Miss Wonderful (The Dressmakers 1)

“You are ravishing,” he told her after they’d entered the park, and he no longer needed to give his full attention to negotiating the congested London streets.

“I think you are blinded by affection,” she said. “But I don’t mind. It is such a relief to have you choose my clothes. I am rarely indecisive, except when it comes to dress. The choices and all the vexing details overwhelm me. And recollect that until now, my situation required me to dress plainly and simply. I had so often to deal with men in the way of business, and they are so easily distracted. But it is most agreeable to have pretty things again.”

She had not refused a single pretty item presented to her. When given three gowns to choose from, she chose all three. The same held for bonnets and shoes. As to her underthings, Alistair had been kept out of those transactions, but he’d seen the heaps of boxes when she returned with her aunt from a shopping trip.

“I’m glad you’re pleased,” he said. “I had not guessed that you could be as extravagant in that way as I. But I am changing my ways. If I forgo my old spending habits, we should have no difficulty living within our income.”

She tipped her head to one side, studying his profile.

“What is it?” he said. “What have I said that is so puzzling?”

“My dear,” she said, “did you not read the marriage settlements before you signed them?”

“Certainly I read them,” he said. They would be wed on Wednesday, by special license, which would allow them to dispense with banns and marry when and where they chose. Lord Hargate had wasted not a moment in procuring the document or in getting the settlements drawn up and signed.

“Whether I understood them is another matter,” Alistair added. “In the first place, there is the villainous law hand, which is indecipherable. In the second, there is the villainous law language, which is incomprehensible. I do recall a great many noughts in some of the figures, and an error in computation, to which I called my father’s attention. He laughed heartily about it, and I donned an expression of heroic resignation and wrote my name where I was told.”

“My dowry is two hundred thousand pounds,” Mirabel said. “In addition, there is—”

“I beg your pardon,” he said. “Something is awry with my hearing. I thought you said two hundred thousand.”

“That is what I said.”

The club had struck again.

“My dear, are you unwell?” she asked anxiously. She reached up and laid her gloved hand against his cheek.

Alistair stopped the horses and turned his head to press his mouth against the palm of her…glove. It was not very satisfying. He pressed his lips to the narrow bit of skin showing at her wrist, then drew away.

“It doesn’t signify,” he murmured. “A momentary faintness, that was all. Two. Hundred. Thousand. No wonder my father laughed.”

“You did not know?”

“I thought someone had misread, and counted too many noughts,” he said. “I assumed twenty thousand or thereabouts.” The daughter of the Duke of Sutherland, one of England’s richest men, had brought twenty thousand to her marriage. “I did not dwell on the matter, because it is vulgar to speak of money.”

“Mama inherited her family’s banking fortune,” Mirabel said. “Papa’s inheritance was substantial as well.”

“I see,” Alistair said faintly. He looked about him, dimly aware of trees putting out their new green leaves, and birds twittering, and a few figures on horseback. In a short time the park would be packed with Good Society, riding expensive horses or driving elegant vehicles, dressed in the latest modes and exchanging the latest gossip.

“You are upset,” she said.

“No wonder my father was so excessively affectionate,” Alistair said. “After I had signed the papers, he actually patted me on the shoulder.”

“Well, you are very expensive,” she said. “He would have worried about your finding a girl who could afford you.”

“I am not that expensive,” he said. “Only the Prince Regent is that expensive. And may I remind you, dressing him requires a much greater quantity of material than does dressing me.”

The Prince Regent’s figure had grown elephantine with the passing years.

“I recall what you said about refusing to be a parasite upon your wife,” she said. “I hope you will not brood about it and make yourself unhappy. There is nothing out of the way about a younger son’s marrying money.”

Alistair studied the woman who’d soon be his wife. Hair: sunrise. Eyes: dusk. Voice: night. He’d seen all this at the first glance. That was before he’d learnt the dizzying changes of her countenance, the quickness of her mind, the openness of her nature, and the kindness of her heart. It was before he’d held her in his arms and discovered how completely, trustingly, and uninhibitedly she could give herself to him.

He smiled.

“I have said something amusing?” she said.

He leaned toward her. “I was thinking of you naked,” he whispered.

“A thousand pardons for interrupting, Car,” came a familiar voice nearby. “I do regret it, but there is only so much suspense a fellow’s nerves can stand.”

MIRABEL, who’d become oblivious to her surroundings, started. Alistair did not. Instead, he went rigid and slowly, stiffly, drew away from her.

“Gordmor,” he said coldly.

A dull reddish color suffused the viscount’s previously pale countenance. “Miss Oldridge,” he said, doffing his hat.

She nodded politely.

“I beg you will forgive the intrusion,” Lord Gordmor said.

The atmosphere, already thickening, grew thunderous. Mirabel looked about her. The park was all but deserted. Moments ago, she’d been thrilled to have a moment alone with Alistair at last. Now she regretted the isolation.

There was no one about to intervene or to interrupt the confrontation now threatening.

“Your effrontery passes all bounds,” Alistair said to his friend, his voice dangerously low. “Even if you are without any sense of shame, you might consider the distress your presence must cause Miss Oldridge.”

“I do consider it, Car,” said his lordship, “and that is why I have come. I could have blown out my brains, or cut my throat, but I’ve never been dramatic. Also, I doubt I could do it with the proper elegance, and would only make a hash of it—”

“Blow out your brains?” Alistair cut in. “What are you talking about?”

“I am not at all sure,” Gordmor said. “But I could not bear to do this through outside parties. If we are to fight, Car, let us do it without—”

“Fight?” Mirabel turned to Alistair. “Tell me you have not challenged him to a duel.”

“Certainly not,” Alistair said. “He’s a terrible shot, and liable to kill an innocent bystander.”

“Terrible shot?” Gordmor said. “I am an excellent—”

“His swordsmanship is even worse,” Alistair said.

“You think so because I let you get the better of me now and again,” Gordmor said. “Out of pity.”

Alistair’s eyes narrowed to golden slits. “Pity,” he growled. “For my infirmity, you mean.”

“You were infirm long before you let those foreigners scratch you up at Waterloo. I have spent most of my life looking out for you.”

“You were looking out for me to rescue you,” said Alistair, “from the first day of school.”

Gordmor turned to Mirabel. “I cannot count the number of times I have had to rescue this dolt from one scrape or another. That little blonde girl—what was her name? When we were at Eton. The caretaker’s girl.”

“Clara,” said Mirabel, recalling her aunt’s letter.

“Clara.” Gordmor pointed to his nose. “This used to be straight—until one of Clara’s brutish lovers broke it. Then there was Verena.”

“You did not rescue me from Verena,” Alistair said.

“I warned you. How many times have I warned you?” Gordmor turned back to Mirabel. “He

has never had a particle of sense about women. He never sees what is obvious to everyone else who is not deaf, dumb, and blind.”

“Gordy, may I remind you that you are addressing my future wife,” Alistair said.

“I was not referring to Miss Oldridge,” Lord Gordmor said. “But you have discomposed me so, I cannot think straight. I came, intending, as I recollect, to apologize.”

“Then get on with it,” said his friend.

“Miss Oldridge, I behaved very stupidly, and I sincerely regret it,” his lordship said. “I made so many errors of judgment, it would take a week to enumerate them. I shall never forgive myself for placing your father in danger, though I assure you it was not intentional. I meant only to create a diversion that would keep you out of London while our canal act was considered. I was about to offer—before Car cast aspersions on my marksmanship—the most abject of apologies. I was also about to admit—before he started quibbling about Verena—that my recent Episode of Stupidity far surpasses all of his combined.”

“Thank you,” Mirabel said.

Gordmor looked at Alistair.