Chapter 27

Chapter

Twenty-Seven

T he following day Olivia went to a meeting of the Husband Hunters Club. Being in London, it was too good an opportunity for her to miss seeing her friends, and they gathered at Marissa's house. The last time they'd seen each other was at the wedding, and there had been little time to talk. Now there was so much to talk about that the time flew. Each of them had scandalous tales to tell, as they'd set about hunting down the husbands of their choice. There were some surprises, too. Not everyone was enamored with the same man that she'd carefully written down in the book the night of Miss Debenham's Finishing School ball, although some, like Olivia, had not swerved from their choice.

"Is it exciting to be married to Wicked Nic?" Tina asked her.

"I imagine there is rarely a dull moment," Marissa added dryly.

"Lady Lacey," sighed Eugenie. "How romantic."

"I hope you are going to use some of the Lacey wealth for the benefit of the poor," Averil added .

Olivia beamed at them all. "Yes, to all," she said.

When she arrived home her head was still in a whirl, and she felt far more like her old self, as if she'd wrested some of Nic's power over her back into her own hands.

Estelle was waiting.

"My lady," she said, her round face looking unusually disapproving. "There's a person to see you. A Madam Esmeralda. I told her you weren't interested in her wares any longer, but she's insisted on waiting and speaking to you for herself."

"Madam Esmeralda?"

Olivia's heart sank. She'd hoped that was over with. Nic had excused himself to her before the opera last night, saying he wasn't used to worrying about what other people thought of his actions. It was part of his Lacey arrogance, she thought, with an inner smile. He'd shown it again over the strawberriesandcream supper.

Olivia had believed he was seeing her as no different from the other women he'd known over the years, when in fact he was simply used to doing exactly as he wished. He was a lord, an aristocrat born and bred; that was why he acted as he did. Nic didn't consider it necessary to consider other people's feelings, but once he understood why she was upset he'd been keen to make amends.

"Will I have her thrown out onto the street?" Estelle interrupted her thoughts, a glint in her eyes at the thought of such excitement .

"Goodness me, no," Olivia said. "I will see her, Estelle."

"But, my lady . . ."

"Thank you, Estelle."

Madam Esmeralda leaped to her feet at the sound of the door opening, and Olivia could see she was pale, the shadows under her eyes darker than ever. "Lady Lacey, how do you do?" she said, and curtsied.

"Madam Esmeralda." Olivia could see that she had brought several bolts of cloth with her, as well as something wrapped up in protective coverings and laid out on the sofa under the window.

"I have something to show you, my lady," she said quickly, before Olivia could draw breath. "If you will permit me." And she was already hurrying over to the sofa and reverently peeling back the outer coverings on the object.

Reluctantly, Olivia came to stand by her, wanting to stop her but at the same time not wanting to crush the woman's hopes. But, as the dress was revealed to her, she found herself watching, fascinated, until eventually she was held spellbound by its beauty.

Esmeralda said reverently, "The finest silk. And see the pearls sewn into the fabric? In the light of a ballroom you will truly shine, my lady."

Olivia had never seen any dress so beautiful. It was the softest, palest pink, and the glowing pearls made her think of a summer dawn. Nic had said that Madam Esmeralda was the best modiste in London, and he was right. Olivia knew she'd allowed her jealousy and her prejudices and the opinions of others sway her. She should be more like Nic—if she wanted something badly enough, she should go ahead and do it anyway.

"Thank you, Esmeralda," she whispered. "This is truly a masterpiece. I only hope I can do it justice."

Esmeralda bowed her head, accepting the compliment with a little smile.

Olivia took a breath, deciding to be honest. "I'm uncertain whether I should avail myself of your ser vices. You know why, I think?"

"Yes, I know why," Esmeralda said with a touch of bitterness. "I am known as a modiste who only works with the demimonde. But I have been waiting for a chance like this, my lady. You will set my dresses off to perfection, and you have the confidence to shrug off any illnatured remarks that may be made. Other women will see what I have done for you, and they will come to me. A trickle at first, but soon a flood."

"You are very certain they will overlook your past clientele, madam."

"I am." Esmeralda reached out to touch the dress lovingly with her fingertips. "No woman, no matter how grand she thinks she is, can resist looking better than her peers."

Olivia smiled. "Very true. You have more to show me? I believe that if I am to make a splash, I will need more than one dress to do so."

Esmeralda hesitated, one hand clenched at her waist, the other resting on the arm of a chair. "Do you mean you intend to employ me as your modiste, my lady?"

"I do indeed."

She toppled, only just catching herself from falling. Dismayed, Olivia hurried to support her, feeling the other woman's boniness beneath her plain gray dress.

"Madam, please sit down. I will ring for tea, or . . . or a restorative. Brandy?"

Esmeralda shook her head. "No, but thank you, Lady Lacey. I have been working day and night since you visited me, and I am tired. That is all, merely tired. So much depended upon this meeting."

Olivia frowned, reading the other woman's face. "Perhaps you are not so successful as you pretend, Madam Esmeralda."

Esmeralda gave a wry smile. "No, I am not. There have been problems with a certain lady—and I use the term loosely—with a vicious tongue. She claims I made her ridiculous and now she has set out to destroy me by driving away my customers. I have very few left, and if she has her way, soon I will have none."

Olivia pushed Esmeralda gently down into her chair, and then seated herself opposite, after ringing the bell for tea. "Who is this person?" And, when the modiste hesitated, plainly loath to make her situation worse by gossiping: "Never fear, I know very few people in London, and I would not repeat what you tell me anyway."

"It is the Earl of Marchmont's mistress, Mrs. Cathcart. The earl dotes on her and she is very spoiled. If you go into London society you will see her, because although she may be a fallen woman, she is related to so many respectable families she receives most of their invitations."

"A dangerous enemy indeed," Olivia said thoughtfully. "I wonder if she will be at the ball tomorrow night."

"The Querrols' ball?" Esmeralda's eyes sparkled suddenly, and Olivia realized the modiste was not nearly as old as she had thought—it was her tired eyes and careworn face that made her seem so.

"Yes, she will be there. I believe she is wearing yellow . . ."

"Then I will wear your masterpiece."

At once Esmeralda jumped up and hurried over to a bag beside the bolts of cloth. She produced a tape measure. "I don't think it will require a great deal of altering, but anything that does need doing can be done very quickly, I promise you."

"Of course."

The next few moments were taken up with measurements and then the dress was taken upstairs and Olivia tried it on. Estelle, when she arrived to help, seemed more breathless than usual, and her eyes widened at the sight of Olivia. "Lady Lacey, you look like a fairy princess," she gasped.

Olivia thought herself rather too tall for a fairy princess, but the dress certainly suited her and she did feel somewhat ethereal. Would Nic be impressed? She hoped so. This dress was perfect for romance, perfect for love .

And therein lay the problem, because Olivia was in love with her husband, and she had no idea whether he was in love with her.

"My lady?"

Estelle and Esmeralda were looking at her curiously, and Olivia shook herself out of endless musings over Nic.

"Madam Esmeralda wants to know whether you'd like her to complete any more dresses for your stay in London," Estelle explained.

Olivia turned again to her reflection in the mirror. "Yes, that is an excellent idea."

Esmeralda beamed.

"And I hope you will get some sleep in between stitches, madam. You will be no good to me, and all your new customers, if you faint."

"I have several good seamstresses I can call upon, my lady."

It would be nice to be admired, even envied, by the cream of London society, Olivia thought, when she was alone again. But that wasn't as important to her as the expression in Nic's eyes when he saw her.

"I love him," she whispered.

Speaking the words aloud released a storm of emotion inside her, and she trembled. She loved Wicked Nic Lacey. But how could she say those words to him, when she was so conscious of making him feel hemmed in and trapped by a marriage he had never wanted? Although he seemed happy enough now, well for most of the time, it was very early days. She must tread carefully .

But knowing that didn't stop Olivia from wishing that when she looked into his eyes tomorrow night, she'd see his love for her, and her world would be complete.

"I love you, Nic," she said again, enjoying hearing the words spoken aloud.

Because who knew when she would be brave enough to say them to his face?