Read Online The Madness of Viscount Atherbourne (Rescued from Ruin, Book One) by Elisa Braden - Free Book Online

secondary properties would be distributed to their
children were of no importance to him.
    What mattered was that she would be his. In
the window’s reflection, he watched his private smile turn grim,
determined.
    In three days, she would be his.
     
    *~*~*

 
     
    Chapter Six
    “ Love? What rubbish. Grandchildren for your poor,
beleaguered mother. Now, there is a sound reason to marry.” —The Dowager Marchioness of Wallingham to her only son, Charles,
upon his refusal to enter Almack’s.
     
    The dress was even more beautiful than she
had imagined it, Victoria thought as she gazed at the vision before
her. It was white silk, overlaid with the sheerest muslin, rich
with tiny embroidered flowers in a vivid peacock blue and leaves of
pale spring green. On the short sleeves and just beneath the
scooped bodice, tiny pleats in the muslin formed panels bordered by
ornate silver ribbon. The overall effect was dreamy and
exquisite.
    She wanted to cry.
    “My dear, you are enchanting in that gown,”
said Lady Berne, currently seated on the sofa behind where Victoria
stood gazing at herself in the full-length mirror of the Bond
Street dressmaker’s shop. “Mrs. Bowman is a marvel. And to have it
finished so quickly! I can hardly credit it.”
    Victoria swallowed and gave the countess a
weak smile over her shoulder. “Yes, she is extraordinary.
Fortunately, I had already arranged to have the dress made last
month. So, no rush was necessary.”
    A long pause followed this statement as Lady
Berne realized the gown would have been Victoria’s wedding dress
for her marriage to Lord Stickley and now instead would be worn for
her rather precipitate nuptials with Lord Atherbourne.
    “Oh,” Lady Berne finally responded. “Well,
that is, indeed, fortunate.”
    Victoria sniffed and straightened her spine.
“Yes, I thought so.”
    She turned as Mrs. Bowman came back into the
room and knelt at her feet, pinning the hem for one final
adjustment. “Mrs. Bowman, what do you recommend for my headdress? I
have heard some ladies choose to wear turbans for their
weddings.”
    The sable-haired dressmaker glanced up at her
with a look of disgust. “No, no, no!” She waved a hand wildly in
the air above her elegant coiffure, her light Italian accent
evident even in those three short words. “You must wear flowers, my
lady. The, eh, mughetto . Lily of the Valley. It is a dress
of delicate beauty. It deserves flowers, not a turban.” She spat
the last word as though it were particularly repugnant.
    Victoria hid a smile. Opinionated and
headstrong when it came to fashion, Renata Bowman was perhaps the
most talented clothier in London. However, while she was married to
an English textile merchant, she was Italian rather than English—or
even French. To make matters worse, she struggled greatly with
showing proper deference to her titled clientele. In Victoria’s
opinion, this was the sole reason Mrs. Bowman was not the ton’s
most sought-after modiste.
    “Well, I must say I quite agree. Flowers
would, indeed, be lovely, my dear,” the countess interjected
brightly.
    “Then flowers it shall be,” Victoria said
with forced cheer, glancing once again at her reflection. Even to
herself, her face appeared pale, her eyes pensive.
    Rising beside her and examining the gown with
a fierce frown, Mrs. Bowman nodded sharply. “Mm. It is good.” She
met Victoria’s gaze in the mirror. “I have it finished for you and
delivered today. The rest is ready, too. That will be sent to the
duke’s house as well, yes?”
    “The rest?” Victoria blinked.
    “ Sì , your …” The woman gestured toward
Victoria’s bosom and down to her knees. “… nightwear. And the day
dresses and ball gowns you requested.”
    “Oh!” Victoria had completely forgotten the
expansive trousseau she had ordered before the incident, when she
had planned to marry Stickley and needed something to look forward
to, even if it was a carriage load of new frocks.
    Of