Page 18 of Tempting the Marquess

“Indeed. A grumpy old bear. Even though it was his fault, I sent some extra coins to the man for his trouble. He forgave me. But can you? I would like for us to spend some proper time together, before an eligible young buck like, ah, say Standish steals youaway...”

Her cheeks flamed and he chuckled.

“Oh ho! No wonder you’re so excited about this Season. Well, in that case I shall want to hear all the details about your outings, especially if you see the marquess. We’ll have a meal or tea each day, hmmm?”

Blinking damp eyes, Samantha nodded eagerly. “Of course, Papa. But you’ll be near deaf after I’ve repeated every word said!” she joked.

“Not a good story unless it’s the full story, Samantha. Enjoy your shopping.”

A few hours later, they descended on Piccadilly to visit her mother’s favorite seamstress. In her element, Eva fluttered around the shop perusing fashion plates and swatches of lace before dancing from one bolt of silk to the next. At last, smiling triumphantly, she picked up one of mint green shot with silver.

“This one,” she said happily. “With lots of ruffles.”

Samantha froze, and stole a quick glance at the attendant following them around. Fortunately the woman looked equally appalled as she stepped forward with another bolt of fabric.

“Are you sure, Lady Claremont? I have a charming cream and gold here. We could add a brown silk sash to match your daughter’s lovelyeyes.”

“Oh, Mother, look,” breathed Samantha, in love with the simple but elegant design.

“Don’t be ridiculous, it’s far too plain,” replied her mother impatiently. “My choice is much better. Now, let uspin.”

The seamstress pursed her lips, but began to drape the soft material with an expert touch.

Eva frowned again. “Lower.”

“Oh, of course, ma’am. Brussels lace would be perfect for the top of this bodice.”

“No. Nolace.”

The seamstress’s jaw dropped. “But Lady Claremont! She is...er...her figure...ah...the young lady will be a trifle...chilly.”

“Better to be a trifle chilly than a spinster. My daughter must learn to dress in a way that shows rather than hides. Now get pinning.”

“Yes ma’am,” the woman muttered, obviously unwilling to upset a customer and lose business, even if she hated what she was doing. “I will personally ensure the gown is delivered in time for the party.”

Unfortunately, the seamstress was as good as herword.

Now, just an hour before the dinner at Hastings House, Samantha could only stare at her looking glass and will herself not to cry. Her mother’s choice of gown was downright awful. This green was pure frog underbelly, and the fussy ruffles circling from waist to hem, and on each sleeve, made her look the size of a barrel. Worst of all, her stays were pulled extra tight, pushing her breasts together and lifting them so high they almost spilled out of the scandalously low cut bodice.

She looked like a courtesan. An ill, overweight courtesan. But how could she have said anything when her mother actually patted her hand and smiled as she wished her a wonderful evening?

Closing her eyes, she whimpered.

Trudy tapped her foot, clearly racking her brain to think of some encouraging words, but Samantha held up a hand in a plea for silence. “Don’t. There is nothing you can say to make this better, although I suppose it helps that some of the other guests are my friends. I might still be invited out from time totime.”

“What if you wore your pelisse all evening?”

“If only I could,” she said miserably, before plastering a large, fake smile on her face. “But it’s just for one night. In future I’ll remember to go shopping without Mother.”

Yet even as she walked down the stairs and out to where the Claremont carriage waited, she mocked her own words. Just for one night? With the most eligible bachelors in England? An event even the most stunning and assured ladies of the ton would exchange anything and everything for an invitation todine?

Samantha paused on the bottom step, took a few deep breaths and lifted her chin. This silliness had to stop. If Lord Standish was the kind of man who would give someone the cut direct just because of their clothing, then he could go wallow in a pigpen.

Straightening her shoulders, she grasped the footman’s hand and hoisted herself into the carriage, settling herself on the comfortable leather squabs. And immediately wanted to turn around and flee to her bedchamber. But the door was shut, and the carriage was moving down the cobbled street with great pace. Much like the night of her come out, the way was annoyingly clear. It seemed whenever she didn’t want to arrive somewhere, this would forever be thecase.

All too soon, the carriage pulled up in front of Lord Standish’s townhouse in Grosvenor Square. A footman assisted her out, and she trudged up the front steps like a prisoner approaching Newgate.

The front door swung open, and a silver-haired man bowed. “Ah, good evening, Lady Samantha.”