She arranged her hair and jewels as he bid, biting her lip. “You seem on good terms with Forsythia Pennyroyal.”
“She is not one for such a task. I cannot rely on her discretion.” He shrugged his shoulders in frustration. “If I had family, perhaps, but the only Bales girl left is my niece, Horatia, and she is barely fourteen.”
“Poor little orphan,” Henrietta murmured. “Lady Celeste has no sisters?”
“None of age, and no friends. She dislikes the company of women. I suppose I might try Freddy. He’s her favorite of her rattle-pate brothers, and back from abroad.”
Henrietta’s mouth fell open as she stared into her glass. The classical look was simple and softened her features.
“I look agreeable,” she said in surprise.
Darien cleared his throat to free a sudden tightness. “You should never hide your neck or bosom,” he said. “Show them everywhere, and often. Now, go to Duprix. She is ready with your robe.”
“It feels lighter,” he heard Henrietta comment, then a whisper of silken fabric. “Oh, that is better. Far less ostrich, and more?—”
“Swan.”
Darien made no attempt to hide his satisfaction. With the excess pared away, the gown turned Henrietta’s figure to advantage. She was slenderer than the fashion, but the gleaming fabric swirled and clung to her form in a way that made her deficiencies seem less pitiful and more…fascinating.
“What have you done to the bodice? You are meant to wear it—” He gestured. Duprix, with an efficient yank, lowered the neckline by two full inches.
“Good heavens, no,” Henrietta said. “I shall catch my death of cold.”
“M’sieur is correct. It is the accepted look for evening.” Duprix shook out a pair of silk evening gloves and rolled them up Henrietta’s arms. “You must have a set of bosom friends. I will make some for you.”
“We will not discuss this with him in the room,” Henrietta said, mortified.
Darien grinned. “You ought to show your shoulders more often too. Do you not wear stays?”
“Of course I do.” Henrietta flushed. “Oh, very well. If you must know, I gave my old set to the housemaids and have not had time to go shopping.”
“You might try some for evening, to elevate the bosom. Well, Duprix, this is an improvement.”
“Oui, monsieur,” Duprix allowed. “I will cut down the back and put in a fall of lace. Ma’mselle has a lovely back but no derriereto speak of.”
“Excellent idea,” Darien approved. “She does need a bit of a curve there.”
“Would you like to check my teeth as well?” said an acidic Henrietta. “Or my hooves?”
“Speaking of hooves,” Darien said, “nothing but silk slippers for evening. And gad, Henrietta, those stockings—they might as well be blue worsted.” He shook his head at the maid. “Make sure she gets some nice silk ones next time she is out.”
“Ma’mselle rarely visits the shops, milord. She has too many other demands on her time, so she says.”
“No wonder her clothes are ten years out of date.” Darien circled her again. “This fan. And this shawl, draped so. There—you are quite fetching.”
Henrietta scowled. “I suppose now I must apply rouge, or patches, or something equally ridiculous.”
“Why should you? You are only dining en famille. If you are endeavoring to captivate me, I prefer a simpler look,” Darien answered.
“Captivate!” Henrietta gaped. “As if I—!” He grinned and ducked out of the room before she could throw a pot of something at his head.
Outside the chamber, Darien paused for a deep, calming breath. He had undressed more women than he could remember, but dressing this one was strangely more affecting.He had certainly not expected to find that Henrietta’s badly fitting and outmoded gowns concealed such an elegant shape.
Darien smoothed the front of his suit to ensure everything was in order, then adopted the most casual air he could achieve as he strolled back to the drawing room. Henrietta, with her stubborn cleverness, might very well find a solution to his tangle with Celeste. Moreover, he had the satisfaction of knowing that Miss Wardley-Hines, however unconventional in other respects, was not completely unaffected when she saw him appraising her breasts.
CHAPTER TEN
In the drawing room, Sir Charleton, wearing a waistcoat similar in color and pattern to the one Darien had worn to the Ellesmere soiree, broke off his conversation with Marsibel to give Darien a fierce glower. Lady Clarinda held out her hand with a serene smile, glowing in an emerald satinrobe à l’anglaise.
