Page 62 of Lord Garson's Bride
Once she might assume he meant that, but she’d learned to recognize when he was teasing. “That’s not what you said an hour ago.”
His laugh held a note of appreciation. He drew a chair across, so he could sit close enough to take her book away. “Any good?”
Her lips quirked. “I wouldn’t have a clue.”
He set the book on the carpet. “So what were you smiling about?”
She lowered her lashes. “The Tower of London.”
For a moment he looked thunderstruck, then he burst into delighted laughter. By the time he’d settled down, she’d risen to pour them both some claret.
“Thank you.” As he accepted the wine, the brush of his fingers was a caress. He slouched back and studied her, the glass dangling from one large hand. “I thought you went dress shopping with Susan.”
As she resumed her seat, she cast a rueful glance at her gray gown. “I did.”
“By God, I hope you made a pauper of me.”
A self-derisive laugh escaped her. “Far from it. I didn’t find much that I liked.”
He looked disappointed. She could imagine he was nearly as sick of her uninspiring wardrobe as she was. “Didn’t you order anything?”
She shrugged without enthusiasm and took a sip of her wine. “An evening gown.” And wished she hadn’t. The yellow taffeta with busy black trim made her look like a wasp. “And two day dresses.”
His lips lengthened in disapproval. “Susan got a little too insistent, did she?”
Jane ignored that, although it was true. Her sister had rejected anything Jane leaned toward ordering as too fast for a young matron. “I’ll try again. I don’t want to let you down.”
The prospect of the knowing smiles when Lord Garson’s frump of a bride appeared in public made her pride cringe. She might know she was second best, but that didn’t mean she had to look like she was.
Oh, dear, she’d been so happy. Now bitter reality battered at the door and barged inside without an invitation to make itself at home. She much preferred the sugar-spun fantasy where her husband thought only of her and was overcome with joy that he’d chosen her.
“You’re a credit to me, whatever you do, Jane.”
Jane only just resisted saying how kind he was. He didn’t like hearing that, even if it was true.
She made an apologetic gesture. “I thought of getting some new dresses before the wedding, but the village seamstress is as woefully ignorant of current modes as I am. I decided I’d wait until we got to Beardsley Hall and ask the local ladies where they buy their clothes. Then plans changed, and we came to London instead.”
“It’s hardly an insurmountable problem, sweetheart.” Hugh set his glass on a side table and took her hand. “We’re at the heart of a worldwide empire, and I have plenty of money. I’m sure we can lay our hands on a few bits and pieces to bring you up to scratch.”
She summoned a smile and told herself that he didn’t mean anything when he called her sweetheart. “I’ll ask Susan if she wants to come shopping again.”
“I’ve got a better idea.” When he looked so pleased with himself, like a little boy who had done his Latin translation to his tutor’s satisfaction, her heart gave a strange lurch. Briefly the room reeled around her and all she saw was Hugh’s face.
“Oh?” The odd reaction receded, but left her unsettled.
“I’ll ask Caro to help you. Or perhaps Helena. She’s Silas’s sister and married to Lord West. Helena’s always up to the minute. Most stylish woman I know.”
Jane ripped her hand free and began to pleat her plain skirts. “That won’t be suitable.”
Hugh frowned, his self-satisfaction fading. “I thought you liked Caro. You seemed to get along at the wedding.”
“Of course I liked her.” Jane bit her lip and didn’t look at him. “She’s very nice. So is Lord Stone.”
“I see.”
When the silence extended, she made herself glance at him. His austere expression told her he did indeed see.
“I know these people are your friends,” she said miserably.
