“That sounds wonderful,” Lily exclaimed. “I love having books read to me.”
“Me too,” Miss Chance said. “Well, that’s you done, Lady Lily.” She wound up her tape measure and closed the little book with Lily’s measurements in it. “You’ve lost a bit of weight, as I thought, but I’ll leave a good bit of seam in, in case you put it back on in the next few weeks. Now, don’t you fret, it will be ready in plenty of time. Now, what about nightclothes? Come through here and I’ll show you me honeymoon specials.”
She ushered Lily and the others through to another little room, an Aladdin’s cave of nightgowns and negligees in the softest, flimsiest silks and satins and gauzes, trimmed with lace and ribbons; they were the prettiest—and the most improper—garments Lily had ever seen.
“Oh, my, these are so beautiful,” she breathed. The thought of wearing one of these delicious nightgowns on her wedding night, and Edward’s eyes when he saw her in it, was at once exciting and nerve-racking.
“I wore one of Miss Chance’s beautiful nightgowns on my wedding night,” Emm said quietly. All three girls looked at her, and she blushed. “It was a wedding gift from one of my former pupils.” She stroked one of the silky nightgowns reminiscently, and the three girls exchanged glances and tried not to giggle.
“So how many will you want, Lady Lily?”
“Five,” said Emm. She caught Lily’s surprised look and said, “My own convenient marriage started with one of these lovely nightgowns. Let us give yours the best chance we can.”
“And wiv a gorgeous Chance nightgown, how can you lose?” Miss Chance finished with a grin.
• • •
Ned paused in front of the Bow Street office. He’d been going to hire a runner to track down Nixon. More than a week since he’d returned Lily to her family, and Cal still had no news of the swine.
Be damned to Cal’s stance that Lily was his own concern. Cal hadn’t seen the state of her when he’d found her on the road. Cal hadn’t seen Nixon give her a vicious backhander across the face. Cal hadn’t held her while she struggled against the filthy drug Nixon had forced down her throat.
As Lily’s betrothed, Ned now had the right to act on her behalf.
But on the very steps of the Bow Street office, he realized that a runner wasn’t the answer. If Nixon was apprehended by an officer of the law, the matter would have to go to court. Lily’s name would be splashed across the newspapers and the gossip would be worse than ever. She’d endured enough of that. He would act privately on the matter.
He turned away and headed to the Apocalypse Club, where former and current military officers gathered to relax. London was full of former soldiers with not enough to do. He’d surely be able to find some reliable men who would track down Nixon for a handsome fee.
And after they’d caught him? He’d work out what to do later.
As he passed through Covent Garden he noticed a man and a young woman beside a flower stall. The sweet fragrance of the flowers drifted to him, even over the general odor of London. As he watched, the man picked out a bunch of creamy little flowers and handed them to the girl. Blushing with pleasure, she raised the bouquet to her face and inhaled the fragrance. The man paid and the couple walked off, arm in arm, their happiness visible to the world.
A courting couple . . .
Ned watched them go, then continued on to the Apocalypse Club. From the minute he walked in, the comments started, half joking, from friends and acquaintances alike, all variations on the theme of him being caught in parson’s mousetrap. It was all meant in good humor, he was sure, but it irritated him, all the same.
The inference was that he had no choice, that he’d been trapped, forced into marriage, which, while it was true, was also rather insulting to his own independence. It was also, by implication, particularly unflattering to Lady Lily, though no one was foolish enough to mention her by name.
He endured the jokes and banter with apparent equanimity, conducted his business briskly, found the names and addresses of several men who’d be glad of a little paid employment and left the club in a bad mood.
It wasn’t the first time he’d been irritated by the jovial commiseration of his fellows; he was widely perceived as the victim in all this.
Which made Lily the villain. She was the one blamed, the one seen to benefit most by the marriage, the one who was trapping him.
The thought left a sour taste in his mouth. On impulse, he walked back to the Covent Garden flower seller and bought a posy of the same sweetly fragranced little flowers that the courting couple had bought. He had them tied with a blue ribbon and made arrangements for them to be delivered to Lily’s address with a brief note.
He needed to make a more public show of courting her. Then it wouldn’t look to the outside world quite like the scandal-forced arrangement it was. A man had his pride.
Passing Hatchards bookshop, he recalled how much Lily had enjoyed the book he’d read to her in the carriage. He went in and ordered a volume of poetry to be delivered to her as well. Girls liked poetry, and the bookseller assured him anything by Lord Byron would delight a young lady. He added a short note to go with it and was about to seal it when an idea occurred to him. He opened the note, scrawled a postscript, then sealed it shut.
He left the bookshop in a much happier frame of mind. The appearance of a courtship, that was what he needed.
•
