The Plain Bride by Chasity Bowlin
CHAPTER EIGHT
Althea made her way down the stairs, with her cloak draped over her arm. She hadn’t been able to bear the idea of covering the beautiful gown with that drab garment. The new stays had required some adjustment. Staring at herself in the mirror after she’d put them on, she’d been mortified at how much of herself was still displayed by them. Even with the gown over top of them, the neckline was far lower than she was comfortable with. She very much feared that she would spill out of it the first time the carriage hit a rut in the road.
Despite being far more exposed than was typical for her, Althea also felt something else. She felt pretty. The last time she could remember feeling that way, she’d been playing with some of the younger children from church. The girls had asked to braid her hair. They’d plucked wildflowers and woven them into the braids, creating a floral crown for her. She’d thought it lovely…until her father saw it. He’d ripped the flowers from her hair, shoved her roughly to floor, and made her pray to be delivered from the sin of vanity. Meanwhile, he’d been corseting himself to fit into a satin waistcoat that he’d grown too fat for as he dined with his parishioners and demanded the choicest cuts of meat they had, due to his delicate constitution.
There had never been any illusions for her that her father was anything but a wicked man. However, while living with him and always being mindful to avoid his temper and his disapproval, it had been easy to ignore all the ways in which that wickedness manifested. It might have been a survival instinct, she supposed, rather like refraining from eye contact with a predator, who might see it as a challenge.
It was that thought which brought her to the man who was her husband. A dissolute rakehell who gambled, drank and, for lack of a better word, wenched. By all rights, he should have been wicked. He was certainly difficult, but he never intended harm, and when he did cause harm, he was very quick to apologize and quite sincerely.
All of it left her thoroughly befuddled. Shaking her head to clear it of all the riddles of confounding and difficult men, she stepped from the stairwell, onto the small area near the door. The taproom was on one side and the exit to the inn yard on the other. Not seeing Sinclair in the taproom, she exited through the door, into the clear, cold morning.
He was there, striding across the inn yard. He wore his waistcoat but hadn’t bothered to tie his cravat. The neck of his shirt was open, as was his overcoat, as he strode toward her. He had not shaved, and the dark whiskers shadowing his jaw only highlighted the perfectly chiseled bone structure.
The last thing she’d needed to be reminded of was how handsome he was. It was something she was unlikely to forget.
“Your hair is different,” he said as he neared her.
“I lost several hairpins last night.” When you threw me on the bed. She didn’t say it, but then again, she didn’t have to. “I couldn’t quite achieve my normal style without them.”
“I like it this way,” he said. “It suits you. Very fetching.”
It shouldn’t have mattered. It certainly should not have made her stomach flutter like a hundred butterflies were flitting about in it. But it did. Unable to meet his gaze, she ducked her head and murmured quietly, “Thank you.”
There was a mere whisper of hesitation. And then she felt his hand beneath her chin, lifting her face with the slightest of pressure. “Do not hide. That is not how you live now. It’s not who you are. It’s only who he made you pretend to be.”
Her heartbeat quickened. “I’m not sure I know how to be anything else, and I’m not sure I know how to respond to kindness from anyone, least of all you.”
“I’m not certain it is kindness. I’ve little experience with receiving it or meting it out,” he admitted. “Perhaps we can learn together…at least for a time.”
“For a time,” she agreed.
He stepped back, removing his hand from her face. “I’ll see you to the carriage and retrieve our bags from the chamber. Then we’ll be off.”
“Everything is packed. It’s on the chair before the fire,” she offered.
He gave a curt nod before ushering her toward the waiting carriage and coachman. Once she was inside the conveyance, he turned back for the inn, leaving her to ponder that strange moment that had just passed between them.
A dress should not have made such a difference.
That thought crept unbidden to Mayville’s mind for perhaps the hundredth time since they’d left the inn that morning. Of course, it wasn’t simply the gown, really. It was the fact that he now had some inkling of what was hidden beneath it. And then there was her hair. No longer scraped back so tightly from her face, it softened her features and enhanced the rich, dark color of it. Deep brown, shot with hints of auburn and a true red, it was finally allowed to catch the light and display its brilliance.
They were nearing London, and it was later in the day than he would have liked. The roads had still been a muddied mess, and it had slowed their progress considerably. Still, they would arrive at his townhouse in Mayfair before teatime. His first order of business would be to send a note round to Gray, the Earl of Winburne, and his bride, Sabine, inviting them for dinner. He needed to have a buffer between them. Being alone with her, given his newly discovered attraction for her, was a dangerous prospect. There was still the matter of her proposition, after all. There were few people he would trust enough to discuss such a thing with or to seek their guidance. Winburne was perhaps the only one.
Across the expanse of the carriage, he could see her craning her neck to look out the smallish window. Taking pity on her and her curiosity, he raised the shade so that the weak afternoon light poured into the small space and gave her a better view of the city as they approached.
She blushed and looked away from him for a moment. “You must think me terribly gauche, but I’ve never been anywhere other than Boston Spa. I think I went to York once as a very small child, but I have no memory of it. I’ve never seen such things.”
He glanced out the window himself then, trying to see it through her eyes. All he saw was dirt, poverty, and misery. But he didn’t wish to curb her enthusiasm with his own pessimistic outlook. “I think your curiosity is natural, even endearing. It’s rare in my world. Everyone I know is jaded and cynical.”
She frowned at that, a small furrow forming between her brows as she clenched her hands together. “I’ve no wish to embarrass you. You need not take me into society. I can only imagine the awful things that would be said of me. No doubt, they would pale in comparison to what my father has uttered, but these people are your friends—”
“They are people I know,” he corrected instantly. “Very few of them have the distinction of being called friend. I sent a note round to one man who does have that distinction and made arrangements that we may dine with him and his wife. You may already know them, in fact, or at least him. The Earl of Winburne.”
She blinked owlishly. “Oh, well, yes, certainly I know him. He’s been a great benefactor of the church and is very well acquainted with my father. No doubt he has already been apprised of everything that has occurred.”
“Oh, most assuredly,” Mayville agreed. “But not by your father. Lady Helena has no doubt written him already. She is his sister, after all.”
“I hadn’t realized. I never saw them together. But it is easy enough to see the resemblance now that you have told me.”
“Poor Helena,” he replied with a grin. “She would be devastated to hear it.”
“Nonsense. The earl is a very handsome man,” she protested. “And their similarity does not at all require that Lady Helena should not be both incredibly beautiful and incredibly feminine. I find her terrifying, of course.”
He laughed at that. “Most of us do. Helena is a force to be reckoned with. Though, I daresay you have made a friend for life with her. She decided instantly that she liked you, and her loyalty is swift and fierce.”
The buildings were growing closer and closer together and the sky growing dim with the congestion of coal smoke and the pollutants of the city. He watched her face for any hint of disappointment, but she didn’t seem to see all of that. Her gaze was trained on a spot in the distance. St. Paul’s, of course, with its majestic dome towering over everything around it. There was a wonderment in her expression that left him feeling unsettled and perhaps a bit ashamed of himself. There was so much he took for granted and simply accepted as his due.
They continued in silence, hers awestruck and his painfully introspective. He didn’t speak until they turned onto Park Lane. “Hyde Park is a pleasant enough excursion if you time it correctly. Early in the day, it’s all about putting oneself on parade. In the afternoon, such as it is now, it’s all nursemaids and spoiled children.”
“I would likely prefer that—and have more in common with the nurses and governesses than with the society misses,” she answered with a laugh.
“You will like Sabine. And she will see to it that you are outfitted well enough that no one—in society or elsewhere—would ever dare insult you.”
She shook her head. “They will dare. But I’ll wear the fine clothes because I’m aware of how it would reflect on you if I did not. You may detest my father, and with very good reason, but he did teach that particular lesson very well. I know how important appearances are.”
