Page 20 of The Earl and His Lady

“Here we are, my most lovely gowns.” Christine shut the door and went to the bed, tossing the dresses one at a time upon the coverlet.

Virginia stood and came to examine them, her green shawl in hand. Because she and her cousin had different coloring, and tastes which diverged more often than not, she worried none of the dresses would suit her. But anything was better than gray.

A sapphire blue dress was lovely, but wrong. A deep mauve looked too much like a mourning lilac. The white was out of the question—she was hardly a debutante. But there was an ivory-colored gown with green embroidery at the bodice and hem.

“This one,” she said, laying the shawl beside it. “This will do perfectly.”

“I thought so, too, but I wanted to give you options.” Christine’s wide, cheerful smile lifted Virginia’s heart. Her cousin was one of the most generous people she knew. “And,” Christine added, picking up the dresses not chosen, “I will make it a present to you, so it is no longer a borrowed dress. It is yours.”

“Christine, it’s too lovely—”

“I insist. And as you are my guest, it would be rude of you to refuse.” Christine winked. “I had better to change out of this riding habit, but I will be back to help you try the dress on.”

Virginia murmured her thanks. She reached down to the gown, fingering the fine cloth. To wear something other than black or gray stirred up a mix of emotions, not all of which were identifiable. She missed color at times. The world had been a very dull gray for far too long.

She took off her dressing gown and laid it across the bed. Her maid, Louisa, had already helped her put on her underthings. She lifted the gown Christine had given her and carefully pulled it overhead. The fabric fell with a swish around Virginia. The back would need to be done up, but she went to the mirror anyway to see how it looked.

The gown’s simplicity appealed to her. It would make a fine wedding dress, and when she laid her mourning aside she would enjoy wearing it often.

I marry Lucas Calvert tomorrow. Virginia touched her hair, piled up on her head in a simple twist. Her hands trembled and she hastily lowered them.

When Charles died, she had not thought to marry again. The love they shared, she knew, was not easily found. But necessity compelled her.

Perhaps there was some good she could do, too, as a countess. After reading the papers the earl—Lucas—had left her, the work ahead of her became clearer. It was a man’s province to care for the estate and lands, of course, but wives had their part to play.

He owned five houses throughout England, of varying size and consequence. All five had tenants, and while her husband must care for their livelihood, it was her duty to see to their well-being. And though he owned the houses and employed the staff at each, she would be the person responsible for the day-to-day instructions and interactions.

Charles’s barony, while by no means poor, had not encompassed many people or large tracts of land. But she had handled her responsibilities there quite well. She would do the same now.

A soft rap on the door preceded Christine’s reentry. “Oh, that will be just lovely. Here, let me do up the back.” She hurried in and started on the buttons.

Virginia met her eyes in the mirror and squared her shoulders.

I can do this. For the boys, for myself, for the people I will help.

All would be well, she told herself. For it must be.

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Lucas adjusted his cravat, staring into the mirror of his dressing room. The folds did not seem right to him, no matter how often he adjusted them.

A sigh escaped Randal, who came forward immediately, his hands replacing Lucas’s upon the cloth. “My lord, this is the third cravat this morning. What about it displeases you?”

“I cannot say, precisely. It looks like it has no business going to a wedding.” Lucas raised his eyebrows at his valet, trying to inject some humor into his words. “Perhaps a stick-pin?”

“Yes, my lord.” Randal stepped away to a small chest of drawers and pulled out a box. Lucas resisted the desire to pull at the snow-white cloth around his throat, knowing it was ridiculous to imagine the thing choking him.

“Here, my lord. May I suggest the sapphire pin?”

Lucas looked down at the box where several pins were nestled in a bed of velvet. He had difficulty swallowing for a moment.

Abigail had given him the box, and two of the pins, as a birthday gift after their wedding. He had laughed at the velvet, claiming it looked more likely to hold the crown jewels than his small baubles.

Reminders of her were everywhere of late.

“That will do, Randal.” His valet took the selected pin and carefully affixed it to the cravat.

Lucas turned back to the mirror, inspecting his clothing carefully. He’d chosen his darkest blue coat and gray breeches, trying to look solemn without wearing mourning of his own. When he awoke, his wedding on his mind, he realized he had not discussed what would be appropriate to wear. His bride was a mourning widow, he a widower. They hardly had need for finery, and it wasn’t a cheerful occasion so much as a necessary one.