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“Did you wish to say something, Eleanor?” Lady Mary asked.
“Yes, I do actually.” She straightened on the chaise. “I want to see your wedding gown.”
Lady Mary blinked several times, her teacup frozen halfway to her mouth.
Oliver gave a forced chuckle. “Women and their gowns. Cannot stop their curiosity. I suppose I should like to see what the fuss is about too.”
“I...” Lady Mary swung her gaze between the two of them and offered a vague smile. “What an interesting request, but I do not think—”
“My sister’s gown is missing,” Eleanor stated. “And I should like to see yours.”
“Ah, I think what Eleanor here is trying to say is that there has been some confusion at the modiste’s. Perhaps she fears the dresses have been muddled up. Maybe you would like to put Eleanor’s mind at rest and show her the gown?” Oliver suggested.
Mary opened her mouth, then shut it again.
“Mary?” Oliver prompted. “I would consider it a great favor.” He flashed a grin at Lady Mary that made Eleanor’s stomach curdle.
Mary gave a little smile in return. “If you should like to look at it, I suppose we can do that, but I assure you, I know full well what my wedding gown looks like—we have been working on it for months and it has the finest lace in the world.”
Eleanor swung the quickest glance at Oliver before Lady Mary led her upstairs. He’d gained her access to Lady Mary’s dress with his flirtatious manner, and she should be happy.
Should be but was not, unfortunately.
∞∞∞
From Eleanor’s expression when they returned to the drawing room either Lady Mary had uttered something spiteful, or the wedding gown was most certainly not Demeter’s. Oliver wagered it was likely both.
Lady Mary’s upcoming nuptials were to the son of a duke, and he had no doubt the woman thought herself much better than Eleanor. As handsome as the woman was, nothing could hide the unattractiveness of her soul—most especially when she turned her vile attentions to Eleanor. He’d been polite for the sake of finding this damned dress but there were limits to his civility and seeing Eleanor’s forlorn appearance set him to the very edge of it.
“As I was saying, perhaps your sister ought to borrow Chastity’s wedding gown. It was quite acceptable, do you not think?”
Eleanor muttered something under her breath that Oliver swore was a colorful insult indeed and by some miracle he kept his mouth from twitching.
“Not the gown then?”
Eleanor shook her head.
“What a shame. Well, it seems I should be going. Would you do the honor of walking out with me, Eleanor?” He offered her his arm.
“So soon?” Lady Mary said, fixing her gaze upon him and making it clear she wished only him to stay. A bitter taste rose in his mouth. No doubt her match to Lord Kellynch would be neither faithful nor happy.
He glanced her over coolly. “I think the air is getting a little stale in here. Let us depart, Eleanor.”
Lady Mary’s throat worked, and she pressed a hand to her chest as redness bloomed up toward her cheeks. Oliver led Eleanor swiftly out, and a laugh burst from her as they hit the top step.
“Goodness!”
She grinned at him, and he had to take a moment to remind himself he could not scoop her up and give her a firm kiss. With her cheeks shining, her eyes glinting with pleasure, she looked primed for kissing. Someone should make her laugh more often.
Unfortunately, that someone could not be him. Duke’s daughters did not make good mistresses and that was all he was willing to give in life.
“I take it there was no success with the dress.”
Eleanor shook her head. “I even stole a peek in her dressing room but there was nothing there. As much as I loathe the woman, she would not cease talking on the expense of the lace. I do not think she would be foolish enough or even silly enough to steal Demeter’s gown.”
“Well, perhaps—”
“She did, however, say there was a woman at the modiste’s acting strangely,” Eleanor continued excitedly. “Mary noticed her because her hair was bright red andmost unbecoming.” Eleanor mimicked Mary with surprising accuracy. “Mary said she seemed familiar, but she could not place her.”
