Page 131 of Lessons for Marquesses
“Of course. You will appear every inch the lady.”
All Nicholas had done was not for a property but for the loss of his brother and himself, even Caroline. After Charlotte and Oliver swore themselves to secrecy, Georgiana confessed herknowledge. Her cousin promised to arrange an audience with His Majesty on his daughters’ lives.
CHAPTER FIFTY
St. James, London
Charlotte stood asidewith a maid as a man dressed Georgiana’s hair. A lady’s maid was not to be trusted with court hair, and Monsieur was having a time of it. First, it was red, which was the least desirable color on God’s earth. And, of course, there was little of it. He resorted to curling, twisting, and pinning the front in a row called atête de mouton. The rest was combed over wool pads, and on top of that, false braids were wrapped at the back of her head. At her nape, he curled a few locks and then powdered it all in brown.
White powder would have made it pink, which Monsieur claimed to befantastiquefor a ball but not the English King. And so it was a dark red and pronouncedmagnifique.
“What if I perspire?” she asked. “I’ll have brown streaks running down my back.”
Monsieur drew a hand to his jabot in horror. “Perspire?”
Charlotte ordered Georgiana not to perspire.
Laced into stays, her breasts made a shocking appearance. Georgiana averted her gaze, but she could see her breasts below her chin no matter where she looked.
“How lovely,” Charlotte murmured at her décolletage.
Georgiana was boxed in with wide panniers that might preclude her from walking straight through a door. With the petticoat tied, the blush gown with frothy silver trim was secured at her shoulders, then fanned and split over the petticoat. The latter matched the silver-and-tourmaline-embroidered stomacher.
The trembling on her insides had spread to her fingers, and if fear followed its usual course, soon she would need a chair because her legs would be useless.
She could hardly take a breath in the stays. Her sleeves threatened to cut the circulation from her arms. There was an extreme excess of lace hanging at her forearms. And her breasts were staring at her.
Everyone would be staring at her. She had already conceded to this approaching reality.
Charlotte latched a triple strand of pearls at her neck, snug enough to be a noose, with a diamond teardrop aiming straight for her breasts. She added matching earbobs and twin diamond bracelets.
Charlotte planted Georgiana’s right hand at the center of her waist, regarding her with a tilt of her head. “I do believe the ruby ring is the perfect accompaniment.”
Tears pooled warm in Georgiana’s eyes.
Charlotte fluffed her silver-trimmed sleeves. “Stop crying, dear. You will ruin the effect.”
“Yes, ma’am,” she whispered.
After tucking a lace handkerchief into Georgiana’s sleeve, Charlotte ordered her into silver silk shoes and faced her toward the mirror.
“Look. You are beautiful.”
I am beautiful, Nicholas had ordered her to recite. A tear escaped down her cheek. After a brief glimpse of a very tall, pale, very frothy and sparkling Kitty-sort, she said, “I will take your word for it.”
Oliver, however, must have seen what Charlotte had, his tapping foot freezing at the bottom of his stairs when she appeared at the top. He went agog in his court dress of silk green and cream, the most luxurious she’d ever seen him in. He dropped his watch. Thankfully, it was secured by a fob.
“Bloody hell,” he murmured before meeting her halfway up the stairs. He offered his arm and escorted her the rest of the way when she feared she would fall headfirst.
Charlotte slipped a fan about Georgiana’s wrist before she stepped through the front door, where sunlight glittered over her gown. With Oliver sitting a worried watch amongst her voluminous skirts, she tried to keep herself together through the ride to St. James Palace.
The double doors opened, doors with a soaring gilt pediment, wide enough to fit two sets of panniers. They were attended by red-and-gold liveried footmen who were like St. Peter’s gatekeepers but grander, more polished, moreroyal.
Oliver took a step on Georgiana’s left, drawing her into the presence room by her arm, which she couldn’t feel because she couldn’t feel anything but a million eyes upon her.Here, they said, jabbing at her chest. Orhere, they said, stabbing at the silver ribbons in her hair. And her mouth that ate sausages and her skirts that hid murderous thighs.Here, here, here.
Finally she felt something besides the stares. A flush swept from beneath her bodice, crawled up her powdered head, and blanketed her face.
“We’ve got to walk,” Oliver whispered.
