“Oh, you’ll need much more than a few new gowns, Lady Ross,” Miss Figbottom intoned the next afternoon. Her voice reminded Edwina of a melodious songbird with a very powerful call.
She had the look of an exotic bird as well, with her shocking red hair, crimson-painted lips and powdery white skin. Her olive green ensemble and the bright green feathers in her hair comb only added to the effect.
“Certainly a new coiffure.” Miss Figbottom glided across the red carpet of the ornately furnished red-and-gold boudoir, her generous hips swaying to and fro. The woman’s olive green gown was etched with purple swirls that drew the eye in the most astonishing manner. Edwina felt as if she was in the presence of an artist, one who’s very self was the work of art. “Then there are the gloves, shoes, oh, there’s much to be done.”
Edwina bit her lip. “Ah, I’m not a great fan of shopping expeditions, Miss Figbottom.”
“My dressmaker arrives in an hour and always comes with a few gowns almost done.”
“Almost done?” Again, Edwina wondered at the wisdom of working with someone whose tastes were so divergent from her own.
“There are only so many basic sizes, I’ve learned,” Fanny continued. “And Michael, Dr. Winner, already told me about your shape. So you should have some new things straight away.”
Dr. Winner had talked about her “shape”? Edwina was appalled. But then again, he was a medical doctor, and he’d surely never looked at her with scandalous intentions. Now, if another man had looked at her with scandalous intentions…
“Are you feeling ill?” Fanny enquired. “Your face is flushed.”
“Ah, no, I’m fine.” Edwina had to stop thinking about Mr. Devane…Prescott. Just saying his Christian name sent a thrill chasing up her spine.
After their walk through the rain, he’d remarked, “I suppose if we are to be engaged, you should call me Prescott.”
“That’s not necessary, you know,” she’d blurted. “There are many couples engaged, married even, who don’t use each other’s Christian names.”
“Yes. But I wouldn’t use my wife’s family name any more than I would have her use mine. You want this engagement to be believable, don’t you?”
“Of course…Prescott.” She’d swallowed. “And you should call me Edwina.”
“Edwina. I like that.”
She shivered now as she’d done then, her name sounding so…stimulating on his lips.
“Michael also told me about your coloring,” Fanny commented, tearing Edwina from the memory. “So I’ve selected some fabrics that I think will suit you just perfectly.”
Edwina blinked. “Don’t I get to pick…?”
“This is what I do, Lady Ross, and my taste is infallible.”
Eyeing Miss Figbottom’s red-and-gold boudoir, Edwina reminded herself that she’d promised Dr. Winner that she’d maintain an open mind. Nodding, she swallowed.
“As far as the rest of the ensemble,” Miss Figbottom drove relentlessly onward, “my vendors always know what I like, and I only work with the best. So we’ll have you set up in a trice. Oh, and call me Fanny. All my clients do.”
Edwina felt as if she were inside a runaway carriage without a driver up top. Yet she didn’t quite know how to stop it without insulting Miss Figbottom. Inwardly she shrugged; at the worst, she’d wind up with a few gowns she might never wear. At the best, she might learn something useful; she’d never been particularly fashion-minded.
“Now, let us see about your hair.” With narrowed eyes and pursed red lips, Fanny studied her, giving Edwina the feeling that she was a bug under glass and Fanny the curious scientist trying to decide whether to dissect her.
Fanny turned to the footman standing in the corner and motioned for him to set a chair before the gilded mirror. “If you would, Kilpatrick?”
After he’d performed this function, Fanny tapped a finger to her chin. “Please send for Mojgan, Kilpatrick, and then have Cook prepare some tea for us. It looks as if it’s going to be a long afternoon.”
Edwina’s stomach sank.
After the servant had departed, Fanny waved a hand toward the seat. “Please, Edwina. If I may call you Edwina?”
At that point, Edwina felt she could hardly say no. “Yes, of course.” She sat.
Fanny moved to stand behind her and began removing the pins from Edwina’s hair. The scent of Fanny’s rose perfume wafted around them like a pungent cloud, making Edwina’s nose itch.
“You really have lovely hair,” Fanny commented.
“There’s no need for false flattery, Miss…Fanny. I know I’m no beauty.”
Fanny straightened, the pins still raised in her hands. “Who ever told you that?”
“Well, everyone. My sister got the looks in our family.”
“You speak as if all the beauty to which your family is entitled ended up with your sister.” Anger shimmered in Fanny’s hazel eyes. “The very notion is ludicrous.”
“But Adrienne is lovely. She has long, golden hair, bright blue eyes, a perky nose.” Self-consciously, Edwina raised her hand to her protruding appendage. “She’s a perfect English rose.”
“There’s no such thing. England is a land of mongrels.” Fanny waved a hand in a graceful arc. “Between all of the invasions, the wars, the uprisings, I can’t imagine there’s family that has not intermarried or otherwise intermixed with a foreigner at least ten times over.”
Edwina couldn’t help the grin from stretching her lips. “Don’t say that within earshot of my father. He lives and breathes for our pristine bloodlines.”
Fanny snorted. “I’m sorry for saying so, but his pedigree is only distinguished by the fact that he keeps track of the damn thing.” She didn’t sound sorry at all. “Look a little higher in your family tree and at all the branches and you’ll see more than a few so-called ‘contaminating influences.’”
“I agree, my father can be very…shortsighted when it comes to the purity of our pedigree. But he’s certainly not alone in valuing the sanctity of English bloodlines.”
Fanny harrumphed. “Pure blood, perfect English rose, indeed! It’s all an illusion crafted by those who wish to keep Society exclusive and thus themselves the ‘haves’ and not the ‘have-nots.’” She smiled. “But illusion is my forte as well, which you shall soon see.”
Setting aside the pins, Fanny shoved her fingers into Edwina’s hair and loosened the tresses from the tight chignon. Edwina felt the weight of her hair fall to her shoulders. “Hmm.” Fanny pursed her crimson lips. “Now, tell me what you see in your reflection.”
Inhaling deeply, Edwina studied the dark-haired woman staring back at her. “Black eyes, like coals. Skin like farmer’s cheese—”
“I have my work cut out for me, indeed.” Fanny t’sked. “Half the trick to being beautiful is believing that you are beautiful.”
“But what if it’s not true?”
“Shhh! Of course it is. And you must have the absolute uncompromising knowledge that you are beautiful. Now,” Fanny clucked, “close your eyes, relax and tell me about the man.”
Edwina’s heart skipped a beat. Did Dr. Winner tell Fanny about the blackmailer?
“I’ve heard he’s quite the blade,” Fanny remarked. “I’ve not yet had the good fortune to meet him for myself.”
“Oh, Prescott…” Edwina murmured.
Fanny’s hands stilled. “Who else would I be asking about?”
Edwina swallowed. “No one else, of course.” You’re in love, you ninny, remember? “Well, he’s quite handsome.”
“That’s so bland. Details, darling, details. And close your eyes.”
Obediently, Edwina allowed her lids to drop and she pictured Prescott as he was yesterday at the society. He’d been so daringly insightful, and had the tact of a practiced diplomat. Sitting in the library having tea, he’d been so at ease one would have thought he’d been part of the group for years and not hours. And he was so good with questions, guiding the conversation so that no more conflicts erupted. He’s really quite masterful…
“Masterful, eh?” Fanny intoned.
Edwina blinked her eyes open. Did I just say that aloud?
Fanny’s smile was amused. “Tell me what he looks like. Face. Hands…Close your eyes, I want my efforts to be a surprise.”
Lowering her eyelids, Edwina licked her lips. “Well, ah, his hair is the loveliest shade of brown. Not plain like mine, but with copper running through it. It’s wavy, and moves when he does, almost like a river of auburn.”
The fingers massaging her scalp and manipulating her hair felt divine. Edwina’s limbs felt heavy as she sank a bit in the chair and sighed. “His eyes flash like emeralds in sunlight.” And cause the most delicious flutter in my middle. “Especially when he’s angry.”
The hands stilled. “Michael, Dr. Winner, told me that he has a temper. Has he ever raised a hand to you?”
“Oh, no. And I highly doubt he ever would. He’s not the type.”
“Good. I have no use for such men.” Fanny’s fingers began their ministrations once more. “Is he strapping? I heard something about his father being a laborer. Manual workers have the most marvelous brawn…”
With her eyes still closed, Edwina frowned. “No one seems to know his true story. Some say his mother was a laundress and his father a lord who died, leaving everything to his legitimate sons. Another story has him as the bastard son of a duke. And yet another has him as the son of a tradesman and his wife who fell on hard times and then died of a lung disease.”
“Hmmm. Michael tells me that Headmaster Dunn did not press children for information; it was his policy to allow the children to leave the past behind. So mayhap Mr. Devane is the only one who knows the true tale?”
Edwina had to admit that she was eager to learn more about Prescott’s origins. Even though she knew it didn’t matter, she had an insatiable curiosity where he was concerned. She supposed that she’d be fascinated with anyone who had had such a different life from hers.
“He’s certainly unlike any male I’ve ever known,” she murmured.
“They always are, honey, when you’re in love.”
Edwina bit her lip wondering if she had the courage to ask about the concern that had been keeping her awake at night ever since meeting Prescott. “May I…may I ask you a question…it’s a bit…risqué.”
“Oh, good, the more risqué the better.”
“Ah, actresses have the reputation…although I don’t want to paint you with such a broad brush—”
“Just ask the question, Edwina.”
“Yes, of course. Well, actresses are known to be very…experienced when it comes to men…”
“That we are.” Fanny’s hands continued working without pause. “I suppose it’s the flair for drama within us.”
“Well, you didn’t always…I mean…how did you come to know how to…well, please a man?”
“I thought you were a widow. Weren’t you married?”
“I am. I was.” Edwina felt her cheeks burn. “Never mind.”
“Oh, I grasp what’s bothering you! You’ve only been with one man and Prescott Devane’s had more than his share of women. Don’t you worry about it, honey. I’ve heard him called ‘London’s Perfect Lover’ so you’re in good hands. Besides, don’t ever forget that he may have dallied with them, but he’s marrying you.”
“Ah, thanks.” Forcing a smile, Edwina lied, “That makes me feel much better.”
Fanny removed her hands. “There. Have a look.”
Obediently Edwina opened her eyes. “Oh, my heavens!” she cried, raising both hands to her mouth.
“Now let us get ready for your fiancé’s visit.”
Later that afternoon in Fanny’s drawing room, Edwina couldn’t help but admire the graceful way the former actress moved, as if her entire body was an artful accessory.
Fanny sank onto the bottle green chintz chaise, adjusted her aquamarine skirts and popped open a lacy black fan. “Stop fidgeting. And don’t touch your brows. They look flawless.”
Edwina lowered her hand and stood behind one of the two wide-backed olive chairs facing the grate. Sighing, she studied the dancing flames as she tried to ignore the nervous flutter in her belly.
Although she knew that rationally it didn’t matter what Prescott thought of her or her appearance, she had to admit she wanted him to like her, if only a little. So they could get along during the ruse, of course.
“That woman, Mojgan, really has a talent,” Edwina stated, for lack of anything else to say. Her hands strayed back to her thinned brow. “I confess, I had never imagined that ladies did such a thing.”
“Any woman worth her salt knows she can’t rely on nature.” Fanny sniffed with a wave of her lacy fan. “It’s all about enhancement.”
Edwina didn’t know if she truly believed Fanny’s assessment, but had to admit her appearance was drastically altered. She’d hardly recognized the lady staring back at her in the mirror this afternoon.
A hint of musk filled the air and even though she couldn’t see him, Edwina felt Prescott’s gaze on her back like a hot wind on a sultry evening.
Bracing herself, she turned.
Prescott’s gaze widened. “Oh…my.”