The Wrong Bride Read online

  Winnie turned one way and then the other and saw with relief Isabelle hurrying toward her. “Have ye been waitin’ long?”

  “No, but I’m very glad you’ve come. It’s turning a little bitter, I think.” Inside, wonderful warmth enveloped them. Winnie hadn’t visited the store before, there being no point what with watching pence so closely and not wishing to be tempted, but now she had the gift from Lance and a little of her own funds and looked around at all the offerings. It was like a time when she had gone inside an emporium with her family when much younger and saw the proud display of all sorts of sweets: caramels and taffies wrapped in small, waxed papers, tiny cakes, candied fruit, sticks of peppermint and other hard candies. There were almost too many items to take in at this store, too, hats and ribbons, a few dresses already made up, underpinnings, and an especially pretty, light and airy white nightdress with lace around the high collar and matching cuffs, and a sprinkling of sequins on the bodice. Winnie would never have anything like it, the stuff of dreams and not reality. She sighed. Isabelle was not as awed, had been in the shop before and was familiar with it, making a beeline for hairpins. The proprietress came over and quietly indicated she was with a customer but wouldn’t be long. Winnie didn’t mind. She could wander to her heart’s content, dream for a time, and perhaps leave with another ribbon or two. She turned at the hissing sound and went to see. In the little nook where Isabelle waited was a table with a three-part mirror and a chair in front. “Ye can try out the diff’rent make-up, pomades and powders, if ye like,” she whispered, “they’re samples.” Though Winnie shook her head, she wished just for once she might be a little daring. What would Lance think of her if she went to supper one evening, dressed divinely with touches of lip and cheek pomade and a light dusting of powder over it all, with her hair done up. Winnie frowned. What difference would it make anyway? She surely didn’t care what he thought of her, did she?

  She watched as the first customer came out followed by the maid carrying a large package. “What about the new nightdress?”

  The pretty woman waved dismissively. “I’ve decided I don’t like it. The color isn’t bold enough. You might do one up in red or black to see if I’d like it.” Winnie saw the proprietress’s face tighten and knew what it meant. The woman had the negligee made up especial, and now the customer didn’t want it. She wouldn’t likely find another buyer soon and would lose money on it. The customer pointed behind her. “Send the bill for this to my father.”

  “Very well, Lady Caroline.” The dressmaker nodded her head slightly and watched as the woman went out the door before sighing heavily. She turned to Winnie with a fixed smile.

  “And how may I help you today, Miss…?”

  “Not ‘miss’ but Brevard. I need a coat, nothing too expensive.”

  The woman relaxed and her smile was genuine and welcoming. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Milady. I believe I have just the thing. It’s been worn once, returned by the woman you just saw, and so I’m selling it at discount. Unless that would trouble you?” She looked inquiringly at Winnie.

  Winnie smiled at the woman. “No, it wouldn’t. I’m of a very practical turn.”

  “Of course you are. I don’t suppose you’d be interested in a very impractical nightdress? It’s one of a kind and has a matching peignoir.” The woman shook her head. “Some of our clients are troublesome.”

  “I can imagine. Most likely not, I think, about the purchase of those exquisites.”

  “Would milady like to try some of our new maquillages?”

  Winnie blushed. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t know how to apply them in any case.”

  “But that’s what I’m here for,” the woman said with good humor.

  “Well, I don’t know.” Winnie hesitated before speaking out. “But why not? After I see the coat, of course, and after I have my maid select a gift for herself.” She smiled. “A reward for her good work, you see. Perhaps you’ll allow her some of your treatment.” And then, we’ll treat ourselves to coffee and an iced bun at the baker across the street, she thought.

  “Splendid.” The woman brought out the redingote in a dark gray, warm material with lambs’ wool trim on the over cape and cuffs, the cape forming a hood and lined, just like the upper part of the body of the coat. “The lady wanted it like a man’s.”

  Winnie breathed in a rush once she saw the garment. “What a beautiful coat, and the idea, too. It must keep one wonderfully warm. How dear is it?”

  The woman named a price, and Winnie argued with herself. “Just for the sake of asking, how much is the nightshift?”

  Again, another price was offered. “I’m sorry. I simply cannot. As for the coat, I’ll take it.”

  “Suppose I take off a bit more, could you afford it. I can bill your husband for the difference.”

  Winnie produced a nervous laugh at that. “However, I do have my own funds in the bank, and, yes…Yes! I will have it.” For the rest of my life I shall have nothing like it, but, she argued to herself, I will have something that I can look at from time to time as a token, a most expensive token, that I have not always been grubby and insignificant, as the look from the pretty woman suggested. “We’ll have a try at some of that make-up, and, awhile you’re wrapping the things, I will visit the bank and bring you the difference. Would that be alright?”

  “But milady will not have to trouble herself. It’s extraordinary to have a customer pay on the actual day of purchase for an expensive item. I’m sure your husband won’t mind…”

  “No, it’s alright, “Winnie interjected gently. “There will be no need to trouble him.” She didn’t even want him to know. For once, she would do the unexpected, the wild thing. It might be the last chance, what with the settlement of their divorce after the first of the year. Yes, it was stupid, but…

  Grinning ear to ear, she fairly ran to the bank to make a small withdrawal. Mr. Withers, the manager, balked a moment before acquiescing to her request. Wouldn’t she, shouldn’t she consult her husband before making a withdrawal? No, she would not. He, Mr. Withers, needn’t worry on that score, Winnie told him with a bit of heat. She was about to make a scene when she decided to change her mind about the withdrawal, about the exquisite nightdress. But, surprisingly, the manager smiled and allowed her to take the funds.

  Winnie hurried back to the dressmaker’s, paid the bill, and, after putting her purchases into the carriage, took Isabelle and Jem to the bakery and bought them iced buns and drink. Oh, it was most glorious, the best day she could remember since she’d been a child.

  Home, Winnie shook out the coat and underneath it, wrapped separately was a surprise. Not only was there the negligee, but the covering robe of the same material and workmanship. Sitting on the little bed Winnie took the things out and held them against her, closing her eyes for a moment. They were a work of art, and she would treat them accordingly.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  For days, Winnie was invariably happy after returning from the jaunt to town. The difference in her chilly attitude was noted by Lance. Maybe she met a lover, he mused. No, that couldn’t be it. Stiff-necked, straight-laced, frigid Winnie? Not on your life. But whatever it was took away her hard edge and, though she wasn’t all that much more forthcoming to Lance, it made their rare times together less tense. He might even say amiable at times.

  Two weeks later, visitors descended on the house, a card having been sent the week previous, and Lance braced for company. It was to be a test of his acclimating himself to the world he’d come back to after nearly continuous war. Accompanying Winnie to church the week before, perhaps the last time this season if the roads became poor, had been an unsettling occasion. There were whispers and some nods, a few smiles, all of which he couldn’t take in quite yet. But he was feeling better about himself and his home every day, and the routine of outdoor work kept him grounded. He also liked Winnie’s new coat and passed on his admiration, and, since he was keeping the books, she reported the expenditures and the
fact that she’d withdrawn funds from her account. There had apparently been some trouble over that, and he’d sent a note to Mr. Withers that, in future, she was to be allowed to withdraw part or all of it if she liked. Winnie was immensely grateful, almost opening the doors of the wall she’d built around herself when he came home. But no, it was necessary to keep them firmly closed until they parted.

  Winnie recognized one of the visitors right off. It was the woman she’d seen at the dressmaker’s, the Lady Caroline Blackwater and her father, Lord Hugh Blackwater. The Lady Caroline didn’t remember Winnie, even though Winnie mentioned seeing the woman at the dressmaker’s establishment.

  They stayed for hours, enjoyed one of Frances’ fine meals, and then left after advancing an invitation to visit the Blackwaters’ estate across the county. They had recently returned from the city itself, and it would take a few weeks to ready the place for company. Winnie tried to find an avenue of conversation with the woman, but it was hopeless. All Lady Caroline’s attention seemed drawn to Lance, and he wasn’t averse to smiling back at the lady who fluttered her eyelashes, smiled coyly and often at him, and who looked beautiful in a fine dress of plum velvet, very deeply cut, one that exposed part of the sides of luscious breasts, under which a band of plum velvet cording raised the same partial white breasts. Winnie admired the woman’s daring. She could never pull off anything like it and wondered if Lady Caroline had the poor, hard-pressed and put-upon dressmaker do up the garment.

  On the day following their departure, Lance went looking for Winnie. He’d changed his mind about a social event. Jem had brought news when he returned from town delivering the message to Mr. Withers and to pick up a new tool Lance had ordered. Lance never went to her room at the far end of the hall, as far away from his own bedroom as possible, he noted, but he would make an exception this time. Lance stopped in the doorway, his eyes sweeping the opposite wall where two stunning, outrageous pieces of women’s nightwear hung at an angle against the dark planked wall. The picture stalled Lance. He scowled for a moment, then stopped. The garments looked attractive, brightening the wall in the windowless room and looking like an airy sculpture. The items were unusual, even odd, considering they were nothing like Winnie would wear. Whatever had possessed the woman to buy them? When she returned the unspent portion of what Lance advanced her, she hadn’t reported this purchase. But that was alright. Winnie had spent her own money to buy them. The entire idea of the attire, so contrary to Winnie’s normal penny-pinching ways, flummoxed Lance. Perhaps she did have a lover in town. So now, he thought, when we attend the harvest ball, I will have a chance to see for myself. He didn’t like it, the idea that Winnie might be playing him for some kind of fool.

  “A ball!” she squeaked when he found her inside the library. “I don’t know. I’ve nothing to wear to such a splendid event.” The idea was wondrous, though, just like the sheer nightdress and its thin covering robe. She hadn’t danced since having been taught long ago. Lance stared at the sparkle in the bright blue eyes, the pink mouth rounding on an ‘Oh’ of surprise. For a brief moment, she was in another place, unaware he was staring at her.

  “I insist you go, Winnie. It’s about time I met more of my neighbors and the townspeople, perhaps renew acquaintances, that sort of thing. And I would prefer you accompanying me.” He didn’t want to go by himself to this new adventure. “The whole household is going. It’s to be all-inclusive event, not so opulent as you might imagine.”

  “Oh, Barnaby and Frances are going as well?” Winnie grinned. “That I should like to see, Barnaby dancing, and Frances, too, in her state at present.” Winnie paused, looking at Lance. “I think Isabelle might have a beau in town, too.”

  “Perhaps she isn’t the only one,” Lance said, frowning. “In any event, you may visit that dressmaker’s again and have a new frock made up if there is time. Have her send the bill to me.”

  “Goodness.” Winnie’s eyes grew wider in surprise. “I hardly know what to say, Master Lance. Except, I won’t turn down the offer. And thank you.” For a moment, their eyes met without rancor or bitterness, with even a hint of friendliness, and then Master Lance swung away in his usual somber way, and the little bit of time turned vaporous and was lost. But, whatever had he meant by his remark that perhaps Isabelle might not be the only one?

  It wasn’t a ball, exactly, more like a contiguous group of marquees topped with canvas around a central, huge marquee where the actual dancing was to be done on the town’s green. Carriages and wagons were left behind to clog the entrances to town while the guests walked the quarter mile to the flat, great stretch of lawn momentarily beaten down with their feet making a floor of sorts for the temporary ballroom, and one of the lesser marquees nearby held a small orchestra. Other venues held cakes, lemonade, ale, and wine for sale.

  Winnie took off her coat to lie on the pile with the rest. Lance almost gasped when he saw how she had tricked herself out. Winnie’s gown was of soft, lined white cotton lawn, the sleeves puffed at the top then enclosing her slender arms, low cut, with a blue-ribbon band under her moderate breasts, the whole of the top of the dress liberally sprinkled with silver sequins that caught the light and reflected becomingly on her face. Winnie had taken a simple dress done up at the dressmaker’s and had worked diligently to make the rather plain gown an exquisite one by sewing on the sequins herself. Her hair was lifted to the top of her head forming a mass of tamed curls, and a band of lawn embellished with more of the silvery sparkles held her elegant coiffure in place. She had borrowed ideas from being at the dressmaker’s in the way she’d darkened the thick eyelashes and pinked her mouth and cheeks, and she looked as stunning as any woman he’d ever seen. For a moment, his chest expanded with pride until he remembered she wasn’t really his.

  The dancing started almost as soon as they arrived, and Lance apologized for his clumsiness when he took her for the pro forma, obligatory first outing. “I am too worried about my own rusty skills, Master Lance, to notice, I must confess. It’s been simply ages since I’ve danced.” They were halfway around the floor when the activity stalled. Lance revolved her around the floor, more slowly by the moment, and Winnie felt time had become tardy and sluggish, as, in the entry to the ballroom, the canvas opening held back with gay red ribbons, was Lady Caroline in a startling red dress, dark hair drawn back in a chignon, a pair of diamond earbobs that matched her necklace caught the light and shimmered. Dumbly watching the scene as if mesmerized, Winnie saw a striking, dark young man detach himself from a group and proceed to take Lady Caroline’s hand while her father glowered and seemed reluctant to let her go. Winnie heard the music again, and the dance sped again into the lively gavotte.

  She chanced a look at Lance, but his attention was riveted on the young couple just striding onto the floor. “It’s Lady Caroline.”

  “Yes,” Lance said, still watching. He tore his eyes away and looked at Winnie without seeing. “So it is.” Winne was almost relieved when the dance ended, Lance bowed, and left her to her own devices. Soon, she didn’t see him.

  “Winnie!” She turned as if in a daze. It was Doctor Collins, and Winnie produced a weak smile. “May I?” he asked as the music started again. She took his arm and they were on th floor, and by now, the steps were automatic as if all those years hadn’t lapsed from when Winnie was taught them. “I’m delighted you’ve come.” He snorted. “I shouldn’t be so familiar with ‘Milady’, should I?”

  Winnie frowned. “Why ever not? I’ve known you for what, five years now, and I feel we’re old, tried friends.”

  He laughed. “Becoming the wife of a baronet doesn’t go to your head, does it, Winnie?”

  A baronet? That was news. And it accounted for her hearing ‘milady’ from others. Yet Lance had said nothing. “Perhaps it will, ah, one day, when I’m accustomed to my exalted position,” she said with a tremor of a smile crossing her mouth.

  He grinned. “You look most glamorous tonight. I don’t wish to mix business with pleasur
e, but I would be remiss if I didn’t ask how your husband is doing.”

  “There have been no more incidents since I came to see you.”

  “Good. I say ‘good’ because I heard some rather interesting gossip.”

  “Have you? I don’t mind a little gossip if it isn’t demeaning or hurtful, you know, something light and funny.”

  “Not this, Winnie. It has to do with you>”

  She was shocked. “With me? Whatever could it be?” Winnie almost laughed. “I lead such a boring little life in the boring country.” She smiled calmly. It had to be nothing.

  Collins hesitated, but only briefly. “Are you and our husband divorcing?”

  Her mouth fell open. “Wh…what? I…goodness. I hardly know what to…Where did you hear such a thing?”

  He lifted a shoulder and studied her pretty, worried face, a face that was by turns white with shock and pink with embarrassment. “Is it true?”

  “Oh, Howard!” She bit her lip. “Yes,” she sighed, her mouth trembling. “It was a prank, the marriage, a very mistaken prank, carried out by two very drunk young men. I didn’t give consent and woke up to find myself over the border in Scotland and married.”

  “Woke up? Were you inebriated, too?” A look of bewilderment stretched his mouth down in disbelief.