Bedazzled. Bertrice Small

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СКАЧАТЬ How on earth could she and Rowan Lindley have spawned two such different daughters? “Let us choose your sister’s gown first,” Jasmine suggested, knowing it would take India forever to settle upon her own garb.

      India nodded her agreement. “The main problem will be to find something clean,” she said, “but I suppose Nelly does her best to keep up with our wild Fortune.” Then India laughed. “No one can make me angrier than Fortune, Mama. She does not seem to care at all, but I do love her!”

      “I know you do,” the duchess replied, and then together the two hurried upstairs to seek out a wardrobe, India’s elegant new silk skirts rustling as they went.

      Impressed by the exquisite clothing she had seen at the French court, India Lindley had returned from France determined to have a new gown, nay, a dozen new gowns fashioned in the same manner, of the finest materials, sewn all over with jewels and gold thread, with fine brocade petticoats that would show through the gown’s front opening. She thought the farthingales and bell-shaped skirts of her great-grandmother, grandmother, and mother’s day far more elegant than the skirts of today that fell to the floor in simple folds, with the fullness toward the back. It was somehow sloppy, India thought, but it was the fashion now. Opulent fabrics, India thought, would take the curse from this less elegant mode.

      India had therefore raided the O’Malley-Small trading company warehouses where there were incredible fabrics stored that her mother had brought from her homeland nearly twenty years ago. There was so much fine stuff that India knew even if she and her sister were completely outfitted in dozens of new gowns each, there would still be enough of the beautiful materials left over. She had picked carefully, colors and fabrics that would flatter her skin. Then she had personally overseen the making of the garments, which were far richer than those normally worn now in England. Satisfied that her gowns were every bit as good as those that would be worn by the queen and her French ladies, India looked forward to going to court.

      The king and queen had been remarried at St. Augustine’s Abbey in Canterbury, and had then made their way to London, coming into the city by barge as there was plague about. It was not the official state entry that Henrietta-Marie had expected. Still, the young queen waved at the crowds through the open window of the vessel as they stood there along the Thames bank in the wind and rain to greet her. The king was more sedate, waving regally, his face somber. Afterward, however, the queen had retired to rest from her long journey. It was just now at the end of June that she felt ready to attend the formal proclamation of her marriage.

      The ceremony took place in the Great Hall of Whitehall Palace. The king and his queen sat upon their thrones while the marriage contract was read aloud to the assembled dignitaries and the court. Looking about her, India was quite satisfied that she was the best dressed Englishwoman in the hall. Fortune, of course, had rolled her eyes as India had been laced into a small corset, but India knew it was worth it, for her small breasts swelled discreetly over the low, square neckline of her gown, pushed up by the corset. The gown itself was of claret-red silk with a wide, ivory lace collar that extended low on the shoulder. The sleeves reached the elbow, and showed ivory-and-gold brocade through their slashes that matched the tantalizing glimpse of petticoat through the gown’s skirt opening. The duchess had refused to allow her daughter to wear her own famous rubies, believing pearls more suitable to the occasion. India’s hair was as fashionable as her gown, her dark locks being fixed into a flat, coiled knot at the back, with a single lovelock tied with a gold ribbon draping itself teasingly by her left ear.

      “Damn me if that ain’t the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen,” Adrian Leigh, Viscount Twyford, said to his friend, Lord John Summers.

      “Too rich for your blood,” Lord Summers replied dryly.

      “You know who she is, Johnny? And why should I not aspire to such a magnificent creature?”

      “Because she is the stepdaughter of the duke of Glenkirk, and the sister of the marquis of Westleigh. A virgin, and an heiress far beyond your reach. You don’t want to marry, Twyford. You want to seduce. Seduce that beauty, and you’ll end up very dead. Whatever they have planned for Lady India Lindley, it isn’t you.”

      “I’ll be earl of Oxton one day, Johnny,” Viscount Twyford replied, “and what a countess she would make! India? ’Tis an odd name.

      “The duchess of Glenkirk, the girl’s mother, is from that land, I am told, although her mother is English or Scots, I’m not sure which. I do know they are a wealthy family, and somehow distantly related to the king’s family. Lady Lindley’s half-brother, the duke of Lundy, is also the king’s nephew. Wrong side of the blanket, of course, but you know these Stuarts, Adrian.”

      “The women are obviously hot-blooded,” Viscount Twyford noted, his blue eyes fixed on India.

      “Be careful, Adrian,” his friend teased. “If your mama should find out you have an interest in such a suitable girl she will be quite piqued. I know how she dotes on you. It is said she will never give you over into the care of another woman.”

      “My mother would do well to remain at Oxton Hall, looking after my father. He has not been well in recent years,” Twyford said sourly.

      “She’s still a handsome woman,” Lord Summers remarked.

      “She concentrates on remaining so,” the viscount replied. “It is her sole interest. That, and certain men. She will not prevent me from marrying, Johnny, when I find the right girl, and I believe I have. It is my duty to have an heir. I know it would please my father.” He fixed his eyes on his companion. “I must be introduced to Lady India Lindley, Johnny. Do you know any of the family?”

      “I have an acquaintance with her brother, Henry Lindley, the marquis of Westleigh. My little estate borders his holdings at Cadby. If he is here, I suppose I might presume upon him. He has a good nature.” Lord Summers swept the Great Hall with his mild gaze. “Ahh, there he is! With his stepfather, the duke. Come along, Adrian. This is as good a chance as we’ll get, I think.”

      The two men made their way across the large chamber which was filled to overflowing with the court. The marriage contract having been read, the king had gone into a nearby chamber to dine, and the queen had retired to her apartments. This left the courtiers to mill about, visiting and gossiping with and about each other.

      When they had reached the area where the duke of Glenkirk stood speaking with his stepson, Lord Summers stopped, and waited to catch Henry Lindley’s eye, saying when he did, “I came to pay my respects, my lord, and to introduce you to my friend, Viscount Twyford, who, having seen your sister, Lady India, tells me he will perish if you do not introduce them.” Lord Summers grinned in friendly fashion at the marquis of Westleigh, who was three years his junior.

      “Introduce me to these gentlemen, Henry,” the duke of Glenkirk said. He took in the measure of the two young men before them.

      “Lord John Summers, Father. His estate borders mine. We have sometimes hunted together when I have been at Cadby,”Henry Lindley said. “And this is his friend, Viscount Twyford.”

      “Do you have a name, young man?” the duke of Glenkirk demanded.

      “Adrian Leigh, sir. I am the earl of Oxton’s son, and heir.” He bowed to James Leslie and the young marquis.

      “And you wish to meet my stepdaughter, sir? To what purpose?” the duke inquired fiercely.

      A tinkle of laughter greeted his words as the duchess of Glenkirk, overhearing, turned and took her husband’s arm. “Do not be such a ninny, Jemmie. Viscount Twyford would appear to me to be a fairly respectable СКАЧАТЬ