My Cynical Marquess ~ Lords of Reluctance Book 1

Chapter Nine

"Grace, dearest child, you are drooping like a wilted cabbage. All of this cannot be too much for you?" Lady Bedford surveyed the lovely figure submitting to the prodding and pinning of the modiste while emitting faint sighs and wistful glances out of the window.

The modiste must have had an army of elves helping her to construct the number of gowns she had brought with her in such a short time. The days had flown by, but Grace remained pensive, although she did not say a word against Lady Felicity. What she said to Grace regarding her wardrobe still rankled. At every opportunity, Lady Felicity had informed her that she was the chosen one, being the one Lady Rutherford had chosen for her son. Not in so many words, but Grace knew the intent. Although, why she felt the need was beyond Grace's comprehension.

Grace directed a startled glance at her aunt. "Indeed not, Aunt."

The image that materialised within her mind was not Lord Markham, as it should have been, but Lord Rutherford. All she could think of was the delightful look of tender regard that warmed his eyes occasionally when he looked at her. She straightened her spine to challenge the memory. Better to consider him as a brother, not as a potential husband. Somehow, Lord Rutherford did not fit her perception of a brother. As she had not had one, she did not know how a brother should behave. But she knew for a fact Lord Rutherford did not fit that mould.

Lady Bedford suppressed a smile at the valiant figure swathed in dark violet silk. Her posture was exemplary; no woman could forget herself and allow a droop of the spine to come over her. But Lady Bedford attributed that to her pride rather than wanting to retain excellent posture.

Grace jumped as a pin penetrated her cambric underclothes and skin. She made no complaint, remembering ladies did not allow such things to upset them.

"I think it is enough on this one. Since you sent the measurements along with the garments you require, my work is that much easier, madam," The modiste bobbed a curtsy to Lady Bedford before easing the dark violet evening gown over Grace's head.

Lady Bedford poured a cup of tea from the fresh pot Porter had brought up and offered it to a weary Grace. "It was so kind of Lord Rutherford to send one of his grooms to London with the order for your clothes. And to have him wait until Mrs Cavendish could come was beyond anything." She gazed at her niece with a shrewd look. "You have not formed a tendre for his lordship, have you?"

A lovely blush coloured Grace's cheek as she glanced at her aunt. "Indeed, I have not, Aunt Eleanor," she said. "Besides, Lady Felicity is his intended. That is what Lady Rutherford wants and I doubt he would go against his mother's wishes. That is why she has been invited."

Lady Bedford gave an attractive sigh. "Well, I am glad that you have the good sense not to. I believe Lord Markham is a better match for you, my dear." She patted Grace on the arm. "Not that you are ineligible for his attentions. Never forget you are the niece of an earl. But I think his lordship is quite high in the instep. From what I have observed, Lady Felicity seems to be all that is proper. Although, her high spirits do tend to grate on ones nerves a shade."

"That is not all that grates on one's nerves," Grace muttered into her teacup. She smiled at the modiste who shook out a royal blue pelisse as Lady Bedford specified. The pelisse had a soft lining of fur that caught Grace's eye. What luxury! "Aunt ...." Her aunt shook her head in a cautionary manner as she interpreted her niece's anxious look correctly.

"It shall not be long before the chill of autumn is upon us. You cannot look for a suitable husband whilst in bed with a fever. Although, if Lord Markham offers for you, as I think he shall, that should not be an issue." She checked over the lengthy list in her hand once again, glancing at the clothes heaped on chairs about the room and ticking them each off the list.