Any Duchess Will Do

Page 41

Griff could claim not to care about gossip—but that was easy for a duke to say. He’d never been the object of mockery and scorn. He didn’t know how it felt to be at the bottom of the pecking order, and if Pauline tried to live in his world, that was exactly where she’d be. Always. Even if she could withstand a lifetime of snide remarks and subtle cruelty, she couldn’t expose Daniela to that treatment.
“You were right to refuse him,” Minerva said. “But we can’t let it end this way.”
We?
Why should either of these ladies care how her week ended? Pauline felt lucky enough that they’d offered her a place to gather herself and help finding transportation back to Spindle Cove.
“This ball tonight,” Minerva said, adjusting her spectacles. “You must go.”
“Why would I do that? I doubt the duke will attend.”
“Even if he doesn’t attend. Go for yourself. Just to let those gossips see you, undefeated and proud. Simply to prove you can.”
To prove you can.
But could she, really?
Pauline shook her head. In Spindle Cove she’d half listened as Minerva Highwood lectured the other ladies on the most impossible topics—vast underwater caves and giant prehistoric lizards. This latest suggestion seemed no different.
“I can’t attend the ball tonight,” she said. “I wouldn’t even know where to go, or how to get there. I haven’t anything to wear.”
“Leave all that to us,” Minerva said, tapping Susanna on the arm. “We’ll handle the arrangements. You need only supply the courage. Spindle Cove ladies band together.”
“I’m not a lady, my lady.”
“We would stand by you even if you were a serving girl,” Susanna said. “But I believe you’ve always been something more.”
Pauline warmed a little. She did have more inside of her, and maybe Griff wasn’t the only one to notice. To be sure, she wasn’t up to the standards of Lady Haughfell and her set, and she certainly was no duchess. But neither were Susanna or Minerva, or any of the other ladies who sought refuge in Spindle Cove.
She belonged there. Her heart expanded with a sense of certainty. She knew her right place in the world. She was going to have her cozy, welcoming, wonderful-smelling library, and it would be a home for any girl who needed it.
And she would have her sister—the one person who loved her wholly, without shame or reservation. That was something even the fourth-largest fortune in England couldn’t buy.
“I want to go home,” she said. “As soon as it can be managed.”
“Go to the ball first,” Minerva urged.
Pauline shook her head. “I must be back in Spindle Cove tomorrow. I promised my sister.”
“You can do both. The mail coach is the fastest way home, and it doesn’t leave London until after midnight. Isn’t that right, Susanna?”
“I suppose,” Lady Rycliff replied. “Pauline, if you wanted to attend the ball for an hour or two, we could still have you to the mail coach in time.”
Pauline hesitated.
“My lady?” A housemaid entered the room, looking apologetic. “I beg your pardon, but there’s someone here for Miss Simms.”
Pauline’s heart fluttered. “If it’s the duke, I . . .”
The maid looked confused. “I didn’t see any duke, ma’am. It’s a lady caller. She’s brought a good many parcels, too.”
A young woman entered the sitting room, laden with a tower of boxes. Pauline couldn’t even see her face for all the packages.
“Miss Simms, it’s m-me.”
She rose to her feet. “Flora? What are you doing here?” She helped unload the parcels from the maid’s arms.
Once unburdened, Flora dropped her gaze. “They’ve s-sacked me.”
“Sacked you? Oh, no.”
“It’s what I deserved. Her grace let me go without a reference, and I haven’t any way to find a new p-post. I thought, perhaps if I readied you for the ball tonight—so’s everyone was dazzled by your beauty, and it made it to the papers—maybe someone would hire me anyhow.” She grabbed Pauline’s arm. “Please, Miss Simms. It’s you who’d be d-doing me a favor.”
“Flora, I’d like to help. But I don’t know. Perhaps you could dress Lady Rycliff or Lady Payne.”
Flora shook her head. “It has to be you. I want to see you do this, Miss Simms. You worked so hard all week. We all d-did. And then there’s this. It was made for you. It won’t fit anyone else.”
From the largest box, she withdrew a breathtaking flash of silver.
Oh goodness.
The gown seemed to be at least three-fourths skirt. The bodice was small and tight, boned for stiffness and fitted with the shortest puffs of sleeves. The skirts were a cloud. A great shimmering, airy, fluffy cloud of tulle overlaying satin. Little sparkling things were affixed to the tulle by the thousands. It truly was a thing of wonder.
“Oh, Pauline,” Susanna said. “If any man can look at you in that and not simply fall to his knees before you . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“He’ll eat his own hat.” Minerva clapped with glee. “Do it. Do it for every young woman who ever felt scorned or overlooked. This is your chance, Pauline.”
Pauline ran a touch over the beautiful silver fabric, spangled with seed pearls and tiny crystals. She didn’t need to prove her worth to anyone. She didn’t need a lavish wardrobe or the wealth that accompanied the title of duchess.
But she needed to wear this gown, just this once. It was made for her. Literally.
“Very well,” she said. “Let’s do it.”
“One question,” said Susanna. “Do we tell the men about this?”
“No,” said Minerva stoutly. “Colin will steal all the credit. This is going to be our grand success. We’ll show everyone what Spindle Cove ladies can do.”
Pauline wasn’t so certain about that “success” part. She still doubted that she could ever blend in at such an event.
But after tonight, she could go home with her pride. No one could say she wasn’t brave enough to try.
“Corinthian.” As the carriage rolled up before the Prince Regent’s grand residence, the word just rolled from her tongue.
“What is it, Pauline?”
“Those columns on the portico. They’re Corinthian.”
Amazing. This week in London had taught her the strangest things. What an odd assortment of lessons she would bring home with her.
She still hadn’t learned how to hide her anxiety, however. It helped that Susanna and Minerva were clearly nervous, too.
“We’re not much good with balls, either,” Minerva confided. “Perhaps we should have warned you beforehand.”
“It’s all right,” said Susanna. “We’ll all go in as a group.”
As they made their way into the entrance hall, Susanna—the tallest of them—craned her neck to look over the crowd.
“Oh, drat,” she said. “They’re checking names against a list.”
That wasn’t good news. Pauline knew she’d been on the list earlier that week. But today’s gossip had no doubt removed her from it. Or perhaps moved her to another list—one written in red and headed with the words, Not to be admitted under any circumstance.
“You could give another name,” Minerva suggested. “You could be me. I don’t mind. Everyone will just assume I’ve removed my spectacles for once and undergone a thrilling transformation.”
“No.” Pauline smiled. “It’s kind of you, but I can’t. I must be here as myself or not at all.”
When the crowd shifted, she quietly remained in place and let her friends drift away. If this evening proceeded as disastrously as she suspected it might, she didn’t want Lady Rycliff and Lady Payne to be tainted by association. They’d brought her this far, but she must face the rest on her own.
Surely there was another way into the ballroom. There must be a smaller passageway for the staff. She was a servant; she could find it.
After a few moments’ surreptitious investigation, she turned down a narrow corridor. She passed near a clashing, steamy din that must have been the palace kitchen. When she spied a footman returning with a tray of empty glasses, she knew she needed to proceed in the direction he’d come.
Pauline traversed a passageway with stairs. At the top, she listened for the sounds of chatter and music. Turning toward the noise, she rounded a corner . . .
And reeled to a halt when she nearly collided with a finely dressed man.
“I’m sorry,” she started to apologize. “I—”
When she swept a look from his boots to his face, she gasped.
Oh, bollocks.
Fitted tailcoat. White gloves. An angry red line running down his left cheek.
“Lord Delacre.”
Griff had been right—that wound would probably leave a scar. Not a disfiguring one. Just a thin, indelible reminder.
Good.
“I knew I saw you here,” he said.
“Please excuse me.”
When she tried to move past him, he grabbed her arm. “I won’t let you do this. I’ve known Halford all his life, and I know what’s best for him even when he doesn’t.”
Her heart jumped. Did that mean Griff was here?
She pulled against Delacre’s grasp. “Let me go.”
Delacre didn’t frighten her—but he was a man, much larger and more powerful than she. Moreover, this was his native environment. His friends at this event numbered in the hundreds. She could count hers on one hand and still have a good many fingers left over.
She was outsized, outranked, outclassed. And unless she figured out a way around him, she would remain outside that ballroom forever.
“Is it money you want?” He released her arm and slid a bank note from his breast pocket. She could just make out the writing on it.
Five pounds.
He waved it at her. “Take it, then. And use the servants’ exit. This isn’t the place for you.”
That’s not for you, girl.
Her cheeks burned. With those words, he wasn’t Delacre anymore. He was every book that had ever been ripped from her hand. Every door that had ever been slammed on her.
She wanted to fight back, throw something. Spit in his face.
But this situation called for a different sort of phlegm.
She pulled her spine straight, lifted her chin and fixed him with a cool, direct look. “Go to hell.”
While he stood sputtering, she dashed past him and rejoined the crowd near the ballroom entry. Before she could lose her nerve, she cut ahead of the queue of waiting guests. Impolite, perhaps. But the gossips already knew her to be a serving girl—it wasn’t as though they could think much worse of her.
She gave her name to the majordomo, and he announced, “Miss Simms of Sussex.”
The ballroom went utterly silent, except for the thunder of her heart. Her hands trembled at her sides.
Breathe, she told herself.
And then: Go.
She let that transparent cord at her navel pull her forward, guiding her as she descended the small flight of stairs. As she walked, her gown caught the light of hundreds of candles and lamps, sending arrows of light in every direction.
Once she reached the bottom of the staircase, she sought refuge behind a cluster of potted palms and scanned the crowd for familiar faces. Where were Minerva and Susanna? She knew she’d resolved to go this alone, but she didn’t feel so brave anymore.
And then—
Griff.
He strode toward her, wearing an immaculate black tailcoat and carrying a wicked gleam in his eye. So assured, so handsome.
Oh, the flutterings. She had flutterings all through her. They were so strong, they just about carried her away.