Oliver pulled the gunstock away from his shoulder, the echoes of his shot reverberating through his head. He should not have indulged in so much brandy last night.
The partridge flew toward the cover of the tree line several hundred yards away. Beside him, the hunting dog sighed. Oliver repeated the sound, a profound sense of ennui settling over him. In the three weeks he’d been at this house party, he’d hunted partridge, quail, and fox. He’d bagged his share. But what he wanted to hunt was not here at Wakesdown.
“You shall shoot the next one for certain, Mr. Carmichael.”
A chill ran across his shoulders and down his arms, and his spine stiffened. He turned and doffed his hunting cap to Edith Buchanan, who looked quite fetching this morning in a gown of ice-blue and silver plaid and a white fur cape and hat setting off her black hair.
“You are always overly generous with your belief in my hunting skills, Miss Buchanan. I fear I am a poor excuse for an aristocrat. I take more interest in the running of my father’s estate than in the leisure activities of which I should be fond.”
The remainder of the shooters and their followers moved toward the next set of brush, sure to be hiding the partridges set out this morning by the staff.
Miss Buchanan watched until they disappeared over a rise, then turned back to Oliver. “I had hoped for a private interview with you, Mr. Carmichael.”
He hated the way she pursed her mouth and seemed to pucker her entire face in what she thought was a simper. He rested the muzzle of the gun on the ground and crossed his hands atop the butt. “And you now have me all to yourself, Miss Buchanan.”
Her expression changed from flirtatious to calculating in the blink of an eye. “Let us not dissemble, Mr. Carmichael. I know you do not care for me beyond my fifty-thousand-pound dowry. You know that I wish to marry a man who will inherit a title higher than my father’s. This will be my fourth season. It is unlikely that I will have any more luck securing an heir to a title this year than the three years past. However, that will not keep me from trying.”
Yes, he had noticed how Miss Buchanan tried to insinuate herself between her American cousin and the viscount several times over the past few weeks.
“I wish to come to an arrangement with you, Mr. Carmichael.”
He shifted his weight and tried to appear nonchalant rather than surprised. “Oh?”
“If neither of us has found a better match by the end of the Great Exhibition in October, we shall marry each other.” No hesitation, no missishness.
He rather liked her no-nonsense approach to the situation. “You shall become the next Baroness Carmichael in exchange for . . . what? Surely a barony is not as high as you have set your sights.”
“No. It is not. However, it may be all I can get. We suit, you and I, despite the fact we feel no affection for each other. You do not need my money, so you will not try to make me believe you have fallen madly in love with me, the way others do. And, should I find an amenable match of higher rank, I know you will not begrudge my breaking our arrangement with protestations of a broken heart.”
Cold. Calculating. Cunning. Oliver’s left brow raised in awe and appreciation for her ruthlessness. And given her beauty, taking her to wife would be no chore, despite her frigid personality.
He extended his right hand toward her. “Very well, Miss Buchanan, I agree to your terms.”
She placed her small, gloved hand in his and gave it a business-like pump. “Of course, you will have the same opportunity—if you find another woman you deem more acceptable than me, you can break the agreement. I shall not hinder you from courting any woman you please, so long as no scandal arises from it.”
He inclined his head. “And I make you the same promise, Miss Buchanan. I will not interfere with your search for a husband, so long as no scandal is attached to my name because of it.”
Edith wrapped her hand through the crook of his arm. He shouldered the gun and whistled for the dog to follow them. “You will, of course, speak to my father before you leave after the ball.”
“As you wish, Miss Buchanan.”
The spaniel bounded ahead of them, probably anxious to rejoin his kennelmates whose barks rose over the hill to indicate the direction the rest of the hunting party had gone.
“Once we are both in town, I shall communicate to you which invitations I have accepted. If we are to be engaged in October, it would be best if we are seen together from time to time. And I do so enjoy dancing with you, Mr. Carmichael.” She turned that puckered simper up toward him.
He inclined his head again. “I shall await your communiqués with delight, Miss Buchanan. And as you are a superb dancer, I look forward to partnering with you as often as you desire.”
At the path that led back to the house one way and farther into the park the other, Edith dropped her hand from his arm. “If you will excuse me, Mr. Carmichael, I have duties to which I must attend. Do enjoy the rest of your hunt.”
“Until we meet again.” He bowed and brushed his lips over the back of her gloved hand. He held in his shudder until she turned her back, heading toward the house. She would make as fine a baroness as his mother. And she would likely be as reviled and gossiped about as M’lady for her haughty, demanding ways.
If Edith, her sisters, and her brothers were any indication, the next generation of Carmichaels would be the most beautiful and most handsome in the ton. And her wealth would go quite far in securing his daughters’ futures—once he invested and multiplied it. For if Edith could marry only one step above her on the aristocratic ladder, he would ensure their children would do far better for themselves.
No, he did not need her wealth. But he certainly had plans for it. In the meantime, before he tied himself to the harpy, he would spend his last few months of freedom in a more amusing pursuit—that of Miss Cadence Bainbridge. He did, after all, have a bet to win.
Caddy swallowed back harsh words as the bolts of silk crashed to the floor. Nan yelped and jumped from the step stool, trying to lift two at a time and managing only to start unspooling the expensive fabric.
She would never finish Lady Carmichael’s alterations this way. She set the blue gown aside and stood to shoo the redhead away from her latest disaster.
“Nan, please go assist Phyllis in the shop.” Caddy congratulated herself on the calm tenor of her voice.
“Yeth—yesss, Missss.” Nan’s shoulders slumped as she left the workroom.
Letty and Alice breathed overly loud sighs of relief.
“She is so clumsy.” Letty shook her head. “I do not know how you can stay so calm with her, Miss Bainbridge.”
“And the humming!” Alice gave a melodramatic shudder. “Only two or three notes over and over and over.”
“Girls!” Caddy stood, all four bolts hugged tightly to her chest. She set the heavy load onto the cutting table. “Remember that you each had your own mishaps and annoying little habits when you came to me four and five years ago. Nan is young and has a lot to learn to get to where you are now.”
The two young women began to protest, but Caddy held up a hand to stop them.
She raised her brows toward Alice. “You click your tongue.”
Alice turned crimson.
Caddy nodded toward Letty. “And how about losing an entire card of silver needles in the cracks in the floorboards?”
Letty also blushed.
“Nan will learn faster, and lose her clumsiness and annoying habits sooner, if the two of you show her more kindness and understanding, rather than avoiding and ignoring her.”
Letty and Alice hung their heads over their stitching.
“Think of the girls who were here when you first came to me and how they helped you learn the job, then see if you can do even better for Nan. I want each of you to think of something you can teach her in the next sennight, and I want her to demonstrate it—without your assistance—next Thursday.”
“Yes, Miss Bainbridge,” Letty and Alice chorused.
Caddy returned to her stool and picked up the blue gown from the table. The darts she added to the bodice to nip in the waist took tiny, tedious stitches. But despite her frustration with Nan, standing and moving about—lifting the heavy bolts, then scolding Letty and Alice—had done much to ease the ache in her shoulders and lower back.
As she started on the sixth and final dart, the squeaky third step pulled her attention away from the bodice.
Mother came through the door at the base of the stairs into the workroom, Mary on her heels.
“I see you are fully recovered from your . . . bad spell this morning.” Caddy couldn’t help the waspish tone in her voice. She thanked God that Dr. Stradbroke had suggested taking his payment in trade rather than demanding cash. Caddy did not want to dip into the money she was saving for her trip to London and the Great Exhibition in May. She wanted to be able to purchase the fine fabrics, notions, and decorative items she knew would bring in more customers like the Buchanan sisters and Lady Carmichael. She had budgeted down to the ha’penny for the trip and her purchases and did not want to have to recalculate.
“I do believe that young Dr. Stradbroke is a miracle worker.” Mother beamed a suggestive smile at Caddy. “You said he would be willing to consult with me if I allow him to complete a full examination.”
“Mother . . .” At the sound of muffled giggling, Caddy glanced over her shoulder and caught sight of two very eager young faces trying to pretend they weren’t interested in the current conversation. Caddy stood, set the bodice back on the table, and escorted her mother into the fitting room, closing the door with Mary still on the other side of it. “You know we cannot afford more doctors. I just finished paying Dr. Fieldstone’s bill from the last time you truly had a bad spell. The two dresses for Lady Carmichael will bring in enough to pay the mortgage and Mary’s and Phyllis’s wages and our bill at Howell’s, with only a little left over for other necessities.”
“You said yourself that Dr. Stradbroke was willing to take his pay in trade—”
“It is not right to assume he will do so again. He, too, has bills he must pay. We cannot impose on his generosity.”
“But you have ever so many orders for gowns, with all the fine ladies of Oxford preparing to attend the Great Exhibition this summer.”
“Yes, I do—but I must purchase fabric and notions to make those gowns before I get paid for them. Please, Mother, no more unnecessary calls for a doctor.” Caddy could not tell her mother about the savings account she had at the bank—the one in which she squirreled away whatever money she had remaining at the end of each month. A day would come when Mother’s health was bad enough to require almost constant medical attention. And when that time came, Caddy did not want to end up in the poorhouse because she couldn’t pay the doctors’ bills. Nor did she want to remind her mother how short her time likely was.
Mother sighed and dropped delicately into the white brocade wingchair. “Very well. I shan’t call for Dr. Stradbroke again—unless my need is at the utmost.”
Caddy shook her head and returned to the workroom with a strong suspicion she would be seeing Dr. Stradbroke hovering over her mother once again sooner rather than later. Mother’s definition of utmost need didn’t always match Caddy’s.
For the next hour, Caddy concentrated on the alterations to the blue gown for Lady Carmichael. With Letty and Alice working on the green gown, she might not need to stay up all night to meet the deadline.
Nan came through the door from the shop, a hopeful gleam in her large brown eyes. “The lady for the afternoon fitting is here.”
“Are there any customers in the store?” Caddy stood and hung the blue bodice on the dress form, not looking at Nan.
“Yes, miss.”
Caddy smiled to herself over not having to remind Nan to watch her enunciation. She was getting better at doing it on her own. “Then I think you’d best stay in the store with Phyllis until all of the customers are served. I will call for you if I need assistance with the fitting.”
“Yes, miss.” Disappointment dripped from Nan’s whispered words.
She hated knowing she’d caused the child even momentary distress over not getting to do the fun part of the job in exchange for the tedium of helping to keep shop. But Nan was a bit young to be attending dress fittings.
The wife of one of the Oxford college deans sat in stately grace in the wing chair in the fitting room. Caddy pulled away the sheet covering the gold-and-russet plaid silk gown, and the woman gasped in appreciation, rising to inspect the dress closely.
“Oh, Miss Bainbridge, you have outdone yourself with this one. The sleeves—I love how full they are. And the way you used the plaid to create contrasting banding at the edges! The undersleeves, oh, they’re sheer as gossamer. And the flounces.” She lifted the top of the four tiers of the skirt. “With flounces so full, I will not need so many petticoats to hold it out.”
Caddy endured the woman’s raptures throughout the fitting, appreciative of the woman’s high esteem for her talent as a designer and a seamstress, but wishing she were more reserved in her expression of it.
“No one in London will have a gown such as this. Not even Queen Victoria.” The dean’s wife turned to look over her shoulder at the reflection of the back of the gown in the cheval glass.
“Actually, the design came from a sketch I saw last time I was in London, which is rumored to be the style Her Majesty chose for the gown she will wear to open the Great Exhibition.” Caddy frowned, not liking the way the bodice strained against the hidden row of hooks down the back. “I may need to let the waist out just a bit.”
“No—I do believe my corset laces have stretched. Tighten them and let’s see how it fits then.”
Caddy did as bidden, unhooking the straining bodice then tightening the laces. Indeed, she was able to reduce her waist a good inch or two. And when she hooked her up again, the bodice fit perfectly.
With no alterations needed—and as this was the third fitting, Caddy breathed a sigh of relief—she assisted her customer out of the gown and wrapped it in the sheet of muslin to be packaged for delivery tomorrow.
The woman’s day dress buttoned up the front, so she did not need Caddy’s help to re-dress herself. But her constant stream of conversation kept Caddy from excusing herself on the pretense of giving the woman privacy.
“And I saw the most comely man walking up the street as my carriage arrived this afternoon. Never before have I seen a man so tall or brawny in urban dress and not at hard labor in a factory or on a farm. Do you know who he is?”
Caddy’s mind instantly conjured an image of Dr. Stradbroke standing in Mother’s room, his brawny arms bare to the elbow and crossed, making the well-defined muscles bulge. “I believe you may have seen the new doctor. He has recently moved into the rooms above the apothecary’s shop.”
“He? Not he and his wife and family?”
“I do not know. I have only seen him in a professional capacity—he has attended Mother twice. I did not think to ask after his personal life.” Caddy’s stomach gave an odd little lurch at the idea that Dr. Stradbroke might be married. Not that it should matter to her anyway. A confirmed spinster at almost thirty, she had no time for courting. Besides, she’d sworn at a very young age that, no matter how dearly she’d loved her father, she’d never marry a man in a profession that kept him so much away from home. And if any profession was worse for creating absentee husbands than the clergy, it was that of the doctor.
“Well, if he is not married, he soon will be. There are far too many unmarried women in this part of Oxford for him to stay single long. And once they get sight of him, it will not matter if he takes most of his pay in trade and never has two coppers to rub together. For what is deprivation when a woman has that to look at every day?”
Caddy laughed, as she knew was expected, but she quickly ushered her customer out the door with the promise to have the gown delivered the next morning.
The last thing she needed to be thinking of was the handsome doctor. For no matter how “comely” he was or how much she enjoyed looking at him, she’d worked too long and too hard to support herself and her mother to take on the burden of supporting a husband as well.