regimental coat worn with a waistcoat, skirt and cocked hat. She doubted she was tall enough to carry it off. “Did you?”
“Oui. You should have seen the nightgowns she wore.” Charity looked up. “Oh? What were they like?”
“You could see your hand through them. And the colours, mon dieu! Crimson and black with lots of lace.”
Charity’s interest was piqued. “Did the Duke visit her in her house?” Brigitte laughed.
“Tout à fait. He brought her diamond bracelets, champagne and filled her boudoir with red roses.”
Charity thrust the magazine away. “And how did she act with him?” Brigitte dropped the nightgown and began to sway her hips provocatively, moving around the room.
“She danced for him in her nightgown while he sat and watched and drank the champagne. Spellbound he was. She touched herself as she danced.” Brigitte waved her hand over various parts of her body. “Then poof, he would dismiss me.” She nodded sagely. “She knew how to please a man, that one.”
Charity’s cheeks heated. “My goodness.” Could she ever be that seductive? She could not imagine her mother behaving like that for the life of her. Why her father would have died of the apoplexy. But what would Robert do if she acted that way? Robert was nothing like her father.
Charity took the carriage and did some shopping with the maid accompanying her. She had no one to shop for but herself and Robert. She picked up a silk robe for him and almost bought it, then decided it was too intimate. Since all his clothes were specially made, what could she find that he would actually treasure? She finally settled on a small enameled snuff box with a horse painted on it. She bought Lady Susan a Norwich shawl, Brigitte a pair of embroidered fingerless gloves which delighted her, and ribbons for herself. She found the elm bark powder and gave it to Barker who quite lost his voice in effusive thanks.
The days seemed to crawl by and their first official engagement grew closer. Charity was in a fever of excitement and nerves whenever she thought of it. Perhaps she’d feel better if she kept busy. What did people do in London? She might visit the famous sights, but a lady did not go about unescorted, and it would prove uninspiring without someone with whom to share it. Robert had said that after she’d met the Royal family, they would begin to receive callers, but this prospect only served to unnerve her further.
In her chamber, she took out her small knife and whittled the pieces of driftwood she’d brought with her. Her grandfather had been a sculptor, and taught her to carve things out of wood.
She had quite a display along her fireplace mantel already: a fox peered out from a bush; a rabbit sat, ears almost twitching; a wren rested on a branch. An hour later, she put the piece down.
It now bore a closer resemblance to a horse jumping a log. She wondered if she would ever gain the confidence to show Robert her work. She rather doubted it. Business had taken him to Vauxhall again. He seemed to have settled back into the life he led before they married. It didn’t seem likely he would visit her boudoir any time soon.
Saturday came, the night she would be presented to the king and queen. She had practiced her deep curtsey every day in readiness. Robert had joined her for dinner served at the dining table which seated some forty people. The meal progressed under the vigilant eye of the butler and two footmen.
She sought to draw Robert into conversation, wishing he didn’t always appear distracted or disinterested. “Did you achieve much in Vauxhall today, Robert?” she asked.
Robert took a helping of veal from a silver salver held by the footman. “It’s difficult, my uncle’s pottery business isn’t doing well, and I’ve employed a new manager. We are trying to think of ways to improve it before I sell it.”
“Does the factory make plates like these?” Glad to have something to talk about, Charity pointed to the
“Oui. You should have seen the nightgowns she wore.” Charity looked up. “Oh? What were they like?”
“You could see your hand through them. And the colours, mon dieu! Crimson and black with lots of lace.”
Charity’s interest was piqued. “Did the Duke visit her in her house?” Brigitte laughed.
“Tout à fait. He brought her diamond bracelets, champagne and filled her boudoir with red roses.”
Charity thrust the magazine away. “And how did she act with him?” Brigitte dropped the nightgown and began to sway her hips provocatively, moving around the room.
“She danced for him in her nightgown while he sat and watched and drank the champagne. Spellbound he was. She touched herself as she danced.” Brigitte waved her hand over various parts of her body. “Then poof, he would dismiss me.” She nodded sagely. “She knew how to please a man, that one.”
Charity’s cheeks heated. “My goodness.” Could she ever be that seductive? She could not imagine her mother behaving like that for the life of her. Why her father would have died of the apoplexy. But what would Robert do if she acted that way? Robert was nothing like her father.
Charity took the carriage and did some shopping with the maid accompanying her. She had no one to shop for but herself and Robert. She picked up a silk robe for him and almost bought it, then decided it was too intimate. Since all his clothes were specially made, what could she find that he would actually treasure? She finally settled on a small enameled snuff box with a horse painted on it. She bought Lady Susan a Norwich shawl, Brigitte a pair of embroidered fingerless gloves which delighted her, and ribbons for herself. She found the elm bark powder and gave it to Barker who quite lost his voice in effusive thanks.
The days seemed to crawl by and their first official engagement grew closer. Charity was in a fever of excitement and nerves whenever she thought of it. Perhaps she’d feel better if she kept busy. What did people do in London? She might visit the famous sights, but a lady did not go about unescorted, and it would prove uninspiring without someone with whom to share it. Robert had said that after she’d met the Royal family, they would begin to receive callers, but this prospect only served to unnerve her further.
In her chamber, she took out her small knife and whittled the pieces of driftwood she’d brought with her. Her grandfather had been a sculptor, and taught her to carve things out of wood.
She had quite a display along her fireplace mantel already: a fox peered out from a bush; a rabbit sat, ears almost twitching; a wren rested on a branch. An hour later, she put the piece down.
It now bore a closer resemblance to a horse jumping a log. She wondered if she would ever gain the confidence to show Robert her work. She rather doubted it. Business had taken him to Vauxhall again. He seemed to have settled back into the life he led before they married. It didn’t seem likely he would visit her boudoir any time soon.
Saturday came, the night she would be presented to the king and queen. She had practiced her deep curtsey every day in readiness. Robert had joined her for dinner served at the dining table which seated some forty people. The meal progressed under the vigilant eye of the butler and two footmen.
She sought to draw Robert into conversation, wishing he didn’t always appear distracted or disinterested. “Did you achieve much in Vauxhall today, Robert?” she asked.
Robert took a helping of veal from a silver salver held by the footman. “It’s difficult, my uncle’s pottery business isn’t doing well, and I’ve employed a new manager. We are trying to think of ways to improve it before I sell it.”
“Does the factory make plates like these?” Glad to have something to talk about, Charity pointed to the
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