Page 46 of Married to a Scandalous Spinster
Veronica caught her eye and gave her a reassuring smile. “It's all right, Gemma. Truly. No one is looking at you. Let's just have a nice time, shall we?”
Gemma nodded. Veronica was right. Everyone was just going about their own business, lost in their own thoughts and worlds. If anyone on the street had recognized her, they were clearly not bothered by it. Gemma let out a breath she had not realized she was holding. Perhaps she was overreacting.
She followed the directions the Dowager Duchess had given her to the seamstress's parlor, inexplicably nervous. Would the seamstress take one look at her dowdy grey day dress and wonder what on earth had possessed her husband to marry her? Then again, no doubt she, like the rest of London, already knew exactly how Gemma and Wyatt had come to be married.
Stop!Gemma shook the thought away. If she did not want to become a complete hermit, she would have to get a hold of her runaway mind.
It was the loss of control she hated the most, Gemma realized. For so many years, she had prided herself on presenting herself as a fine, upstanding member of high society, even in the face of her father's disgrace. But she had no doubt that gossip about her was now flying around thetonand that stories with absolutely no truth to them were being whispered from one ear to another. She wanted to stand up in front of the entire ton and put them straight. Tell them what really happened behind the chapel that day. But of course, that was not an option. All she could do was let people say what they would and try to weather the storm.
“Ah, Your Grace!” the elderly seamstress gushed when Gemma stepped inside the shopfront and asked after her appointment. The woman bobbed a clumsy curtsey. “I am so pleased to see you! You're just a beautiful as your grandmother-in-law said.”
Gemma felt color rising in her cheeks. “Thank you,” she managed, caught off guard by the unexpected compliment.
The seamstress beamed. “And what is it you are after today?”
“An entire new wardrobe,” Veronica put in before Gemma could open her mouth. “And nothing in brown.” Gemma shot her sister a glare.
The seamstress grinned. “I see.” She ushered Gemma and Veronica deeper into the salon. “Perhaps we might begin by looking at some designs? For inspiration. I am quite sure you will find many of my pieces to your liking…”
Some hours later, they emerged from the seamstress's parlor, with Gemma having made orders for several new gowns and day dresses. Plus, on an impulsive—and now rather mortifying—whim, she had also found herself purchasing a nightgown of the finest—and flimsiest—silk. At the time, she had found herself overcome by thoughts of how Wyatt might react when he saw her in such a thing. Now, she just found herself horrified by what Veronica and the seamstress might think of her.
“I must say, Gemma,” Veronica began, as they began to walk back down the street, “I am rather surprised.”
“Oh?” Gemma prayed very desperately that she did not mention the nightgown.
“I liked all the pieces you chose very much. It seems you have more fashion sense than I gave you credit for.” Her eyes sparkled. “Or is it just that you are only starting to bother yourself with what you wear now you have a gentleman to appreciate it?”
Gemma snorted. “I am not doing this to please my husband.”
Veronica laughed. “You are protesting just a little too much, my dear.”
“I am not protesting. I just…” Gemma was suddenly aware of voices behind her. A faint giggle. She whirled around, coming face to face with a group of young ladies, close to her age. They had a vague familiarity to them, and from their fine silk day dresses and elaborately decorated bonnets, Gemma couldtell they belonged to theton. She felt the muscles in her neck tighten.
“Good afternoon, Your Grace,” chirped one of them. “I do hope you're well.”
“It is rather warm today,” added another, giving Gemma a broad smile. “You must be careful not to spend too long in the sun. I would simplyhatefor you to get dizzy and fall.”
A twitter of laughter went up among the group.
Gemma clenched her hands into fists at her side, trying to tamp her anger down. Veronica pressed a light hand to her arm. “Just ignore them,” she murmured.
“Do tell me, Your Grace,” the first young lady spoke up again, fluttering a fan in front of her face, “what does your husband think about having the Earl of Volk as a father-in-law? I heard His Lordship made quite a scene at White's last week when he got into a fight with one of the dealers.”
Her friend looked at Gemma with sparkling brown eyes, clearly relishing the telling of the story. “They say he tried to throw a punch but was so drunk he just ended up on his own backside. Can you imagine?” The young ladies bubbled with laughter. Gemma felt Veronica's grip on her arm tighten.
“How dare you spread lies about my father like that?” Gemma hissed. “Have you no shame?”
The first young lady threw her head back with laughter, making the feather in her bonnet bob up and down. “Can you believe it? Lady Highbrow is accusingusof having no shame, after what she did to poor Miss Henford.” She took a step closer to Gemma. “You know dear Henrietta just has not been the same after whatyou did to her. I do not know how you can look at yourself in the mirror each morning.”
“Let's go, Gemma,” Veronica murmured, taking her sister's hand and pulling her hurriedly away from the group. Gemma could feel tears of shame burning behind her eyes. She blinked furiously, refusing to let them fall. They turned in Marylebone Lane, escaping the bustle of Bond Street and the judging eyes of the young ladies. Gemma stopped walking and sank back against the wall of the apothecary they were standing outside.
“I am sorry,” she mumbled. She regretted making a scene. Knew she should have just walked away. If word got back to the Duchess, there would be no end to the hounding she would give Gemma for acting in such an unladylike fashion.
“There's no need to apologize to me,” Veronica said gently. “But do try not to let them get to you.” She gave her a pale smile. “They are just petty gossipers. They are not worth it.”
Gemma sighed. She knew her sister was right. But it did nothing to still the anger and shame that was still roiling inside her.
“Tea and cake?” Veronica suggested.
