Regency Secrets: My Lady's Trust

“Pish-tosh, Mrs. Martin.” The squire waved away the suggestion. “‘Tis not some fancy London party, all standing on precedence. And you need not feel shy. Excepting the earl, Lady Elspeth and the good doctor, ‘twill be only neighbors you’ve dined with on several occasions. Oh, and Lady Ardith and Lord Asquith.”

Laura looked at the smiling faces—the squire, the doctor, Lady Elspeth. Some inner imperative told her to accept would be dangerous, possibly the most dangerous thing she’d done since coming to the aid of the earl’s wounded brother. But as she had no reason to fear any of her neighbors—even the conceited London beauty Lady Ardith, who scarcely acknowledged her existence—Laura could dredge up no excuse to avoid the party that would not either cause offense or give rise to speculation.

Surely the earl would be present, too. The thought shimmered through her, adding to both her longing and dismay. Still, she didn’t see how she could avoid this. “You are vastly kind. I shall accept with pleasure.”

“Oh—m’sister may call upon you to write out the invitations. Her failing eyesight, you know. If that won’t be too much of an imposition?”

Laura had to smile. Lady Winters, an indolent damsel of some seventy summers, had previously called on Laura to assist her after suffering palpitations at the mere prospect of the work entailed by an evening party. “You may assure your sister I shall be happy to assist her.”

“Good, good.” The squire patted her hand. “Knew we could count on you. Want to send the doctor off with a good proper party, and with you overseeing the arrangements, I know ‘twill be top of the trees.”

Though Lady Elspeth, bless her, objected it was not quite right that Laura toil on a party given partly in her own honor, she desisted when Laura assured her that she didn’t mind in the least. Thanking the group again, Laura returned to her room.

It was only ingrained caution that made her so uneasy. All the guests would be well known to her. Besides, if she handled the arrangements for Lady Winters, she could arrange the dinner partners to suit herself, make a brief appearance in the parlor after the meal, then excuse herself before tea.

Thinking of the guest list again, she had to laugh at her apprehensions. With Lady Ardith promised to appear, no one would give the dowdy Mrs. Martin a second glance.

Late the following afternoon, Laura was returning to her room after going over the party lists with Lady Emily when Lady Elspeth hailed her in the hallway. “Please, could you join me for some tea in my sitting room before you rest for tonight? Being reduced to the company of the squire, Lady Winters and my brother at dinner, I sorely miss the conversation of a rational lady.”

Having on occasion been constrained to be the rambling Lady Emily’s dinner partner, Laura could sympathize. And after a few day’s acquaintance, Laura had largely lost her reserve around Lady Elspeth. Here was a friend in truth, one who, even should she learn of Laura’s deception—not that she ever intended to reveal it—would not, Laura felt sure, betray her. And she sincerely enjoyed the company of the earl’s charming, cheerful sister.

“I should be delighted.”

Laura entered to take the seat indicated on the brocade flowered sofa while Lady Elspeth poured tea. After handing her a cup, her friend gave her a measuring glance.

“I happened to notice that, though you agreed to help Lady Winters, you didn’t seem particularly pleased to accept the squire’s invitation to dine.”

Laura sighed. “I’m afraid I’m painfully shy in company, a fault I’ve never managed to overcome.”

“Please don’t be offended, but do you hesitate for fear that, with the very fashionable Lady Ardith attending, you feel you do not possess a suitable gown?”

Laura laughed. “I certainly possess nothing cut up—or should we say ‘down’—to Lady Ardith’s standards.” “I should hope not,” Lady Elspeth agreed with a chuckle. “But I wanted to ask a favor. I brought with me a new dinner gown just received from the mantuamaker that I’ve never worn, and now I find I cannot. If God wills, and I carry this child, by the time I visit London again fashions will have changed. Though I hope I’m not as vain as Lady Ardith, I doubt I’d wear it then. The color is a lovely green, and would suit you. Would you accept it?

“Please, now—” she held up a hand to forestall Laura’s protest “—don’t refuse outright. You know I won’t insult you by offering payment for the care you gave Kit. Indeed, were I the richest woman in the universe, how could I ever pay you the worth of my baby brother’s life? Beside that, a gown is the merest trifle. Still, it is too lovely to waste, and it would please me to have you wear it.”

Though she didn’t doubt Lady Elspeth’s sincerity or kindness, Laura wasn’t naive enough to believe this offer a coincidence. With a rueful grimace, she wondered who had whispered in her friend’s ear. Lady Catherine, wanting “beautiful dresses” for her friend? Or Lord Beaulieu?

As she hesitated, Lady Elspeth misinterpreted her silence. “What a widget! Of course you can’t decide until you see the gown. I’ll have Jane bring it immediately!” Laura tried to protest, but Lady Elspeth had already rung for her maid. Instructions were given, and by the time they finished their tea, the maid reappeared, bearing the dress. The demurral Laura intended to voice died in an inarticulate cry of wonder.

It was simply the most delicate, wondrous, lovely gown she’d ever beheld, a simple sheath of pale green silk whose wispy sleeves and long train were covered with a fairy’s cobweb of fine lace. Not even in her debut season had she, limited to the whites and pastels prescribed for unmarried maidens, possessed such a dress.

Before she could muster her scattered thoughts to protest, Lady Elspeth had her on her feet, the maid holding the dress up to her as her friend gave instructions on where to pin, tuck or adjust.

“Ah, Ellie—it’s marvelous! But I simply couldn’t!”

“Since it’s rather obvious you like the gown—” Elspeth paused in her instructions to grin at Laura “—and it becomes you wonderfully, I shall be most hurt if you refuse it.”

The sober, responsible, cautious side of her urged that she do just that. But the woman in her slid the sensuous length of silk through her fingers, felt the sigh of lace against her arms, and knew she could never bring herself to turn this down. For one evening, like Cinderella in the fairy tale, plain, dowdy, shy little Laura Martin would be dressed like a princess.

And her Prince Charming, whom she might covertly watch and desire but never possess, would see her in it.

Even in a small gathering, wearing such a beautifully made gown would be sure to draw to her the universal attention of every lady present, and probably that of the gentlemen, as well. Inviting precisely the sort of widespread scrutiny she’d spent nearly three years carefully avoiding. Attending in that gown would be foolish, vain and most unwise.

And she would do it. If her benefactress were present, of course.

“You’re sure you will be feeling well enough to attend the party?” Laura asked, grasping at straws.

Lady Elspeth’s smile widened. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Chapter Nine

“Thank you, Jane. I can manage from here.”

“Aye, ma’am. A right treasure you look, and so I’ll tell her ladyship!” With a nod of professional approval, Lady Elspeth’s maid curtsied and left the chamber.

Lips curving into a smile of pleasure, Laura closed her eyes, enjoying the pure sensual caress of the silk gown against her skin. Not until this moment, the smoky-green fabric swirling about her, did she realize just how much she’d missed what Lady Catherine would call “pretty dresses.” After the door shut behind the departing maid, with a giddy laugh, Laura lifted her arms and waltzed around her narrow chamber, dipping and turning in the embrace of her invisible partner.

Cinderella in truth, for the dress was no more substantial than moondust and starlight. After months of wearing the stiff, heavy brown bombazine favored by Aunt Mary, so sheer and weightless did the garment feel Laura could scarcely believe she was clothed at all.

She stopped dancing and cast a worried glance down at her chest. Though fashioned with a délletage nowhere near as deep as the style favored by Lady Ardith, the dress was still much lower cut than any she’d worn during her brief Season. Perhaps she should have protested more strongly when Lady Elspeth absolutely forbade Jane to sew a lace tucker into the bodice.

Nonsense, she reassured herself. With Lady Ardith present in all her scandalous finery, who would spare a look for little Laura Martin?

Nonetheless, her disquiet increased after she left the secure cocoon of her chamber. Since her near-miraculous recovery from the fever that had almost killed her, she’d worn naught but the mud-brown camouflage of her new identity. Daring to appear in public without it made her feel even more unclothed than the gossamer gown.

Still, if she meant to put off for an evening garments guaranteeing obscurity, nowhere in England could she do so in more safety than in Squire Everett’s drawing room. The only guests present would be neighbors who’d long ago accepted Laura Martin, or relatives of the boy whose life she’d help to preserve. None of those, she believed, would consciously seek to do her harm.

Honesty forced her to admit that her unease at descending to the drawing room was directly related to the tall, commanding earl about to gather there with the assembling dinner party. A man who inspired in her this perilous swing of emotion from attraction to avoidance, the man she’d felt impelled to give, for one brief evening, a glimpse of the woman behind the mask.

A man who, should he decide to tempt her out of sanity into temporary dalliance, would tryst with her and forget her the moment his carriage passed beyond the gateposts of Everett Hall. In truth, no matter how glorious such an interlude would prove—and every inexperienced but acutely sensitive nerve shouted that it would be glorious indeed—she could not afford for him to remember her longer.

Laura Martin, you’re an idiot, she concluded as she reached the floor on which the main bedchambers were located. As she started past the door to her patient’s room, she paused. Perhaps she should check on Kit.

Glad to have a responsible reason to indulge her cowardly desire to dawdle, she knocked on the door. When Kit’s valet, Peters, answered it, instead of standing aside to let her enter, he simply stood for a moment, jaw dropped, staring. “Cor, ma’am,” he breathed, finally remembering to step back, “but you do look fine.”

“T-thank you,” she stuttered, not sure whether to be alarmed or flattered.

“Who is it, Peters?”

“Mrs. Martin, master—I think.”

Kit Bradsleigh lay propped against his pillows, face pale and drawn. Only in the past two days had her patient been conscious and coherent enough to converse, though his lung ailment perforce limited speech. Still, she’d already come to appreciate the young man’s unpretentious charm.

As she approached, his pain-shadowed eyes brightened with interest. “Fine indeed! Excuse my bad manners … not rising … to kiss the hand … of a lovely lady.”

She smiled. “After all the hours Dr. MacDonovan and I have expended the last week to bring you to this evening, should you attempt so reckless a feat I’d be more tempted to bash you with the hand than let you kiss it.”

“Then I am safe.” He gave her a rueful grin. “Already attempted it … when Ellie stopped by. Found movement … most unwise. Must lie here … and admire from afar.”