day. We still have so much to do,
including meal planning.” Isabel winked and rose from her seat.
Cordelia lifted
the babe in her lap, propping him against her shoulder and walking upstairs.
Finding the maid, she passed Matthew over. “I hope not to be gone for too, too
long, but in the event his lordship returns before I, please let him know that
I am with the Marchioness of Stoughton, the Countess of Avonlea, and Miss
Turner.”
“Certainly ma’am.”
She peered into a
looking glass, pinched her cheeks, and fixed some loose strands of hair. She
had not been dress shopping for what seemed like an eternity. Lord, do I ever look terrible.
She could already
imagine what the gossip columns would write up regarding her pending nuptials
to Bastian. His name would be dragged through the mud yet again, only this
time, they would comment on their lack of regard by marrying so soon. Though
that would only be the tip of the iceberg. The question that remained—would
they rehash Richards past crimes, or would they reopen his case and try to find
a way to incriminate her in some way?
All were dreadful
ideas, and she desperately hoped they were nothing but fodder.
“Come on,
Cordelia! We are already late…”
Cordelia raced
down the stairs, meeting the ladies at the door. “My apologies, I had to leave
some instructions with Beatrice.” Before she could say anything to the butler,
Isabel pulled her along. Why do I get the
impression that today is going to be a long one?
She climbed into
the carriage last and sat eagerly with anticipation. What color had the ladies
decided upon for a gown? Considering she was a widow, and was not waiting the
proper time for mourning, surely the girls would not make her wear something as
silly as white, or pink, or blue. Imagine
the horror of it all. There would be painted caricatures in the gossip column,
along with the ill-timed news.
Chapter Nine
“Your grace— err …I mean my lady, that is, I know not why you would worry over
the color. I will have you know that all my fashions are the latest from
France, and widows marry in every color. Though I really do think the maroon
gown with the gold trim is a most excellent choice. What do you think?”
The dress fit her
newfound curves, and strangely enough, the only thought occupying her mind was
how creatively Bastian would get it off. Hmm… She could see him now. His hands gliding up her legs. Seeking her wet heat,
teasing her until she begged for mercy. He would then tie her to the bed post,
with her back turned him.
Then, he would
unlace her gown slowly, sliding it inch by inch off her shoulders. Nipping his
way done, until his lips reached her bottom. The man had a penchant for
spanking. The question was would he spank her with his hands, paddle, or riding
crop. Once he tortured her enough, he would lean her over and take her from
behind. Thrusting hard and fast then slow and steady.
Good grief . All these wicked thoughts in
the middle of the dressmakers shop was making her damp and dizzy with desire.
Her need for Bastian coursed through her veins.
“Ma’am…your grace?
What do you think of the gown?”
Her companions
laughed, probably knowing where her thoughts wandered off.
“The dress is
perfect, Mrs. Hedley.”
“Right then,
perhaps we shall move onto something special for the evening. I have the
perfect garment. If you will bear with me a moment. I have it kept in the
storage room,” the tall, middle-aged woman said while cheerfully bouncing away.
A moment later,
she reappeared, and the girls gasped in shock.
“Oh, my! That is
quite…hmm…shall we say… risqué ,” Emily
whispered grinning the whole while.
“Jesu. Risqué
indeed. Mrs. Hedley, where on earth…how on earth did you fashion such a sinful
piece?”
“That, my dear, is
a secret. And allow me to assure you, while everyone knows you and his lordship
are not new at this arrangement, I am confident he shall never want to
including meal planning.” Isabel winked and rose from her seat.
Cordelia lifted
the babe in her lap, propping him against her shoulder and walking upstairs.
Finding the maid, she passed Matthew over. “I hope not to be gone for too, too
long, but in the event his lordship returns before I, please let him know that
I am with the Marchioness of Stoughton, the Countess of Avonlea, and Miss
Turner.”
“Certainly ma’am.”
She peered into a
looking glass, pinched her cheeks, and fixed some loose strands of hair. She
had not been dress shopping for what seemed like an eternity. Lord, do I ever look terrible.
She could already
imagine what the gossip columns would write up regarding her pending nuptials
to Bastian. His name would be dragged through the mud yet again, only this
time, they would comment on their lack of regard by marrying so soon. Though
that would only be the tip of the iceberg. The question that remained—would
they rehash Richards past crimes, or would they reopen his case and try to find
a way to incriminate her in some way?
All were dreadful
ideas, and she desperately hoped they were nothing but fodder.
“Come on,
Cordelia! We are already late…”
Cordelia raced
down the stairs, meeting the ladies at the door. “My apologies, I had to leave
some instructions with Beatrice.” Before she could say anything to the butler,
Isabel pulled her along. Why do I get the
impression that today is going to be a long one?
She climbed into
the carriage last and sat eagerly with anticipation. What color had the ladies
decided upon for a gown? Considering she was a widow, and was not waiting the
proper time for mourning, surely the girls would not make her wear something as
silly as white, or pink, or blue. Imagine
the horror of it all. There would be painted caricatures in the gossip column,
along with the ill-timed news.
Chapter Nine
“Your grace— err …I mean my lady, that is, I know not why you would worry over
the color. I will have you know that all my fashions are the latest from
France, and widows marry in every color. Though I really do think the maroon
gown with the gold trim is a most excellent choice. What do you think?”
The dress fit her
newfound curves, and strangely enough, the only thought occupying her mind was
how creatively Bastian would get it off. Hmm… She could see him now. His hands gliding up her legs. Seeking her wet heat,
teasing her until she begged for mercy. He would then tie her to the bed post,
with her back turned him.
Then, he would
unlace her gown slowly, sliding it inch by inch off her shoulders. Nipping his
way done, until his lips reached her bottom. The man had a penchant for
spanking. The question was would he spank her with his hands, paddle, or riding
crop. Once he tortured her enough, he would lean her over and take her from
behind. Thrusting hard and fast then slow and steady.
Good grief . All these wicked thoughts in
the middle of the dressmakers shop was making her damp and dizzy with desire.
Her need for Bastian coursed through her veins.
“Ma’am…your grace?
What do you think of the gown?”
Her companions
laughed, probably knowing where her thoughts wandered off.
“The dress is
perfect, Mrs. Hedley.”
“Right then,
perhaps we shall move onto something special for the evening. I have the
perfect garment. If you will bear with me a moment. I have it kept in the
storage room,” the tall, middle-aged woman said while cheerfully bouncing away.
A moment later,
she reappeared, and the girls gasped in shock.
“Oh, my! That is
quite…hmm…shall we say… risqué ,” Emily
whispered grinning the whole while.
“Jesu. Risqué
indeed. Mrs. Hedley, where on earth…how on earth did you fashion such a sinful
piece?”
“That, my dear, is
a secret. And allow me to assure you, while everyone knows you and his lordship
are not new at this arrangement, I am confident he shall never want to
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