Page 27 of The Duke Decides

“He is only taking me to the theater.” Louisa folded her hands against her middle as if she could press back the fluttery, jumping-about sensations that had been going on there more or less since Gabriel Declan overset her life by appearing, in daylight and in the magnificent flesh, in her parlor in the Benevolence Hospital. Proving their embrace at Rutland House was not a dream, and he was not an apparition birthed of her feverish, longing brain.

No, he was substance and solid flesh. And now, nothing in her life could be the same again.

“You do not think that frock a bit too young for me?” she asked as Lady Katherine emerged from the dressing room, holding up an evening gown of saffron-colored silk.

Louisa stood in her shift in Lady Emmeline’s bedchamber, and once again the Duke of Rutland’s daughters were engaged in the task of dressing her. This time, the Dowager Duchess presided, silk skirts draped over a cushioned chaise, a Paisley shawl wrapped around her shoulders.

“Simply because you are the Matron of a respectable charitable institution does not mean you must be dowdy,” the Duchess declared. “The new Duke of Barkham has a reputation for being dashing. He will be expected to escort an elegant lady.”

They spoke as if Gabriel Declan might actually have an interest in her person, Louisa thought. Surely the Duchess knew better? After all, she had arranged for the two of them to meet. She must realize this outing was another performance, staged every bit as carefully as the play they were planning to see.

Still, Louisa could not find it in herself to turn away the expensive garb with which the ducal daughters had decided to arm her. As Matron of the Hospital, she dressed to convey authority, efficiency, and robust good sense. She had not worn clothes this lovely in fifteen years, and a small, still-young part of her craved the luxuries. The fine white linen shift, soft as satin. The silk stockings clasped by dainty garters. The long corset of cotton and silk, boned with baleen, that shaped her torso into sleek lines and put her breasts on display.

“I should not strive to be too dashing, nevertheless,” Louisa said, voice muffled as Mason, the lady’s maid, draped the silken fabric over her head. The Duchess of Rutland had made her reputation by inciting admiration and desire. Louisa had to incite admiration and respect.

“And what do I do if someone recognizes me?” she asked as her head emerged from the flurry of sarcenet and silk. Many highborn and powerful British women were patronesses and benefactors of the Hospital. They might identify Louisa even outside her customary domain.

Also, there were certain among the daughters, nieces, and cousins of Polite Society who had made use of the Hospital’s services during a sensitive time. Their concern might not be that they would recognize Louisa, but that she would recognize them.

“And if they do know you as Matron?” the Duchess asked. “Introduce them to the Duke of Barkham and ask if they enjoyed the play. What could it hurt if the Matron takes to the theater with a handsome escort?”

“The Duke’s reputation. Or mine,” Louisa reflected. “Lady Westmeath seemed to think he is something of a blade.”

“Oh, he is.” Emmeline giggled as she tugged the skirts of the gown over Louisa’s borrowed petticoat. “Papa never considered him for us, of course. Until quite recently, everyone thought he was a bastard, not in line to inherit.”

“Language, my dear Emmeline,” her grandmother reproved her.

“Well, that is the term. And he was known for brawling.”

“And consorting with ruffians and fast women,” Katherine added, returning from the dressing room with an assortment of headpieces which she laid out on the coverlet, a treasury of flowers, jewels, and feathers.

“I shall have to call upon his mother, once she is settled in Barkham House,” the Duchess reflected. “Others will lead where I follow. I shall put in a good word for you, Louisa.”

“I do not suppose this association will go anywhere,” Louisa reminded her. “This is all a ploy to flush out my blackmailer, or so the Duke says.”

“Dear Louisa.” The Duchess examined Louisa’s form as the gown fell into its folds, and a small smile curved her mouth. “If nothing comes of you being in that gown, it will not be for the Duke’s lack of trying.”

Katherine turned her to face the mirror while Mason arranged the silk sash that belted the waist of the gown. The bodice was low and cut to the shoulder, baring more décolletage than she was accustomed to showing, and the short sleeves puffed from her shoulders in tiny wings. A fall of sarcenet to her elbows formed an outer sleeve, keeping the effect from appearing too youthful. Bands of brown silk ribbon added a rippling effect to the bodice, and the embroidered sheaves of wheat on the sarcenet draping the long skirt narrowed her silhouette.

Louisa stared at herself in the mirror. She looked sophisticated and alluring.

“I suppose it cannot hurt the Hospital if I am a bit elegant,” she said in a small voice.

If she’d stayed in her old life, she would have wardrobes full of splendid gowns. Her dressing room, like Emmeline’s, would spill over with jewels and feathery hairpieces, elegant shawls and dainty stockings.

“Why so anxious, my dear? A night at the theater is to be enjoyed. Especially if he takes you to Vauxhall for supper and a stroll through the lights.”

“I fear, if word circulates that the Matron is spending her evenings at fashionable entertainments, the credibility of the Hospital will suffer.”

“The Sisters are not allowed to enjoy their lives?”

“There is no prohibition.” The Sisters of Benevolence was a lay order, formed and governed by their own rules, which they were at liberty to change. It was by mutual consent, not injunction, that they typically refrained from partaking of entertainments in their small leisure time. Such monies were better put toward shoes for growing children, extra loaves of bread at the table for those they invited in from the street, repairs that kept rot from their foundations and mice from their stores.

And many of the Sisters had already found that the world outside held danger. These walls offered protection.

At first, Louisa had chosen the Hospital so she might hide. Englishmen circulated to France, and French nobles visited London. It was possible she could be recognized. It was possible the tale had spread of a young wife who, nursing resentment for slights and injury, had set fire to her husband’s secrets and fled while fires burned down her former home. And him along with.

Now, she stayed hidden out of habit. She had not given up on life, simply…narrowed the course of hers quite a bit.