Page 16 of The Lady’s Guide to Deception and Desire
It was refreshing to discover that the man she needed to woo was capable of adoration and unafraid for others to see it. Although that thought also gave her pause. Could she marry a man who would likely remain devoted to his first bride?
On her own side, she’d settle for respecting and admiring her husband. Her own heart would be safer left undisturbed. As an observer of her parents’ marriage, she’d learnt that lesson.
Bessie was right about the dress though.
A charming froth of rose-coloured tulle, it was softly feminine, its neckline sweeping the outer curve of her shoulders, while diaphanous chiffon swagged her upper arms. A dress made for debutantes, whose minds were expected to be as insubstantial as the layers of gauzy, gossamer silk.
A dress her father had paid for, shipped to New York by the House of Worth.
Some small adjustment had been needed to fit her waist, which had narrowed in the interval between taking measurements and the gown arriving. Not that she’d wished to lose any inches. She’d been quite slim enough for fashion.
Somehow, her appetite had faded, listening to her mother and father’s raised voices. For a time, they’d argued only in hushed tones, but those arguments had begun occurring more often. Desultory remarks had transformed to outright criticism. Some mornings, her mother had borne evidence of the application of a fist.
Rosamund hoped that whomever she married would be even-tempered.
It was such a gamble. One only knew of a man what he chose to show. When her mother had married her father, she’d had no inkling, Rosamund was sure, of how things would turn out.
As if summoned by those thoughts, the connecting door opened, revealing Mrs. Burnell in an evening gown of purple taffeta.
“Oh yes!” her mother clapped her hands. “You’re looking radiant, sweet-pea—although you really shouldn’t be holding this creature.”
She took Pom Pom from Rosamund and deposited him on the floor. “You’ll end up covered in dog hair.”
From the little jewellery box on the dressing table, Bessie selected Rosamund’s pearls. “These ones, Madam?”
Of course, they were entirely the right choice but Mrs. Burnell jumped in before Rosamund could respond. “Not those; the rubies.”
Eagerly, her mother opened the lid on the leather box that held them. She took the dazzling pendant from its resting place on a bed of velvet and held it up: one large teardrop hanging from a circlet of smaller crimson stones.
“You can go now.” She smiled benignly at Bessie and lowered the necklace to Rosamund’s neck.
It was a gaudy exhibition of wealth.
A necessary deceit.
Earlier on, Rosamund had been browsing that little book:The Lady’s Guide to All Things Useful. Such a strange volume. The foreword notes indicated that the entries were the work of various authors, added to over time. Some of its advice was antiquated, to be sure, but there were some wise words there, if one took care to look.
It had fallen open for her on the chapter marked ‘Dress’.
What had it said?
Fashions may be purchased as our purse allows but true style cannot be bought—and a woman who is uncomfortable in her dress can never appear to advantage. Even where we utter not a word, our appearance speaks for us. Our costume is the canvas of our mood, and the armour in which we battle.
And then it had said something ridiculous, about not underestimating the power of a jaunty hat! The first part had been interesting though.
The rubies were designed to speak for her.
And the dress; the sort worn by irreproachable young ladies.
Her mother took the matching earrings from the box and clipped them in place. Against Rosamund’s pale skin, they were like droplets of blood.
“The duke is clearly interested, so you’ve nothing to do but appear demure and compliant.” Mrs. Burnell laid her hands lightly upon her daughter’s shoulders. “Once he’s infatuated, he’ll overlook our unfortunate circumstances.”
Lord Studborne was more attractive than Rosamund had anticipated, and it had been her own idea—to gain entry to a house of note and seduce her way into the graces of a suitable man.
Here was exactly what she’d wished for; yet, she couldn’t help feeling truculent.
“What if I don’t wish to marry someone old enough to be my father?”
