Page 72 of Marry in Scarlet
“—you should at least talk to your—” His brows snapped together. “Whatdid you say?”
“I said, I will honor our betrothal.”
“You will?” The degree of relief he felt at her words shocked him. To cover his reaction he picked up his tea cup and took a gulp of tea. It was hot and scalded his mouth but he swallowed the pain. He stared at her for a long moment. “Why?”
He could have bitten back the word as soon as he’d uttered it. What did it matter why she’d agreed to continue the betrothal? What sort of a fool was he to stir up the argument again? All that mattered was that she was still going to marry him.
That she’d agreed—finally—to be his. Freely agreed. Of her own free will.
“Why?” she repeated. She seemed to ponder the question a while, then she shrugged. “I suppose I’m more used to the idea now. I always knew that you’d deliberately tried to entrap me, and even now that I know your mother obtained my promise on a false premise... I have said publicly that I will marry you, and I won’t go back on that. Besides...”
He waited. “Besides?” he prompted after a minute.
She lifted her chin, looking a little self-conscious. “I’ve decided I want a baby.”
***
Later that day, George and Aunt Dottie went back to the House of Chance to finalize the order for her wedding dress. They’d shown the designs to Emm, and because Aunt Agatha haunted Ashendon House these days—supervising the care and feeding of The Heir—rather, railing against Emm’s feeding him—to no effect—Aunt Agatha also gave her very decided opinion.
George didn’t really care which of the designs she chose, but in the end—surprisingly—they all liked the plainer one, to be made in cream silk with piping. George liked its simplicity, Emm said it was both elegant and charming, Aunt Dottie said she’d look like a queen in it, while Aunt Agatha gave it as her opinion that she supposed it would be dignified enough for the bride of a duke. So that was that.
The carriage pulled up outside the House of Chance, and, as George helped Aunt Dottie to alight, a couple of ladies strolled along, eyeing her as they passed. She could only hear snatches of their conversation, but she had no doubt of their subject.
“... she’s a bastard, I heard... I wonder he allowed himself to be caught...”
“... outrageous... lewd behavior... entrapped...”
“Ignorant and ill-bred people,” Aunt Agatha said loudly. “Ignorant and ill-bred.”
George set her teeth and went into the shop.
Two more ladies were inside. As George entered, they exchanged glances and rose to their feet. One muttered, “This place will take anyone.”
The other said loudly, “There’s nothing here that anyladycould possibly want.” The two women left.
George looked at Miss Chance in dismay. Was she driving customers away? The House of Chance was a relatively new business, she knew.
Miss Chance caught her look and laughed. “Don’t give ’em a thought, Lady George. The world is full of small-minded petty bitches—forgive the language, Lady Dorothea—and I learned young never to take notice of ’em.”
“Quite right, my dear, quite right,” Aunt Dottie said briskly. “I have observed an astonishing lack of conduct in ladies of the ton these days. No upbringing at all. Their nannies should have been dismissed without a character—their charges certainly exhibit none. Now, George, my dear, show Miss Chance the design we chose.”
Miss Chance approved their choice, checked George’s measurements—they never changed—and took them through to a back room where a new shipment from China had just come in. It was an Aladdin’s cave of gorgeously colored silks and satins, embroidered fabrics and ready-made sequined and jeweled motifs of exquisite and intricate design. Miss Chance’s husband ran a large international trading company, and she had first choice of their goods.
They oohed and aahed over the glorious fabrics, and Miss Chance showed them the silk she recommended for George’s wedding dress. It was cream silk, fine and luxurious, but heavy enough to drape beautifully.
Aunt Dottie also took collection of a gorgeous new nightdress in delicate peach silk, all ruffles and lace,practically transparent, with a bed-jacket to match. She held the nightie up against her body and posed. “Not suitable for an old lady at all, is it, George, my love?”
George didn’t know what to say. Aunt Agatha would have a fit.
Aunt Dottie giggled. “It’s perfect, Miss Chance, just perfect. Wrap it up—I’ll take it with me now.”
The decisions all made, they left. The carriage was waiting and the footman hurried to let down the steps. A small group of ladies was walking toward them. They lowered their voices as they approached, but George could see from the malicious glances that they were talking about her. She clenched her jaw and waited while Aunt Dottie handed her precious parcel up to the footman.
“... scandal that a catch like the duke should be caught by a strumpet of no background.”
“Certainly one of no morals.”
“Do strumpets have morals? I don’t think so.” Tittering, they flounced past George with smug looks and superior smiles.
