Page 27 of Ruined by the Wrong Earl

Candace met Nora’s eyes, and a mutual understanding of distress passed between them. Sara clutched the cushions, her face looking more puce coloured than before.

The wheels of the coach rumbled over the cobblestone streets as they entered the city, and traffic slowed the carriage. Soon, Nora recognized her neighbourhood, and they arrived home.

The ladies filed out of the coach one by one. Sara alighted first, taking in deep gasps of air. Their mother was second. Then Candace and Nora. As they climbed the steps into their home, Nora’s mother’s voice rang out.

‘Hurry, girls! Not a minute to waste until the wedding!’

Madame Fleur’s dress shop on Bond Street was where the ton’s daughters were transformed into visions of fashion. The scent of rosewater and pressed linen filled the air as Nora stood on a dais before a cheval looking glass in the elegant salon.

Blue satin shimmered from the morning light streaming from a tall window and hugged her curves. Elegant lace imported from Brussels edged the sleeves and neckline. Nora took a deep breath and tried to expand her lungs an extra inch. The dress felt too tight, constraining. She would not have picked satin. Silk would have been her choice. She’d agreed to marry Ralston, but nothing in the weeks since had been her choice.

Not the quick betrothal, the dress or the wedding breakfast to occur at the Earl’s massive pile of stone.

It was now two days before their wedding. Much of her insecurities had to do with the fact that since her return home, she’d barely spoken to Ralston. Without a special license, they’d waited until the banns were read. She’d seen him at church each Sunday. She’d glanced at his hawkish profile after the service before her mother had ushered her away.

He’d come calling twice.

Once, he’d brought flowers. The second time, a box of chocolates. He’d stayed precisely half an hour. Both times, her mother had remained in the room as a chaperone and had acted as if they’d begun courting. She’d insisted that since they were back in Town, everything had to appear proper. Their conversations had been stilted and uncomfortable. Thereafter, he’d been in touch with her mother through correspondence to make all the arrangements. Three weeks of the banns had painfully passed.

He’d been different upon their return. During their short visits, even his tone had been cooler, more formal. His stiffness was nothing like the relaxed Earl at the village fair who’d laughed with her after judging a pie contest. His cool glance lacked the twinkle in his eye beneath the fair’s lamplight. She wondered if this was who he’d be as a husband.

Now, with each passing day since returning home, her insecurities had arisen. What if he’d lied? What if he’d claimed he would support her scientific interests just to get her to marry? His fear of scandal was self-serving.

Nora bit the inside of her cheek. When did she become so jaded? She must give him the benefit of the doubt. She should enter into marriage with a positive attitude, certainly not a suspicious one.

‘Stop fidgeting,’ her mother said.

‘It’s too tight.’

‘No, chérie. It’s a perfect fit.’ Madame Fleur adjusted the bodice. ‘You will be a lovely bride and will charm the Earl.’

Ralston did not act charmed around her. He appeared to act out of duty and an immense dislike of scandal.

‘You will have to return tomorrow for a final fitting before I have the dress delivered,’ the dressmaker said.

‘She can come with her maid,’ her mother said.

The dressmaker nodded as she adjusted the gown’s hem. ‘Soon you will be a countess, Lady Ralston.’

Lady Ralston. The name sounded foreign to her ears, like a borrowed title that she’d eventually have to return. He was a wealthy man of the beau monde, an influential member of the House of Lords, and an earl. Who was she? A proud daughter of English and Middle Eastern parents and a scientist. She’d never aspired to be a countess, let alone a politician’s wife.

Madame Fleur stepped back and eyed the gown with satisfaction. ‘Now for the rest. I have a nightgown of my own design.’ The measuring tape ever-present around her neck flapped as Madame Fleur turned and snapped her fingers. An assistant appeared to bring forth a nightgown so sheer one could see too much. ‘It’s the finest silk.’

Nora would finally get something made from silk, only this was not what she had in mind.

‘The Earl will find you irresistible,’ Madame Fleur said.

Irresistible.

Nora swallowed. She wasn’t certain she wanted him to look at her that way, especially not on the wedding night. She’d feel like a woman playing a part she hadn’t auditioned for. The dressmaker nodded, then left the fitting room for more supplies.

Madame Fleur meant to compliment her by calling her irresistible, but her words had a different effect. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach, and she glanced from the sheer nightgown to the door. Would it appear cowardly if she sprinted out of the dress shop to burst onto Bond Street, then hailed the first hackney she saw to take her home?

Her mother must have sensed her unease. ‘You will be fine, Nora.’

‘How do you know?’ It was an honest question, and her voice sounded weak to her own ears.

‘I was married once, remember?’ her mother said.