Lady Beneath the Veil(12)

'So you are Gideon's bride by mistake,' she said bluntly.

'Yes, Lady Ribblestone, I-'

'Oh, no formality, please, you must call me Gwen.' The lady came forwards and hugged her. 'And what shall I call you?'

'Dominique-that is, G-Gideon prefers to call me Nicky,' she said, emerging, startled, from the scented embrace.

'Now, why should he do that, when Dominique is such a pretty name?'

'I-it is French...'

'Ah, of course.' A shadow crossed Gwen's countenance, but she recovered  quickly and gave another blinding smile. 'Gideon tells me you are  seriously in need of clothes.' Dominique found herself being scrutinised  from head to toe. 'Well, perhaps it is a little out of fashion, but it  is not that bad.'

Dominique glanced down at her walking dress and gave a rueful smile.

'Perhaps not, but it is the only thing I have.'

'What? My dear girl, you must explain everything.'

And suddenly Dominique found herself on the sofa beside Lady  Ribblestone, telling her about her sudden departure from Martlesham and  the trunk Max had sent with her, full of improper garments. Immediately  Gwendoline demanded to see them.

'I am sorry to say it, my dear,' she said as they made their way to  Dominique's bedchamber, 'but I cannot like your cousin. If this whole  sorry business has given Gideon a dislike of the earl's company then  some good has come of it. And Gideon's marrying you, of course.'

'I am not sure he thinks of it that way,' replied Dominique, a little  wistfully. She led Gwendoline into her room and pointed at the trunk.  'Everything is in there, save the muslin dress I wear in the evenings,  which my maid has put in the linen press.'                       
       
           



       

Her sadness gave way to amusement as Lady Ribblestone began to pull out  quantities of silk and lace, holding up the items for inspection before  throwing them on to the bed. Gwen was not shocked or outraged by the  see-through muslins, lacy undergarments or diaphanous nightgowns, she  merely chuckled.

'Perhaps not quite suitable for you to wear in public,' she remarked,  holding up a particularly sheer gown, 'but the lace negligee might be  just the sort of thing Gideon would like.'

Dominique's face flamed.

'I d-don't think so.' She slumped against the edge of the bed, thinking  of the chaste peck on the cheek he had given her the previous two  evenings, before marching off to his own bedroom. 'Besides, all these  clothes are far too big for me. They might even have been bought for  the-the lady Gideon thought he would marry-'

'He told me she was an actress.'

'Yes.'

'Then you need not call her a lady,' Gwendoline corrected her, coming to sit beside her. 'Did you see her?'

'Yes, she is... She has a-a fuller figure.'

'And no doubt will run to fat as she gets older.'

Dominique giggled. 'Perhaps. But she is much taller than I am. She is very beautiful, too, and fair.'

'A big, blowsy woman, then,' said Gwendoline. 'Not at all the sort to  suit Gideon. He is very chivalrous, you know, and will much prefer a  wife he can cherish and protect. Once we have bought you a few gowns  that are more becoming to your size and figure, I have no doubt he will  find you irresistible.'

Dominique sighed.

'I doubt it. But it is not only that she was so very beautiful. He  thought she-that is, he thought I-was English, but I am not. I am half  French and I cannot alter that.'

'Ah.'

Dominique looked uncertainly at her new friend. 'Why does Gideon dislike the French so much?'

Gwendoline's smile disappeared.

'You do not know?'

'No. Will you tell me?'

Gwendoline hesitated, saying at last, 'Very well, but not until we have  been shopping. My carriage has been standing at the door for far too  long. We must leave now, if we are to get anything done today.' She  jumped up. 'Come along, my dear, put on your bonnet, we are going out.'

* * *

To one who had lived very retired for the past ten years, a shopping  trip with Lady Ribblestone was a revelation. Dominique soon lost count  of the modistes, milliners, bazaars and warehouses they visited.  Gwendoline sailed through the establishments, setting everyone running  to do her bidding.

* * *

By the time they returned to Brook Street an alarming number of orders  had been placed and an even more alarming number of packages and  bandboxes filled the carriage.

'I think we have done very well for the first day,' remarked Gwendoline, reviewing their purchases.

'First day!' Dominique laughed. 'I do not think I have ever had so many new things in my life.'

'Well, you came to town with nothing,' reasoned Gwendoline. 'Tomorrow  we shall order you a riding habit. I shall take you to Ribblestone's  tailor, he makes all my habits. Unless you think Gideon would prefer you  to use his own tailor...?'

'I think Gideon will say I have spent more than enough,' declared Dominique. 'Heaven knows how much all this will cost.'

Gwendoline shrugged.

'Gideon can afford it. Old Lady Telford left him everything, you know,  and until now he has frittered it away on larks and sprees. It will be  good for him to have some responsibilities.'

The word threw a cloud over Dominique's spirits.

'And I am a responsibility.' She sighed. 'Will you tell me now why Gideon did not want to marry a Frenchwoman?'

'The war, my dear, surely that is reason enough.'

'No, it is more than that,' said Dominique, a tiny crease furrowing her  brow. 'He looked very shocked when he found out my father is French. He  seemed quite, quite repulsed.' She fixed her eyes upon Gwendoline.  'Please tell me, then perhaps I can do something to alleviate the  situation.' She added quickly, 'What is it, why do you look at me like  that, as if you pity me? What is it I should know?'                       
       
           



       

Gwendoline hesitated.

'I think Gideon should tell you himself.'

'Please, Gwen.'

Her pleading look and the hand placed so insistently upon Lady Ribbleston's arm had its affect. She sighed and nodded.

'Very well. You see, our aunt-Papa's sister-married a Frenchman, the Duc du Chailly. They were guillotined during the Terror.'

'Oh, I am so very sorry!'

'She was also my godmother and I am named after her. We knew her as  Tante Gwendoline and when we were children we spent many happy times  with them in France, until the Revolution. It was quite devastating for  the family when they died.'

'Oh, that is so very sad. And Max knows this?'

'Martlesham? Yes, of course. It was no secret and the executions were much talked of in town at the time.'

'Then how cruel of him to trick Gideon into marrying me!' declared  Dominique angrily. She frowned. 'Max thought that as soon as the deceit  was known Gideon would seek an annulment.'

'Yes, Gideon mentioned that.' Gwendoline added quietly, 'He also told me why that is not possible.'

Dominique bowed her head, her cheeks crimson.

'He could still divorce me.'

'Not Gideon,' said his sister decidedly. 'He is far too honourable to drag any woman through that.'

'Then we are man and wife, until death.' Dominique sighed. 'That sounds so bleak, but perhaps, given time...'

Lady Ribblestone reached out and covered her hands, saying quickly,  'You must not hope for too much, my dear.' She hesitated. 'I think it  best if you know everything. Our older brother, James, died in France,  too. At the hands of the Girondins.'

'And Papa was a Girondin.'

If there had been any light at the end of the long tunnel Dominique saw  stretching before her, it was shut off in an instant. Beneath  Gwendoline's warm clasp she gripped her hands together very tightly,  hoping that small pain would stop her from crying.

'Tell me,' she said, her throat constricted.

'It was the winter of ninety-one. The Legislative Assembly had been  appointed-young, fanatical anti-royalists hell-bent on destroying the  old order. James went to France to try to help tante and the duc. Father  had friends there, you see, contacts opposed to the new administration.  He had arranged a meeting, but on that very night they were attacked  and James was killed.'

'And the Legislative Assembly was Girondiste,' Dominique said in a  whisper. 'Papa was against the violence. He wanted to end it, but who  will believe that now?' She looked up, all hope gone. 'How can your  brother bear to be married to me? Is it for revenge?'

'No, no. Gideon is an honourable man and he will take his marriage vows seriously.'

Dominique looked around her at the packages littering the carriage.

'What is the point of buying me all this? He can never love me.'

'Very few of us marry for love, my dear.'

'But I represent all that he abhors. And you are Gideon's sister-you have just as much cause to hate me-'

'Gideon does not hate you, my dear, I am sure of that, and nor do I.  You are not responsible for what happened in the Terror. My godmother  married the Duc du Chailly because he was a good, kind man, and before  the war we met many such people in France.' Gwen turned and put her  hands on Dominique's shoulders. 'You must look upon this as an arranged  marriage. Not perhaps what you would have chosen, but you must make the  best of it. Gideon has already decided to do so, that is why he asked me  to take you under my wing.' She gave Dominique a little shake. 'You  have to make a life for yourself, my dear. You are not an antidote,  there is no reason why you and Gideon should not be happy together. With  the right clothes and a little confidence I think we can pass you off  quite creditably in society, and when Gideon sees other people taking  notice of you, he will do so, too.'