Page 38 of A Deviant Spinster for the Duke
We cannot afford even one seat at the theater, Papa.
“Quite right.” Aaron smiled sadly. “I will call upon him as soon as I am finished with my breakfast. Do we have any engagements this evening?”
It took a great deal for Valeria to hold onto her patience, for though she loved her father more than anything in the world, he was as forgetful as he was kind-hearted. Both those truths were responsible for the situation they had found themselves in.
“It is Lord Sandford’s ball,” she replied calmly.
“Of course, of course,” her father said, offering another look of apology. “Why, perhaps Lord Walworth will be there.”
“I expect so.” Valeria nodded. “It is a somewhat exclusive gathering.”
So exclusive that we were only invited because Amelia and Isolde insisted on our behalf.
Every gentleman in Christendom wanted the opportunity to suggest business partnerships with Lionel, in particular. Valeria had never been more grateful for the influence of her friends, for the pool of bachelors that would be attending that night were precisely the sort that she needed. Wealthy.
“I would much rather attend the theater,” Beatrice said suddenly, dabbing her mouth. “This second debut is proving to be as tedious as the first. In truth, I am beginning to think I shall never marry at all. When my mother and father inevitably explode at the notion, I shall just stay with you, dear uncle, dear cousin.”
Valeria and Aaron exchanged a look, but if Beatrice was intrigued by it, she had no opportunity to say so. At that moment, the bell rang.
Dropping her napkin, Valeria was halfway out of her seat when the breakfast room door opened, and the borrowed housekeeper, Mrs. O’Rourke, entered with an enormous parcel.
“Something for you, Miss Maxwell,” the housekeeper said with a cheery smile.
Despite the Maxwells and Beatrice not being in their usual household, they got on very well indeed with the staff. The housekeeper had remarked on several occasions that the trio barely asked for anything at all, not realizing the reason why—Valeria and Aaron had gotten used to having almost no staff at all.
“For me?” Valeria frowned, approaching cautiously.
Mrs. O’Rourke pointed back over her shoulder. “That’s what the messenger said. Shall I set it in your room or here?”
“Here!” Beatrice shouted, jumping up. “I love parcels.”
Valeria grimaced, certain that she would have preferred to open the package in private. As it was, she allowed Mrs. O’Rourke to set the long parcel on a side-table and wandered over to investigate. Meanwhile, Beatrice hovered just behind her, peeking over her shoulder.
“I adore you, Bea, but might I have some room to breathe?” Valeria asked with a stilted laugh.
Beatrice put up her hands. “Apologies. I am too enthusiastic. I shall stand over here by the window and I shall not say another word.”
She did just that, giving Valeria a moment to shove down her anxiety as she eyed the parcel. It was not wrapped in brown paper, suggesting it had come directly from the sender: a long, white box, tied with a dark red bow. Her name was written on the top of the box in a worryingly familiar hand.
It cannot be…
But even as she untied the bow and lifted the lid, she knew it was: Duncan had sent her a gift.
It was the most exquisite thing Valeria had ever seen. A feat of exceptional craftsmanship. A gown so beautiful it made her want to weep, her heart stopping altogether as she lifted it from the delicate tissue paper.
The gown was a dark, burgundy red, trimmed with muted gold lace. Not just that, but it appeared to be made entirely of Italian velvet—obscenely expensive. The sort of material that even a queen might hesitate to purchase. Delicate beading created the subtle image of flames at the waist and neckline and hem, while a simple garnet necklace—a teardrop on a velvet ribbon—had been coiled up beside the gown.
“Valery…” Beatrice had given into temptation, creeping up behind her cousin. “My goodness, who has sent this? It is… the most beautiful dress my eyes have ever seen, and my mother has one of Marie Antoinette’s gowns hidden in the attic, smuggled out of France.”
Valeria noticed a small card buried in the tissue paper and covered it discreetly with her hand. “I do not know,” she replied. “Caroline said she wanted to send me something. This must be it.”
She felt terrible, lying about Lionel’s grandmother like that, but it was the only believable thing she could think of. The formidable Caroline Barnet had a wealth of priceless gowns in her possession that she had not worn since she was young, so itstood to reason that she might have one altered for Amelia… or one of Amelia’s dearest friends.
“Valery, I am positivelysickwith envy,” Beatrice lamented and cheered in equal measure. “Next time you visit the dowager, you must bring me with you.”
Valeria mustered a smile. “I promise, I will.” She put the dress back in the box and picked the entire thing up. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must find a place for this in my bedchamber.”
She hurried out, cursing her haste to make up that story about Caroline. If Beatrice and Aaron thought it was from the Dowager Countess of Westyork, then Valeria wouldhaveto wear it. Whereas, if she had been honest, she could have explained that she would never wear such an obvious expression of a rake’s guilt.
