Marguerite Blakeney sat at her vanity table staring at the woman in the mirror. Dressed in a beautiful gown, jewels glittering on her arms, neck and head, she was the image of a perfect lady. The table was covered with the accessories of a woman of wealth and fashion. Her wardrobe was filled with magnificent dresses and fine linen. Her jewelry…she walked to the safe built into the wall and opened it. Each shelf held several boxes of necklaces, rings, bracelets, diadems; so many she lost count. Mostly rubies and diamonds. He had noticed that red was her favorite color.
How different from her home in Paris! There she was a leader in fashion, but many of the beautiful outfits she wore were dresses that she made over herself, with a little help from Marie. A panel of lace, some new beads and buttons, different sashes and fichu's, and one dress became five. And of course, the right demeanor helped. When you strode the earth as if you were a queen, few people questioned you. Early in her life, she had learned that if you broke the rules with enough panache, you would not only be forgiven, but admired.
She looked around the dressing room with a sigh. The mistress's apartment was immense. She loved the room's decor, relished the feel of silk and satin on her skin, and enjoyed the dazzling gowns and jewels. She had always taken pleasure in finery, a weakness she freely admitted. In this world, there were worse sins than appreciating fine-looking clothes and beautiful surroundings.
In fact, wasn't that part of the fascination of being an actress? Dressing up? Becoming another person? As little girls often did, she had dreamed of being a princess, living in a palace with her handsome lord…suddenly, she realized the reason her rooms looked so familiar.
For heaven's sake! This was her fantasy, the home she had pictured as a child while living in the dingy attic flat with her parents and little brother. The gold wallpaper, huge bed with the velvet curtains, the lounge and bookcase, the wardrobe full of fine clothing…Sir Percy had provided her with all that a woman could want. All the material things that a woman could want, that is.
But what of Sir Percy? She had no memory of this man. If not for Armand, she would never have believed herself married to an English nobleman, one that she had known for only six weeks. Her young brother was the impetuous one, not her. But here she was. Living on this huge estate, with an incredibly handsome and wealthy husband who apparently doted on her.
She was now a rich woman. The solicitor, a disagreeable old man, had informed her only this morning of the terms of her marriage settlement. With a disapproving frown in place, Mr. Adams told Marguerite how Sir Percy had not only given her an independent income, but also placed a considerable amount of money in her name. It was obvious that the older man thought her husband a fool, allowing a woman to have money of her own.
He had provided for Armand, as well. Her brother occupied a suite in the other wing of the house, almost as fine as her own. Sir Percy had set up an irrevocable trust for him, enough to finish his education, to start him in any career he chose. Her husband was nothing if not generous.
How generous, she had observed in the time that she had been at Richmond. When Armand and Percy had taken her out, she could not help but notice the high esteem with which her husband was held among the locals. His tenants lived in clean, well-kept houses. There was a school for the children, well stocked with books and maps. The schoolmaster and his wife, who taught the girls, had come out and thanked her effusively for a donation of atlases that she had apparently arranged. She smiled. Apparently, Sir Percy shared her views on the importance of an education for all people.
She knew why was she so uneasy. The fear that she could she have actually married a man for his money. Was it possible that she had sunk so low, committed the one sin that she had sworn she never would? She was no man's possession, had never sold herself for gold.
Agitated, she rose and paced the room. All right, she thought, so he's wealthy. What of it? If you were willing to barter yourself, there were plenty of chances to do so. How many men offered you untold riches for your favors?
The fact that he has a title would not be an incentive for you, a staunch Republican, she argued. Besides, in the past few years, you've received marriage proposals from two barons, one count, and a drunken marquis.
You never gave yourself to any of those men. You never let any man touch you, except for…No! Don't think of Chauvelin now! Put him out of your mind!
You vowed you would only marry for love. Therefore, you fell in love with the man, even if you don't remember doing so. And he loves you. He's told you so a dozen times. And those kisses…she felt her face flame.
Every night this week, they had retired to the library after dinner, sometimes talking, sometimes just reading. He would escort her up the stairs to her apartments, then kiss her goodnight chastely. Until the last two nights.
Those last nights, he had pulled her into his arms, holding her so tightly that the breath was crushed from her, then kissed her passionately. When she was about to swoon with sheer desire, he released her, quietly going into his rooms, leaving her alone. Unsatisfied. And infuriated. How dare he be so unmoved, so poised!
Drifting into her bedroom, she looked at the door connecting Sir Percy's suite to hers. It had not been opened once since the day they arrived. After carrying her to the suite that first day, he showed her where his apartment adjoined hers, then assured her that he would not "force his attentions" upon her. She was attempting be grateful for his consideration. Attempting, but failing miserably.
A tap on the door roused her from her contemplation. She took one last look in the mirror, then opened the door to her husband. He was, as usual perfectly dressed. As usual, she tried not to notice how attractive he was.
Percy bowed and offered her his arm. Good Lord, how beautiful she looked! He was so dazzled that it took him a moment to notice her gown. "M'dear! What are you wearing?" He exclaimed, gaping at her gown, a high-waisted robe that clung softly to her slender body.
Marguerite smiled. Now here was a reaction! "It's the Classic look, Sir Percy. It is becoming popular in France. And I am going to make it the latest fashion in England, because I, for one, am tired of being smothered in ten layers of clothing." Taking his arm, she led him towards the stairs. He almost stumbled down the first one, so enamored was he of the vision she presented.
He was already uneasy about this party tonight. The Prince, upon hearing that Lady Blakeney had been ill, raced to Richmond to see the "invalid". Marguerite, after overcoming her surprise at having the Prince of Wales come to see her, had risen to the occasion with her usual aplomb, charming and flirting with His Highness until he had actually blushed.
Relieved at finding her healthy, the Prince then announced to a confounded Percy that he was going to arrange a party at Richmond, inviting all of their "friends". All five thousand of them, Percy thought sardonically. In the past few days, their only company had been Armand and the Bounders. Now the Prince was pitching her into the lion's den of British Society.
So much for his seduction. And it had been going so well!
With a sigh of resignation and a devout prayer, he led his wife into the ballroom.