Page 115 of The Ladies Least Likely
He had stared at her in such an unsettling way over dinner, and then again in his study. His intense focus raised nervous sensations in her belly and across her skin, like the lifting of hair when one sensed danger. It was well he did not know why she had agreed without argument to accompany him to Hunsdon House. His look of curious fascination would turn to scorn and rejection. It might be base and an indication of feminine vanity, but she wanted to enjoy his interest as long as she could.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“This can’t be proper,” Amaranthe said to the eager faces ranged before her in the borrowed chamber. “Wearing the duchess’s clothes?”
“She’s not about ta wear ’em, is ’er?” Eyde shrugged. “Ye ought to see how many they are, miss. Heaps, and all boughten, not a whit handmade.”
Amaranthe slid a hand over the fine printed muslin robe that Eyde held. “You shouldn’t have gone through the duchess’s wardrobe. Either of you.”
“We just took a peep now, didnus?” Eyde said to Mrs. Blackthorn, who brandished a saffron open robe with a green front. Derwa draped herself in a soft Paisley shawl and twirled before the cheval glass in admiration.
A knock sounded at the door, and Amaranthe clutched at the loose neckline of her bedgown. Letting Eyde borrow a night shift from Sybil’s chambers for Amaranthe to sleep in was one thing. Wearing the duchess’s luxurious gowns was far and away a different matter.
Ralph entered with a pile of indigo silk in his arms. “Mr. Grey said as I ought to bring this to you, miss, seeing as you cameyesterday without a bag or luggage.” He smiled shyly. “Picked it out himself, he did.”
Amaranthe couldn’t stop her hand sliding over the expensive silk. The other women joined her, cooing in pleasure at the smooth, luscious fabric. Amaranthe’s resolve weakened. If Grey thought it all right to wear borrowed finery?—
“Ooh, miss, you must have un,” Eyde insisted, and Amaranthe caved.
She didn’t have the proper foundational garments for such a gown, but once Eyde had tied up the skirts and pinned on the stomacher, Amaranthe had no will left to argue. Derwa clapped her hands in approval, and Mrs. Blackthorn held out an elaborate wig. The powder was old and Amaranthe feared the false hair was crawling with vermin, but it was too fashionable to resist. Great ladies dressed like this, Amaranthe thought as she stared at herself in the glass.
“Here’s a reticule to go with, since your other won’t do.” Derwa held out her find.
“I am transformed,” Amaranthe said in surprise.
“Quite stripped up,” Eyde confirmed, plumping pillows on the bed. “Now, miss, flutter your eyelashes at Mr. Grey once or twice, and say us two needs a day more here. We needs be sure any maids you bring on can do the place proper.”
Mrs. Blackthorn, hanging the other gowns in the small wardrobe, agreed. “I want a day or more to learn the new cook and be certain the kitchen maids know their work. That scullery needs a scrub like Heaven’s never seen.”
Derwa draped her shawl over Amaranthe’s shoulders, arranging it to her satisfaction. “And Miss Millie wants a governess. You’re best to find her one.”
“Lady Camilla,” Amaranthe said automatically, glancing at the other women. “You don’t wish to return home directly?”
“And leave a duke’s house?” Edye exclaimed. “Is ee daft?”
Amaranthe tamped down a smile. “We’d best not get comfortable with the duke’s things. Mr. Grey means to turn us out as soon as he can, I don’t doubt.”
“Then Mr. Grey can make sure his new cook knows the difference twixt a swede and a potato,” Mrs. Blackthorn answered. “Didn’t you hear Eyde? Use them eyelashes, Miss Amaranthe.”
“And these.” Eyde rearranged the scarf Amaranthe had tucked into her neckline, folding it down an inch so that a slight rise of breast peeked above the stomacher.
“I prefer to use intelligence as my weapon,” Amaranthe called as Eyde gathered up her bedgown and skipped out the door, Derwa giggling in her wake.
“Always best to have a full arsenal.” Mrs. Blackthorn whisked away the breakfast tray with a wink. “Luck be upon you today, Miss Amaranthe!”
Grey went completely still when Amaranthe joined him in one of the smaller parlors, different from that they had dined in the night before. For once Amaranthe didn’t feel overshadowed by the expensive elegance of her new surroundings. The rustle and gleam of French silk was as good as plate armor.
The gown held its own against the velvet upholstery and damask draperies, the mirrors and portraits in their heavy gilt frames and the dizzying pattern of the carpet. She was more a match today for Grey’s smart suit of brown silk with heavy bronze buttons and gold embroidery. He looked considerably more expensive, and she wondered if he considered his attire a sort of armor also.
“I felt obliged to wear the gown, since Ralph said you recommended it,” Amaranthe said, suddenly shy. “But are you sure it is wise? Any servants we hire will expect a higher wage, with me looking so fine.”
Grey leaned close and peered into her eyes. She reared back, startled.
“Violet,” he exclaimed.
“I have brown eyes,” she said, feeling strangely overset by his nearness. Had donning a fine dress vanquished her wits?
“Light brown,” he agreed, “but with a ring of violet around the iris. Most unusual. The color of your gown brings it out.” He did not take his eyes from her face.
