In Debt to the Earl by Elizabeth Rolls

Author:Elizabeth Rolls [Rolls, Elizabeth]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2015-12-16T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

The gown, shimmering pale-green silk, and its attendant undergarments lay on the neatly made bed, a fantasy in the candlelight. Lucy could only stare, her breath uncertain. Even Henrietta, when she married Mr Bentinck, had not had such a gown as this. Silk stockings, whisper-fine, lay on the faded, patched counterpane. Dancing slippers to match the gown stood beside the bed. The faint fragrance of lavender drifted from little sachets that had nestled in the folds of the garments.

Tears burned behind her eyes as she read the accompanying note again.

My dear,

I confess I lied when I said I had a gown that could be made over. But I trust you will forgive the deception and think only of the joy this gave me.

You may believe me that Cambourne, in this, has been no more than my courier, although I hope his taste in fans is acceptable.

Your affectionate friend,

Elizabeth Armistead

Lucy’s fingers slid, wondering, over the silk. It whispered secrets under her touch. It seemed that the silk caressed her fingers, not the other way around, that it was alive with dreams and possibilities.

Or did it whisper temptation? Lies to ensnare a fool.

Cambourne was waiting for her out in the other room. He had carried all the boxes and parcels in here, placed them on the bed and then shut the door behind himself, his face a mask. Doubt reared, hissing.

He doesn’t really want you. Why would he?

But if he did...

She took a deep breath. Apparently she was her father’s daughter after all, because she was about to risk everything on the biggest gamble of her life. If it worked, when Cambourne tired of her, she would have a nest egg, enough to buy an annuity to live on quietly and peacefully for the rest of her days.

A shiver went through her at the thought of Cambourne tiring of her. Would he tell her himself? Send a note? How did a gentleman dismiss a mistress? And how did the mistress manage when, in addition to virtue and reputation—unavoidable losses in the circumstances—she had been foolish enough to risk her heart?

Glancing once at the closed door, she stripped out of her old gown and washed with the bucket of water she had hauled up earlier. Quickly she towelled dry and slipped on the chemise and petticoat. They drifted against her skin, nearly weightless after the coarse, hard-wearing garments she was accustomed to. Soft, fine, exquisitely stitched and not a patch or darn to be seen.

She picked up the stays, wriggled into them back to front and tightened the laces as much as she could before squirming and wriggling them around into place. They hung far too loosely and she reached for the stay strings, now behind her.

She could barely reach the strings, let alone tighten or tie them. She had forgotten. Not since she left her uncle’s house had she worn stays, or any clothing, that required assistance to fasten. And the undergarment she usually wore would show above the neckline of the silk gown.

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