always failed to perceive. He looked towards the doorway, whence the sound came, but the scene was dissolving, shifting before his eyes. The harsh gas light faded to grey midwinter daylight; the cabbage roses on the wallpaper merged, then paled to white; the carpet shrank to a rectangle of Turkey rug.
Reggie appeared in the doorway. “Are you coming with me to see what the girl has produced, coz? Oh, you’re still not up. I can’t wait to see her face when she hears of the honour in store for her.” He took himself off.
Haunted by his vision of the duke’s heir—so obviously Martha’s son—Edward rang for the footman who acted as his valet when he stayed here. Martha depended on him. He could not let her down. He would use his magic to help her win the duke’s hand...
On one condition.
She greeted him with stars in her eyes. “Edward, did His Grace tell you? He wants to marry me! I can hardly believe it, the most handsome, dashing nobleman in the world, and he has chosen me to be his duchess. Is it not the most wonderful thing imaginable?”
Edward’s heart sank. So it was not only the great position she coveted, she actually admired Reggie. Despite the way he had treated her, the meanness and the threats, all she saw was his outward attractions, his good looks, his splendid physique, his fashionable dress.
Nonetheless sorry to bring her back to earth from her air-dreams, he asked bluntly, “What do you have to accomplish to earn such felicity?”
Her nose wrinkled in an enchanting grimace. “He has given us sackcloth this time, to make six ball gowns and a formal court dress. I did not realize a ball gown is different from an evening dress, more elaborate still, and a court dress is dreadfully complicated. Two petticoats and a robe with a train! But I know we can do it.”
“What will you give me for my help?”
Her face fell. “You know I have nothing worth giving.”
“Nothing?” Your love, Edward cried in silent agony, but that was impossible. Now was the moment to present his condition: “Then give me a promise,” he said slowly, “that when you are Duchess of Diss, you will let me bring up your first-born son. Let me guide his steps, direct his discipline, oversee his education.”
“What an odd request,” she exclaimed, surprised and doubtful.
She glanced from the bundle of sackcloth on the table to the open magazine lying beside it. The illustration showed a court dress: zephyrine trimmed with lace, over a lace petticoat, over a hooped satin petticoat, all richly decorated with pearls and silver lamé. It would not do to skimp on the trimmings for Lizzie’s presentation to the Queen, who was a notorious stickler for every observance.
Not that the trimmings made any difference, when she had nothing but sackcloth to work with.
“Yes, I promise,” Martha cried, “for without your help, I shall never be duchess.”
At the instant she pronounced the words, “I promise,” Martha became aware of the tenuous strands of the web between herself and Edward. It had never disintegrated, she realized, only hidden itself from her sight. Now, slowly, it stiffened until slender yet rigid crystalline rods held them at once together and apart.
Again the eerie manifestation vanished from view. Invisible and intangible, it did not affect the physical distance between Martha and Edward. Despite its elasticity, though, and despite its fragile appearance, Martha sensed it was as strong, as enduring as a millstone.
Yet a millstone could be fractured by a blow in the wrong place.
She had no time to wonder about the significance of that strange lattice, nor to worry about her promise, for the task before them was the most formidable yet.
Chapter VI
The sacking was near impossible to work with, difficult to pin, fraying when cut, refusing to lie flat when Martha tried to smooth it. As she wielded the hot iron, a mournful song, The False Bride , rose to
Reggie appeared in the doorway. “Are you coming with me to see what the girl has produced, coz? Oh, you’re still not up. I can’t wait to see her face when she hears of the honour in store for her.” He took himself off.
Haunted by his vision of the duke’s heir—so obviously Martha’s son—Edward rang for the footman who acted as his valet when he stayed here. Martha depended on him. He could not let her down. He would use his magic to help her win the duke’s hand...
On one condition.
She greeted him with stars in her eyes. “Edward, did His Grace tell you? He wants to marry me! I can hardly believe it, the most handsome, dashing nobleman in the world, and he has chosen me to be his duchess. Is it not the most wonderful thing imaginable?”
Edward’s heart sank. So it was not only the great position she coveted, she actually admired Reggie. Despite the way he had treated her, the meanness and the threats, all she saw was his outward attractions, his good looks, his splendid physique, his fashionable dress.
Nonetheless sorry to bring her back to earth from her air-dreams, he asked bluntly, “What do you have to accomplish to earn such felicity?”
Her nose wrinkled in an enchanting grimace. “He has given us sackcloth this time, to make six ball gowns and a formal court dress. I did not realize a ball gown is different from an evening dress, more elaborate still, and a court dress is dreadfully complicated. Two petticoats and a robe with a train! But I know we can do it.”
“What will you give me for my help?”
Her face fell. “You know I have nothing worth giving.”
“Nothing?” Your love, Edward cried in silent agony, but that was impossible. Now was the moment to present his condition: “Then give me a promise,” he said slowly, “that when you are Duchess of Diss, you will let me bring up your first-born son. Let me guide his steps, direct his discipline, oversee his education.”
“What an odd request,” she exclaimed, surprised and doubtful.
She glanced from the bundle of sackcloth on the table to the open magazine lying beside it. The illustration showed a court dress: zephyrine trimmed with lace, over a lace petticoat, over a hooped satin petticoat, all richly decorated with pearls and silver lamé. It would not do to skimp on the trimmings for Lizzie’s presentation to the Queen, who was a notorious stickler for every observance.
Not that the trimmings made any difference, when she had nothing but sackcloth to work with.
“Yes, I promise,” Martha cried, “for without your help, I shall never be duchess.”
At the instant she pronounced the words, “I promise,” Martha became aware of the tenuous strands of the web between herself and Edward. It had never disintegrated, she realized, only hidden itself from her sight. Now, slowly, it stiffened until slender yet rigid crystalline rods held them at once together and apart.
Again the eerie manifestation vanished from view. Invisible and intangible, it did not affect the physical distance between Martha and Edward. Despite its elasticity, though, and despite its fragile appearance, Martha sensed it was as strong, as enduring as a millstone.
Yet a millstone could be fractured by a blow in the wrong place.
She had no time to wonder about the significance of that strange lattice, nor to worry about her promise, for the task before them was the most formidable yet.
Chapter VI
The sacking was near impossible to work with, difficult to pin, fraying when cut, refusing to lie flat when Martha tried to smooth it. As she wielded the hot iron, a mournful song, The False Bride , rose to
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