Page 14 of The Broken Marchioness (Lords of Inconvenience #3)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

A llan looked away and released the rose, coughing to clear his throat.

Frederica felt a heat raging in her cheeks as she realized what she had been thinking about. Had it all been in her imagination, the idea of that kiss? Or had he truly been looking at her lips and considering the same thing?

“You can choose whatever roses you like,” he assured her. He stepped back, increasing the distance between them, then he returned, trying to hand her the basket once again. “I should… go.”

“Must you?” she asked, the words escaping her all at once.

“I think it best, yes.”

She felt numb as he handed her the basket and turned his back, walking away across the garden again.

Guilt raged though this time, it had nothing to do with her parents and nothing to do with her scandals either. All Frederica could think about was that she had driven Allan away.

Come back.

As if he had heard her words, he hesitated, turning back to look at her.

“I forgot to say…” He cleared his throat. “… tomorrow night, we have a ball to attend in town. Would you be willing to attend? It would be our first event as a married couple.”

Frederica blinked.

He may be there.

A horrid image of Lord Wetherington approaching her at the ball made her feel quite disgusted. Then she reasoned it could not be all bad. She would be there with Allan. He would be beside her, her hand on his arm. She would be safe.

After all that she had told him about what had passed with Lord Wetherington, she was comforted that if she told Allan they had to leave, he might listen to her and adhere to such a request.

“Of course.” She forced herself to smile. “But I…” She glanced down at the pink gown she was wearing. “I do not have many gowns to choose from.”

“Let me guess.” He had a smile of amusement on his face now. “Your dresses have mostly been picked by your mother, have they not?”

“How did you know that?”

“It takes no great leap of imagination to see your parents are fond of controlling you.” He shook his head.

“I’m not a bit of clay to mold to their wish.” She jerked her head a little higher, finding the mere idea abhorrent. Was that not why she had run away in the first place? To show to everyone that she would remain herself and not be changed by another?

“I’m glad to hear it,” he said, that smile growing wider still. “I had a little worry in the parlor today that you listened to everything they said.”

“Not everything. Only wise things.”

“You and I may disagree on the matter of wise things,” he said with a chuckle. “Fear not about your gowns. I stopped at a modiste in Covent Garden this morning. She is sending over a number of gowns for you.”

“Truly?” She stumbled forward in surprise.

“Yes. I told you that money is no object. You can keep the ones you wish and feel free to return any you do not like. I shall leave you to your peace now.” He inclined his head in a formal way and swept out of the garden.

Frederica stared after him in amazement, unsure which part she was more surprised by. Was it the gowns? The gift on top of the correspondence box he had already given her?

Or was it the fact that as he walked away, she was more certain than ever that he had glanced at her lips?

He was thinking of a kiss too. I’m sure of it.

* * *

Frederica couldn’t summon words as the boxes were delivered to her bedchamber.

“There are so many,” Lucy said in awe as she arranged the boxes into a stack by the bed.

“There are.” Frederica thanked the two manservants who had delivered the boxes. Once they were gone, Lucy hastily shut the door.

“What a gift!” Lucy cried gushingly. “The master hasn’t done this before.”

“I suppose he has had no wife before to do this for,” Frederica mused as she knelt before the modiste’s boxes, still amazed. “Is he always this generous?”

“Oh, yes, most certainly.” Lucy nodded eagerly. “When his sister, Lady Dorothy, lived in this house, he often bought her gifts. He’s a kind man indeed.”

Frederica couldn’t stop the smile spreading across her face. Could she really have been so fortunate as to find herself married to a man of such kindness and generosity?

It is a far cry from the marriage I could have had to Lord Wetherington.

“Ooh, will you open one, My Lady? My nerves cannot hold in all this excitement!” Lucy giggled and turned on the spot.

Frederica reached for the first box and lifted the lid. The gown seemed to shimmer in the morning light as it streamed through the windows. Pale blue dappled with white thread to look like snowflakes, it was almost incandescent.

“It’s beautiful,” Lucy said in awe.

“Indeed, it is.” Frederica stood and moved towards a mirror, holding the gown to her shoulders. “It doesn’t have too many ruffles or pleats. My mother would have probably insisted on both.”

Lucy giggled at the idea.

Frederica pressed the dress to her body and gazed into the mirror. The blue material complemented her eyes perfectly. Had that been on purpose? Had Allan paid enough attention to her to make such a choice?

“It is very beautiful indeed,” Lucy whispered.

Frederica put the dress down and reached for the other boxes. There were two other dresses already made and a note from the modiste who said that another two would be delivered the following week. In the bottom box, there were new shoes, too.

Frederica pulled them out of the box and put them on, surprised to see that they fit perfectly.

“He must have gotten my measurements from Dorothy,” she whispered. “How else would he know what size I was?” With the new shoes on, she returned to the mirror and held the gown up to herself.

“Will you wear that for the ball tonight, My Lady?” Lucy asked excitedly as she started to find places for all her new things.

“Yes, I will.” Frederica nodded. “I hope he likes it.”

“Ha! I rather think that Lord Padleigh was hoping you would like it, My Lady.”

Frederica jerked her head away, deep in thought at Lucy’s words.

“Of course, I like it.” It wasn’t just his choice now that had been so perfect, it was the effort he had gone to which meant so much to her. “Lucy, I think I shall go down to breakfast.”

“Excellent, My Lady. I believe Lord Padleigh is having breakfast now.”

Frederica laid down the gown and walked out of the room. With nervousness, she wrung her hands together repeatedly, but she kept on going, all the way to the breakfast room. As she stepped inside, she saw Allan was at the head of the table reading a newspaper as he ate. He was so startled to see her enter the room that he jerked his head toward her in a double-take.

“You are joining me?” he said, with something of a small smile playing on his lips.

“Yes. I think I will.” She tried to smile back as she moved to the chair beside him and sat down. “Thank you, My Lord.”

“Why are we back to this ‘My Lord’ nonsense?” he asked with a sigh, discarding the paper beside him. “Frederica, my name is Allan.” The way he looked at her quite captivated her. In that moment, she found it hard to even think about breaking the connection of their gazes. “Please, use my name and not my title. Then tell me why you are thanking me,” he added with an amused smile.

“The gifts… Allan,” she said pointedly. “The dresses, the shoes, the letter box. They’re all beautiful. It was a very kind thing for you to do.”

“Do they make you happy?” he asked. He seemed quite fixed on having an answer, not looking away from her.

“They have made me smile,” she tried to explain it best. She didn’t want to bring up Lord Wetherington at that moment. She had no wish to throw him into a happy conversation, even though her fear of him constantly burned at the back of her mind.

“That is all I wanted,” he said contentedly. “To see you smile. Now, let us talk of something else.” He folded up the newspaper, and with it, she saw an article he had been reading. It was about a new exhibition at Somerset House.

“You enjoy art?” she asked curiously, turning the paper to face her.

“I do. Do you wish to go to the exhibition?” he asked, to which she nodded. “Then I shall arrange for us to go. As long as they don’t have too many Caravaggio pieces this time. He’s too morbid.”

“Too morbid? How can you say that?” she asked with a laugh. “He’s a dramatic painter.”

“Is he? Or just miserable?”

“Allan!”

“You’ll have to continue to debate me on this matter if you expect me to change my mind, Frederica.”

“I’m happy to stay at this breakfast table for as long as it takes to convince you,” she said, leaning toward him across the table.

* * *

Allan offered his hand to Frederica and helped her down out of the carriage. He didn’t miss the tremble in her white gloved fingers, though she did her best to hide it. She also kept her head downturned, seeming to fuss with the pelisse that kept her gown hidden, rather than meeting anyone’s eye.

“What is wrong?” he whispered with worry as he escorted her up the path toward the house that awaited them. Their path was lined with burning torches. Guests, who had already arrived, were in front of them, being welcomed through a large set of glass doors which led straight from the garden into a ballroom.

“Wrong?” she asked, adopting a confused look.

“Frederica, no one will judge us here,” he said, hazarding a guess at what made her so nervous. “Remember,” he leaned toward her, whispering in her ear, “we are married now. There is no more room for scandal.”

To his surprise, he felt her hand grip his a little tighter. He swept it over the crook of his arm, placing his other hand over hers, determined to show her that she was completely safe with him.

They walked through the doors where they were greeted warmly by their hosts before they continued into the main ballroom. As the servants took Allan’s frock coat, he was distracted, his eyes sweeping over Frederica as her pelisse was taken.

She was wearing the blue gown he had purchased for her — the one that looked as if it had been dusted with snow.

“What is it?” she asked, clearly catching his look. She brushed an errant gloved hand down the skirt. “Is there something wrong?”

“Quite the contrary.” He took hold of her hand and threaded it through his arm again. “You look beautiful, Frederica.”

She blushed a pleasant shade of pink as they moved further into the room.

“Now, I expect you are eager to see Dorothy and Charlotte,” he said. After their enjoyable day when they had discussed their opinions on art — sometimes agreeing, other times amusingly disagreeing — he was keen to see her smile all evening. “No doubt you are also eager to avoid my company after you have been forced into it all day.”

“Ha! Is that what you believe? You think I am tired of you already?”

“I hope not,” he said in a deep tone. She blushed all the more.

Keep blushing like that, Freddie.

“I am not tired of you, but I will be happy to see my friends.” At that moment, she plainly saw them, for she waved eagerly across the room at Charlotte and Dorothy who were standing together, sharing a drink.

“They will be eager to hear about married life to me too. Just do me a favor,” Allan affected a wince. “I can well imagine you and Dorothy being in full flow as you share in all my faults.”

“Ooh, do not spoil the fun yet,” she said in jest. He laughed and took her hand, raising it to his lips. He kissed the back, keeping it brief, despite the fact he wished to linger for longer.

Ever since that moment in the rose garden, he had been imagining what it would be like to kiss Frederica, but he would not give into indulgence unless he was truly certain that she wished for it too.

“Enjoy your evening,” he urged.

“And you.” Her lips parted, as if she wished to say something more, then they closed, and she was gone, sweeping across the room toward her friends.

Allan watched her for some minutes, admiring the way she lit up and talked with keenness to her friends. She was animated and smiling persistently. In his attempt to distract himself from her, he went to share a drink with Stephen and Gerard.

“Are ye all right, Allan?” Gerard asked after some minutes of chatter. “Ye seem distracted.”

“I’m fine,” Allan insisted though at that moment, something curious had caught his attention.

Frederica no longer stood with Dorothy and Charlotte. Perhaps she was on her way back from collecting a new drink, for she had a crystal glass in her hands that now shook. Impeding her from reaching her friends was a gentleman whose face Allan could not see. He was so tall and formidable in build that he blocked out half of Allan’s view of Frederica.

“Curious,” Allan muttered to himself, for what he could see of Frederica was not good.

The hand clutching the crystal glass shook all the more. Her face had paled too.

“If you would excuse me.” Allan put down his own glass.

“Oh good,” Stephen said offhandedly to Gerard as Allan left. “His mind is all consumed with his new wife. It is a good sign, isn’t it?”

Allan didn’t have the time to rise to the bait of such a taunt. He had to see his wife at once.

As he halted just a couple of feet from his wife, he saw indeed that Frederica was ill at ease. She was as pale as ice and couldn’t meet the gaze of the man before her.

Allan looked at the man, recognizing him from events where they had been introduced in passing.

Lord Wetherington.

“Frederica?” Allan declared, moving to her side. “Shall we share that dance now? The one you promised me earlier?” he said, forcing the matter. He offered his hand to Frederica, but she didn’t take it right away.