate to keep you from your appointment. You seemed to indicate it was of great importance," Penny said then turned her back on the duchess.

Laurel could not have been prouder.