Page 38 of The Lyon Returns
He sent her a bland smile. “We.He will wish to—will insist upon—meeting you. It will be a formal affair, at the Ashwood mansion.”
Dismay filled her. “Oh, dear. I hadn’t considered. I suppose there’s no way I can cry off?”
“Absolutely not.”
“I was afraid of that.” When he did not depart, she asked, “Is there something else?”
He winced. “You will need a suitable gown.”
She glanced down at herself wondering what Clara and Mrs. Leach could do with one of the gowns she owned.
“Do not even think about it,” he warned.
Her gaze snapped to his. “I beg your pardon, sir.”
Resolve tightened his face. He shifted to face her. “Far be it from me to advise you on matters of fashion, Gwen, but I will have to insist you refrain from wearing any more of these mourning gowns—”
“But, they’re not—”
“Whatever they are,” he interrupted. “Bond Street has a fair number of high-end modiste shops. Visit one. Visit several. If you are to act as my wife, you will have to dress accordingly, especially in social settings.”
She huffed.
When he spoke again, he annunciated each word, as if explaining a complex concept to a child. “Otherwise, no one will believe we are man and wife.”
She frowned at him, aware he made a valid point, but resistant, nevertheless. “I hadn’t planned on the expense, sir.”
She could well afford a shopping expedition. But it was the point of the thing. She did not wish to dress for others, like some sort of doll bent on attracting unnecessary attention.
He waved off her argument like so much lint, and opened the door. “Charge everything to me, and make haste. I’ve no doubt but that the duke and duchess intend for me to present you tomorrow evening.”
“Tomorrow?” She didn’t bother to hide her dismay.
His gaze snapped back to her. Impatience tightened the corners of his eyes. “My dear, they will request a meeting tonight.”
“But getting a new gown by tomorrow will be an impossible feat.”
“I highly doubt it. Throw enough money at a problem and most obstacles can be overcome, especially in this town. I can afford it, Gwen. I won’t have my wife meeting the Duke of Ashford dressed like an underpaid governess, and that is final.”
He stepped out into the corridor and closed the door very deliberatelybehind him.
Dismayed, she eyed the day dress she wore again. Reggie had called the style “modern” and “forward thinking” trying to appeal to her progressive ideals, no doubt. He hadn’t fooled her, of course. They both knew the gowns were ugly, exactly as he’d intended.
The old pain reasserted itself and the backs of her eyes stung. Dearest Reggie. She had loved him, resented him, tried in vain to please him, but never had she guessed what he would eventually do.To free her,he’d said. She did not think she could ever forgive him—or herself, for that matter. Perhaps that was the real reason she’d clung to the dismal frocks.
She scrubbed her fists over her eyes. Gideon was right to demand this of her. Even the household staff looked on her wardrobe with disdain. It only made sense a man of his station would wish his supposed bride to dress the part, especially to meet his father.
Good God. The Duke of Ashford. Had she ever met a duke? She nibbled on her fingertip, recalling Gideon had also mentioned the duchess. The duchess who had no care for Gideon, even as a child. At least that was Gwen’s impression gleaned from his writings.
She would not bring added censure down upon his head, she vowed. But, she did not know the first thing about London fashions.
Luckily, she had friends now who did.
She hurried toward the table where she kept her writing implements. She would dash off a note asking for assistance. Her gaze fell on the journals scattered atop the polished wood, and she halted in her tracks.
She’d nearly forgotten about the disaster she’d averted by keeping Gideon from spotting the books.Hisbooks. Hisjournals. She would have to make a clean breast of it and soon. So far, there simply hadn’t been time, or so she kept telling herself.
She pressed her lips together.Not enough time. Just like there was not time to write a letter and await a reply.
