Redeeming the Marquess Page 5

  Emma leaned closer to Ellie and whispered, “We don’t have a pristine reputation, not with Roswell here,” she said, patting her hand, “so you don’t have to worry in that regard.”

  Roswell pushed his chair back and rose. “I believe I have had enough of this conversation,” he said as he tossed his napkin onto his empty plate.

  “Perhaps I might still run off with Lord Featherstone to Gretna Green,” Emma mused. “He has offered for me.”

  Knowing his sister was goading him, Roswell departed without another word. Why was he the only one worried about how Miss Bentley’s performance would affect their family’s reputation?

  He stepped into the entry hall and saw his mother descending the stairs.

  “Whatever is the matter?” she asked.

  Roswell stopped in front of her. “I wish you would send Miss Bentley on her way.”

  “I will not,” she replied. “In fact, we are going shopping to get her fitted for some gowns.”

  “And where did Miss Bentley come up with the funds to pay for these gowns?”

  Harriet grew serious and stepped closer to him. “Her mother sold off a piece of her own jewelry to give Miss Bentley the funds to pay for the gowns.”

  “I hadn’t realized,” he muttered, feeling like a boor. “I had just assumed she expected you to pay for the gowns.”

  His mother placed a hand on his sleeve. “You must give Miss Bentley a chance, son,” she urged. “If you do, you will see that she isn’t as disagreeable as you have led yourself to believe.”

  “I will be the judge of that,” he replied as he stepped back. “If you need me, I’ll be in the study until I depart for the House of Lords.”

  One thing was certain, Miss Bentley had managed to fool his entire family into thinking she was something she was not.

  5

  Ellie stared out the window of the coach as she admired the storefronts on Bond Street. She was amazed by how many different types of shops she saw and found herself eager to explore each and every one.

  Emma’s voice broke through the silence. “I assume this is your first time to Bond Street.”

  “It is,” Ellie confirmed.

  “Bond Street is London’s most fashionable shopping district,” Emma shared. “You can find just about anything here.”

  Ellie nodded. “I imagine that would be the case.”

  The coach came to a stop and dipped to the side as the footman stepped off his perch, put the step down, and opened the door. As Ellie stepped onto the pavement, she withdrew her hand from the footman’s and waited for the other ladies to exit the coach.

  Harriet came to stand next to her. “I am taking you to the finest dressmaker in all of London.”

  Ellie frowned as she glanced down at the reticule on her right wrist. “I only have limited funds to pay for my gowns.”

  “You don’t need to concern yourself with that,” Harriet said with a wave of her hand. “I have decided it is my privilege to pay for your gowns.”

  “That is kind of you, but—”

  Harriet cut her off. “I insist,” she said firmly. “You must let me do this for you.”

  Emma chimed in. “When my mother sets her mind to something, she is quite stubborn on the subject.”

  Placing a hand on Ellie’s sleeve, Harriet pressed, “By paying for your gowns, it allows you to purchase all the other necessary accessories you require.”

  “You are being far too generous.”

  Harriet smiled. “It is the least I can do for the daughter of my dear friend.”

  Ellie returned her smile. “Thank you,” she said, hoping her words adequately expressed her gratitude.

  “You are welcome,” Harriet replied, dropping her hand.

  Emma giggled. “Although you might not be as thankful after we visit the modiste.”

  “Why do you say that?” Ellie asked.

  “She is quite invasive when taking your measurements,” Emma explained.

  Harriet just laughed as she walked towards the shop. “I daresay Emma is exaggerating her experience.”

  A bell chimed above the door as they stepped inside. The shop contained a square room with chairs lining the walls, and a door led to a back room.

  A tall, thin woman walked through that door and looked at them expectedly. “How may I help you?”

  Harriet stepped forward. “I was hoping to speak to Madam Carre for a moment.”

  “She is much too busy to be seen at the moment,” the woman responded dismissively. “Perhaps you could make an appointment.”

  “Will you please inform her that Lady Bideford is here to see her?” Harriet asked.

  The woman frowned. “Give me a moment, my lady,” she replied before disappearing into the back room.

  It was but a moment before another woman came through the door. She had a long face, straight nose, and black hair, and approached Harriet with her hands out wide. “Lady Bideford,” she greeted, kissing her on both cheeks. “What a pleasant surprise.”

  “I have a favor to ask of you,” Harriet said.

  “But, of course,” Madam Carre responded in a thick French accent. “I would do just about anything for my favorite customer.”

  Harriet gestured towards Ellie. “Miss Bentley is in dire need of some gowns for the Season.”

  “For this Season?” Madam Carre asked in surprise.

  “Yes,” Harriet replied. “She just arrived from the countryside, and her wardrobe needs to be outfitted immediately.”

  Madam Carre’s eyes perused the length of her. “You are a pretty little thing,” she commented. “I suppose I could create a few gowns for you, but it will require my seamstresses to work around the clock.”

  “I would be more than happy to pay for the additional expense,” Harriet stated.

  Madam Carre nodded her head in approval. “Miss Bentley will need gowns in white and pale colors, but I think a gold ball gown would suit her quite admirably.” She walked around her slowly. “You have excellent coloring, and I believe my gowns will look exquisite on you.”

  Madam Carre stepped back and continued. “I shall have my seamstresses start working on Miss Bentley’s gowns immediately. With any luck, we shall start delivering them in a few days’ time.”

  “Thank you,” Ellie said.

  Leaning closer, Madam Carre remarked in a hushed voice, “You are indeed lucky to be friends with Lady Bideford.”

  “I am well aware of my fortune,” Ellie replied.

  Madam Carre leaned back and clapped her hands. “My assistant will take your measurements.”

  The woman who had previously greeted them stepped back into the room. “If you will follow me to the back, we can begin.”

  Emma whispered to her, “Good luck.”

  After what felt like hours, Ellie emerged from the back room, having been thoroughly poked and prodded.

  Lady Bideford and Emma rose from their chairs when they saw her. “You are done,” Harriet acknowledged.

  “I am,” she replied.

  “Shall we go look for hats and shawls?” Harriet asked.

  Ellie nodded. “That sounds like a wonderful idea.”

  As they left the modiste shop, Emma leaned closer to her. “How did it go?”

  “I agree with you that it was quite invasive,” Ellie replied. “I believe the woman took great delight in poking me with her pins.”

  Emma giggled. “That was my experience, as well.”

  Harriet gave them both a knowing look. “If you didn’t move, then you wouldn’t get poked.”

  They started walking down the street, but stopped when they were approached by a dark-haired man with sharp features.

  He stopped in front of them and bowed. “Lady Bideford and Lady Emma,” he greeted cordially. “What a pleasant surprise to see you here.”

  Harriet tipped her head. “It is a pleasure to see you, Lord Featherstone.” She gestured towards Ellie. “May I introduce you to Miss Bentley?”

  Lord Featherst
one turned his attention towards her, and his eyes roamed over her face, making her feel as if she were on display. “Enchanted,” he replied.

  Ellie curtsied. “My lord,” she murmured.

  “I have the privilege of hosting her for the Season,” Harriet revealed.

  Lord Featherstone nodded his understanding. “She is a most fortunate young woman to have your tutelage.”

  Harriet smiled. “Thank you for your kind words, but we must be off.”

  Lord Featherstone stepped aside to allow them to pass. “Of course, but I do hope to see you at Lady Bryum’s ball later this evening.”

  “We shall be there.”

  With a smile on his lips, Lord Featherstone directed his attention to Lady Emma. “I do hope you will save me a dance.”

  “I would be honored to,” Emma replied.

  “Until tonight, then.” Lord Featherstone offered them a slight bow.

  As they walked away, Emma leaned close to Ellie. “You need to be mindful to stay clear of Lord Featherstone,” she whispered.

  “Why is that?”

  “He is looking for a wife this Season,” Emma informed her, “but he has earned a reputation as a rakehell.”

  “Is that so?”

  Emma bobbed her head. “He may be looking for an heiress, but he takes no issue with ruining girls’ reputations along the way.”

  “I’ll heed your words.”

  “See that you do,” Emma urged. “Now, on to much more pleasurable things. Shall we look at hats or shawls next?”

  “I propose we look at hats,” Ellie replied. “I was only able to bring the straw hat I’m wearing and a bonnet.”

  Harriet looked at her with pity. “You poor thing.”

  “I don’t know why I have to attend Lady Bryum’s ball this evening,” Roswell grumbled as he stood next to his mother in the entry hall.

  “We need to show the ton that we fully support Miss Bentley,” Harriet replied.

  “Why can’t I support her from the townhouse?”

  Harriet smiled, ignoring his boorish attitude. “I know you despise these types of social events, but they are important for you to attend.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because you are a marquess, and it is expected of you.”

  “Hardly,” he replied. “What is expected of me is to take up my seat at the House of Lords. Which I already did.”

  “You need to find a wife.”

  Roswell adjusted the sleeves of his white dress shirt. “I believe I have already informed you that I have no desire to rush into an unwanted marriage.”

  “Not all marriages are unwanted.”

  He scoffed. “Most of them are.”

  “Your father and I were a love match,” she reminded him.

  “You were the exception, not the rule.”

  His mother gave him a knowing look. “Your aversion to marriage is growing rather irksome.”

  “Only to you, Mother.”

  Her eyes took on a pleading look. “Promise me that you won’t dismiss every woman out of hand.”

  He frowned. “If you must know, I find Lady Persephone to be rather agreeable. I might even consider entering a marriage of convenience with her.”

  “How romantic,” she muttered.

  “Sensible women do not require love,” Roswell claimed. “They only want the security of a man’s name.”

  “All women wish to be swept off their feet,” his mother pressed.

  Roswell watched as Emma descended the stairs, looking lovely in a white gown with a blue sash around her waist.

  “You are looking lovely this evening, sister,” he said as she came to a stop in front of them.

  “Thank you,” she replied.

  He turned his eyes up to the top of the stairs and saw Miss Bentley standing there, wearing a pale pink gown with a square neckline. Her brown hair was piled atop her head, and small curls framed her face. To say she merely looked beautiful would be an understatement in his mind. It was a shame she had no prospects.

  Rather than watch her descend the stairs, he turned his attention towards Thorne. “Are the coaches out front?”

  “They are,” Thorne confirmed.

  “Excellent,” he replied. “I shall ride with Charles.”

  Roswell felt Miss Bentley’s presence next to him, but he did not feel any need to speak to her. It was because of her that he was being forced to go to this blasted ball.

  His mother spoke up. “You are looking radiant tonight, Ellie.”

  Miss Bentley smiled, her whole face lighting up. “Emma was nice enough to let me borrow this gown for the evening.”

  “You may as well keep it,” Emma said as she tugged on the tops of her white gloves. “It looks much better on you than it ever has on me.”

  “Truly?”

  Emma nodded. “I look dreadful in pink.”

  “I can’t imagine that to be the case,” Miss Bentley attempted.

  “It is true,” his mother said. “Emma looks best in white and blue hues.”

  “Thank you,” Miss Bentley said. “I shall take good care of this gown.”

  Emma smiled at her. “I know you will.”

  At that moment, Charles stepped down onto the bottom step of the stairs. “I do apologize for being the last person down.”

  Roswell gestured towards the door. “We are riding together in the first coach.”

  Charles tipped his head in acknowledgement. “Understood.”

  As Charles walked across the foyer, Roswell couldn’t help but notice that Charles’ eyes lingered on Miss Bentley for a long moment.

  Roswell turned towards the door and headed into the awaiting coach. “Mother insisted that we travel by coach to Lady Bryum’s townhouse rather than walk,” he said as Charles sat across from him.

  “But of course,” Charles declared. “It is nearly a block away.”

  “Not you, too.”

  Charles smiled. “I would prefer to walk, but Mother would be furious if we did. After all, imagine what people would think if they saw us walking to a ball.” He gave a mock shudder.

  “Let’s hope this evening isn’t a total disaster.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Roswell let out a sigh. “I fear that Miss Bentley will be vastly disappointed by the lack of attention she will garner this evening.”

  “You seem so confident that Miss Bentley will fail.”

  “She will,” he replied. “I have no doubt.”

  Charles looked displeased by his response. “You are quite the naysayer.”

  “I merely speak the truth.”

  The coach jerked to a stop in front of a large, stately townhouse. Roswell waited until the footman opened the door before he stepped out. He waited patiently as the other coach pulled up.

  Once the ladies had exited the coach, Roswell walked over to his mother and offered his arm. He turned his head to see Charles escorting Emma and Miss Bentley.

  Together, they stepped into the townhouse and followed the line of people into the ballroom. The middle of the dance floor was ornately painted with chalk, and the sconces on the wall brightened the whole room.

  Roswell walked to an opening along the wall and dropped his mother’s arm.

  Emma came to stand next to him. “This is a crush.”

  “I agree,” his mother replied. “With any luck, your dance card will be filled this evening.”

  Roswell watched Miss Bentley as her wide eyes scanned the room, and he saw the fascination within them. Their eyes met, and he quickly averted his gaze, embarrassed that he had been caught staring.

  Lord Townsend broke through the crowd and approached him. “Bideford,” he greeted. “I never thought I would catch you at one of these.”

  “I came under protest,” he said.

  Townsend smiled. “I assumed that was the case.” His eyes shifted towards Emma. “It is a pleasure to see you again, Lady Emma.”

  Emma dropped into a curtsy. “Likewise, Lord Townsend.�
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  Townsend’s eyes shifted towards Miss Bentley. “And who is this most beautiful creature?”

  Harriet gestured toward Miss Bentley. “Allow me the privilege of introducing you to Miss Bentley,” she said.

  Townsend tipped his head in acknowledgement. “I look forward to getting to know you, Miss Bentley.”

  Miss Bentley offered him a timid smile. “That is kind of you to say, my lord.”

  The music started up and Townsend extended his arm towards Emma. “Would you care to dance the first set with me?”

  “I would,” Emma replied as she accepted it.

  As Townsend and Emma walked off towards the direction of the dance floor, Lord Featherstone approached Miss Bentley with a determined gleam in his eye. He stopped in front of her and asked, “May I have this dance, Miss Bentley?”

  Roswell could see the indecision on her face, and for some inexplicable reason it compelled him to act. “I’m afraid you are too late, Featherstone. I have already claimed this dance,” he said, offering his arm to Miss Bentley.

  She promptly placed her gloved hand onto it and he led her towards the dance floor. She glanced over at him. “Thank you, my lord.”

  “You are welcome.” He kept his gaze straight ahead. “I do hope that my mother has warned you about Lord Featherstone’s reputation with the ladies.”

  “Emma did.”

  “Good. Featherstone is not the type of man you want to associate with.”

  “I’ll be mindful to avoid him.”

  “I am pleased to hear that, because I do not want this family’s reputation to be tarnished with a scandal.”

  “Nor do I.”

  He nodded, sparing her a glance. “This doesn’t change anything between us, Miss Bentley,” he said. “I still would prefer if you would pack up and go home.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because you don’t belong here, and you know it.”

  Miss Bentley pursed her lips together, then asked, “May I ask why you don’t like me?”

  “I can assure you that it isn’t personal.”

  “No?” she asked, arching an eyebrow. “Because it seems rather personal to me.”

  “You would be mistaken.”