Read Online The Reluctant Marquess by Maggi Andersen - Free Book Online
Authors: Maggi Andersen
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handsome china plate in front of her, aware that many households still ate from pewter with wooden utensils and not the shining silver that adorned the table.
“No. But I don’t see why bone china is not a possibility.” Robert mused. “We have access to the materials, Kaolinite—that’s clay, close access to the slaughter houses for bone . . .. Hard though, to compete with Europe and China.” He lapsed into silence.
Feeling he would not welcome further discussion, Charity pushed food around her plate, her mind refusing to produce anything of note to gain his attention. She would have to read up on pottery.
“You are looking forward to this evening?”
“Oh! Um, yes, I suppose so.”
Her nerves increasing at the prospect of the evening ahead, Charity returned to her chamber to dress. Brigitte waited for her, standing by the mantel, studying her artwork. “I much admire the new piece you’ve carved, my lady,” she said. “It looks so lifelike.”
Charity felt absurdly pleased. “Thank you, Brigitte.” A wave of homesickness swept over her. Her life in Oxfordshire had been filled with warmth and love. Her father had always been there to lean on. She felt his loss even more keenly since she’d come here.
Brigitte had her bath ready. Charity relaxed in the perfumed water as the maid washed her back. She hoped Robert would find her beautiful tonight in her new gown. She longed for him to gaze at her with love, but doubted he ever would. With whom did he dine tonight? Might it be a mistress? She had heard that married men often had mistresses. She suspected Robert would be no different, but her heart plummeted at the thought. She would not allow it to spoil the evening, however. This was an extraordinary occasion; something she never dreamed would happen to her.
She stepped out of her bath and Brigitte wrapped her in a towel. Someone knocked at the door. “Good heavens, who is that? Fetch my robe.” Charity dropped the towel and was about to don the dressing gown that Brigitte held out when the door opened and Robert strode in. He froze.
“I beg your pardon.” His voice sounded oddly strained.
Swiveling, he returned to the door and seized the handle as Charity pulled on the robe. Without turning, he said, “I came to request you come to the salon when you are dressed. I have something for you.”
“I shall, my lord,” Charity said to the closed door, for he’d already left the room. Trembling, she turned to the mirror, finding herself flushed from her cheeks down to her breasts.
Charity sat on the chair to get her breath.
“Oh, my lady, did you see the look on his face? I don’t know why he didn’t come in. He obviously wanted to.” Brigitte giggled and put a hand to her mouth. “Sorry, my lady.”
“It’s all right, Brigitte,” Charity said. Had Robert wanted to come in? She wished she knew.
Brigitte assisted her into her shift, linen pannier and petticoats. A pale pink embroidered corset cinched in her diaphragm and made it hard to breathe. Her breasts were pushed up like twin moons. She stepped into a quilted petticoat.
The maid lightly powdered and combed Charity’s hair over a foundation, arranging side curls and a garniture of pearls and imitation roses to the tall creation. She sat still while her face was powdered with a hare’s foot, and lip rouge and color added to her mouth and cheeks.
“Now the gown, my lady, à la française,” Brigitte said in a breathy tone.
The green silk gown was brocaded in pink and gold roses with a flounce of lace at her elbows. She slipped on the shoes and raised her skirts to admire a matching green ribbed silk toe. Her breasts peeped above the neckline, rising and falling with each excited breath.
Charity gazed into the mirror. She barely recognized herself.
Brigitte picked up a fan painted with flowers. “And the fan, my lady. No lady is without one. You must flirt with it.”
“Flirt?”
“Like this.” Brigitte opened the fan,
“No. But I don’t see why bone china is not a possibility.” Robert mused. “We have access to the materials, Kaolinite—that’s clay, close access to the slaughter houses for bone . . .. Hard though, to compete with Europe and China.” He lapsed into silence.
Feeling he would not welcome further discussion, Charity pushed food around her plate, her mind refusing to produce anything of note to gain his attention. She would have to read up on pottery.
“You are looking forward to this evening?”
“Oh! Um, yes, I suppose so.”
Her nerves increasing at the prospect of the evening ahead, Charity returned to her chamber to dress. Brigitte waited for her, standing by the mantel, studying her artwork. “I much admire the new piece you’ve carved, my lady,” she said. “It looks so lifelike.”
Charity felt absurdly pleased. “Thank you, Brigitte.” A wave of homesickness swept over her. Her life in Oxfordshire had been filled with warmth and love. Her father had always been there to lean on. She felt his loss even more keenly since she’d come here.
Brigitte had her bath ready. Charity relaxed in the perfumed water as the maid washed her back. She hoped Robert would find her beautiful tonight in her new gown. She longed for him to gaze at her with love, but doubted he ever would. With whom did he dine tonight? Might it be a mistress? She had heard that married men often had mistresses. She suspected Robert would be no different, but her heart plummeted at the thought. She would not allow it to spoil the evening, however. This was an extraordinary occasion; something she never dreamed would happen to her.
She stepped out of her bath and Brigitte wrapped her in a towel. Someone knocked at the door. “Good heavens, who is that? Fetch my robe.” Charity dropped the towel and was about to don the dressing gown that Brigitte held out when the door opened and Robert strode in. He froze.
“I beg your pardon.” His voice sounded oddly strained.
Swiveling, he returned to the door and seized the handle as Charity pulled on the robe. Without turning, he said, “I came to request you come to the salon when you are dressed. I have something for you.”
“I shall, my lord,” Charity said to the closed door, for he’d already left the room. Trembling, she turned to the mirror, finding herself flushed from her cheeks down to her breasts.
Charity sat on the chair to get her breath.
“Oh, my lady, did you see the look on his face? I don’t know why he didn’t come in. He obviously wanted to.” Brigitte giggled and put a hand to her mouth. “Sorry, my lady.”
“It’s all right, Brigitte,” Charity said. Had Robert wanted to come in? She wished she knew.
Brigitte assisted her into her shift, linen pannier and petticoats. A pale pink embroidered corset cinched in her diaphragm and made it hard to breathe. Her breasts were pushed up like twin moons. She stepped into a quilted petticoat.
The maid lightly powdered and combed Charity’s hair over a foundation, arranging side curls and a garniture of pearls and imitation roses to the tall creation. She sat still while her face was powdered with a hare’s foot, and lip rouge and color added to her mouth and cheeks.
“Now the gown, my lady, à la française,” Brigitte said in a breathy tone.
The green silk gown was brocaded in pink and gold roses with a flounce of lace at her elbows. She slipped on the shoes and raised her skirts to admire a matching green ribbed silk toe. Her breasts peeped above the neckline, rising and falling with each excited breath.
Charity gazed into the mirror. She barely recognized herself.
Brigitte picked up a fan painted with flowers. “And the fan, my lady. No lady is without one. You must flirt with it.”
“Flirt?”
“Like this.” Brigitte opened the fan,
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