Chapter Seven
One very good thing about returning to the land of the living was breakfast. Scones, eggs, bacon, not to mention tea with cream and sugar. It was a welcome change from the crust of bread and hard cheese Adelaide had eaten every day during her year in Epsom.
It was completely unfair that she wasn’t allowed to partake in any of it.
Instead, she was forced to watch as Alice, their mother, and Aunt Bea enjoyed their breakfast, while the modiste poked and prodded Adelaide’s body.
She and Alice had arrived at Aunt Bea’s home in Mayfair only two days ago. Scarcely a day later, their parents had descended upon them. There had been a good deal of rejoicing—her mother had clasped her to her bosom and her father had not looked at her.
Alice had concocted a great many stories to explain Adelaide’s return to life, but they hadn’t needed any of them. Their parents simply did not ask. Instead, they had busied themselves with practical matters, such as the pressing need to find her a husband, and the even more pressing need to build a wardrobe worthy of the London season. Madame Durand—who was known as much for her discretion as her skill with a needle—had been summoned.
“Lift your arms, ma chérie,” Madame murmured.
Adelaide complied. The modiste wrapped her tape around her waist, taking the measurement. She twisted her neck to look at the table. A scone was just out of reach, but if she stretched… Ah. She could nudge it closer with her fingertip.
A sharp rap on her knuckles had her retreating in pain. “Ouch!”
“Non, dear girl. You must not eat. The dress requires a straight, elegant line, yes?” Madame tsked.
Lady Westsea sighed. “You used to have such a lovely figure, Adelaide. So slight and delicate. I fear you have grown rather hardy of late, but your curves are in all the wrong places. You have been riding horses far too often, like Alice. And how have your shoulders become so broad?”
Alice turned to Adelaide and crossed her eyes.
Adelaide choked back a laugh. She had not been riding horses. She had been working. The bumps in her figure that Madame decried had been formed by feeding hens and pigs and carrying buckets of water. In her life before Epsom, she had never questioned how the water had arrived in her bath to clean her, or in the kitchen to cook the food. Now she knew. It came in buckets. Heavy buckets that had to be carried by strong arms.
Before Epsom, her arms were not strong.
Now they were.
“There, now.” Madame Durand stood back and eyed her critically. “I can have the dresses made up within a fortnight.”
“I suppose that will have to do. She can wear her sister’s dresses until then.” Her mother grimaced. “Although I do not know what she will wear tonight. I regrettably allow Alice to dress in the bold colors she favors, but they are wholly unsuitable for Adelaide.”
Adelaide bit her lip, ashamed.
Madame tilted her head. “I may have something. There is a dress, very special, that is no longer required. It is almost finished, only a few hours more of work. It would be a shame to waste such prettiness. Of course, the girl was long and slim, and there is not much time to adjust it, but it should do, if she does not breathe too deeply.”
Adelaide blinked. If she did not breathe too deeply?
“Perhaps it would be better if she did not breathe at all,” Alice said sarcastically.
“Do you think she could manage it?” Madame asked hopefully.
“For fashion,” Alice said gravely, “anything is possible.”
Adelaide gave an unladylike snort, drawing a glare from her mother.
The butler entered the breakfast room. “Viscount Abingdon and Mr. Eastwood are here, ma’am. Shall I have them wait in the sitting room until you have finished your breakfast?”
Aunt Bea glanced at Alice and smiled. “Abingdon must be very much in love to call at this early hour. Madame is finished, for now. Show them in, Harvey.”
“Very good, ma’am.” The butler departed, taking Madame Durand with him.
A moment later, Abingdon entered, with Nick on his heels. Adelaide noted how Abingdon’s eyes went straight to Alice and never left, even as he bowed. She swallowed hard, looking away as Alice rose to greet her fiancé, joy written all over her face.
“You’re in London already? We didn’t expect you for another day!” Alice enthused.
Abingdon took her hand. “We only just arrived this morning, but I couldn’t wait.”
They had only been separated for two days.
It was remarkable how much Abingdon looked like Nick, but more remarkable still were all the ways in which they were not alike. The red-gold hair was the same, although Nick wore his fashionably short whereas Abingdon tied his back in a queue. Their eyes were the same shade of blue, but Abingdon showed his heart in their depths, while Nick’s held nothing but secrets.
Lord Abingdon, she was quite sure, would never have taken a lady’s virtue before the wedding night. Not that Alice would have allowed herself to be seduced. She was too much of a lady for that.
They deserved each other, truly. They deserved love.
And Adelaide—what did she deserve?
She looked up to find Nick’s gaze on her, steady and searching. His brows lifted in question. How should they proceed? Their shared history was unknown to her family—with the exception of Alice. Adelaide had refused all entreaties to name the father of her child. She had been intimate with this man and had shot him, but for all her mother and aunt knew, they were strangers.
“Miss Bursnell, we meet again. I hope your journey from Haverly was easy,” he said. The words rolled as lightly off his tongue as if they had been true.
Perhaps because the words were true, strictly speaking. They had met before, and now they met again. It was only the lie that was implied.
“Yes, thank you.” And then she could think of nothing more, neither truth nor lie.
Fortunately, she was saved from speech by Abingdon.
“My mother is all excitement to meet you, Lady Westsea,” he said, speaking to her mother while still glancing at Alice. “She hopes you will all dine with us this Friday at Wintham House.”
Their mother clapped her hands. “How delightful. We shall be happy to. Although I do hope it will not be our first meeting. Will she attend Almack’s tonight?”
“Indeed. As will I and my brother. You will be in attendance, as well, I gather, Lady Westsea?”
Her mother nodded. “It will be Adelaide’s first taste of London society, and she is quite looking forward to it.”
Adelaide was undecided on that point, but she kept that thought to herself.
“Perhaps you will save me a dance,” Nick said. “The first set?”
“Perhaps,” she agreed.
His lips twitched, and the familiar movement made her breath catch. How many times had he looked at her across a crowded room with just such an expression? It was the look of a private joke, a secret just between the two of them. It had never failed to arouse her, to bid her follow him to some dark, hidden corner, where she could kiss that teasing smirk from his mouth.
And now, in her aunt’s breakfast room, the very same smirk was on his lips, but she could kiss him no longer.
Oh, how she hated him for it.