Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

T he modiste was staring at the pair of them from the moment they walked into the shop.

Cressida knew it was to be expected. The modiste was a particular gossip and had always stared whenever Cressida had come around, and that was before there had even been anything to gossip about. Now she was married, and it only made sense that the woman would want to gather as much of the story as she could so that she could spread it around to anyone and everyone who was willing to listen.

Cressida wondered whether Matthew had thought about that before bringing them here. Maybe it would have made more sense to send a member of the staff to manage this errand.

But if Matthew had any doubts or reservations, they didn't show. He had Cressida by the hand and was ushering her around the shop, stopping at different fabrics to examine them.

He was a different man today, unlike she had ever seen him. He was vibrant, full of life, flashing delighted smiles in her direction as though there was nothing he wanted more than to be here with her.

All Cressida could think was, the modiste is going to think the two of us are deeply in love.

And, she realized, that was no doubt exactly what Matthew wanted. Hadn't he made it clear that the point of this marriage was to create a public perception about the pair of them? Of course he was trying to flaunt their marriage in front of the biggest gossip in town. Of course it was deliberate. He must love the idea that the modiste was going to share everything that happened here today.

"What do you think of this one?" he asked Cressida, pausing beside a bolt of fabric.

She examined it. "It's a lovely color," she said. It was a rich blue that was almost impossible to look away from, and she could understand why he had found himself drawn straight to it. "I'm not sure it's what we're looking for, though."

"Why not?"

"Have you done this before?" she asked him. "Shopped for fabrics?"

"No. I usually sent my sisters with their lady's maids," he said. "They'd go together, as well, so they really didn't need assistance from me."

She nodded. "That's what I assumed."

"What point are you making?" He laughed. "We're only buying fabric. It's just like buying anything else. It's not a specific experience that I'd need to have had before in order to know how to do it. I don't know how much of this fabric we're going to need, to be sure, but that's why we have Miss Pauline here to help us." And he gestured to the modiste.

She blushed furiously. Cressida wondered why. Was it just that Matthew was so handsome? Was she unused to having good looking gentlemen in her shop? That would make sense, perhaps, but also, a woman such as her—one who got such a thrill out of sharing other people's stories—must surely be prepared to be around a gentleman in a professional setting.

Then again, Cressida had been around plenty of gentlemen in her time, and she knew from firsthand experience how difficult it was to look into Matthew's eyes. The power of his good looks was like nothing she had ever experienced, and if she couldn't handle it, why should anyone else be able to?

She turned her attention away from Miss Pauline and back to the fabric in front of her. "What you aren't realizing is that this is one of the most expensive choices in the shop," she said, keeping her voice low so that they wouldn't be overheard. "I understand that you wish me to dress in the latest fashion, and of course I'll do as you desire. But there's no reason we must choose an expensive fabric like this one. My gown might be made of something much simpler—no one would think any the less of it if the craftsmanship was fine, and of course it would be. You don't need to spend this kind of money."

"Money is no object," Matthew said with a light laugh. "Why don't you want to have the finest things?"

"It isn't that I don't want to. I just don't want you to spend money unnecessarily," Cressida explained. "I don't want to be a drain on you."

"Do you mean to tell me that when you purchased gowns in the past, you didn't buy the finest fabrics available?" Matthew asked. "What were your gowns made of?"

She walked over to the side of the shop where the less expensive things were kept and touched a bolt of fabric. "Something like this would be perfectly serviceable," she said.

"People will know just by looking at that how inexpensive it was," Matthew said. "Is that what you want? To go to the ball and face gossip about the fact that you chose an inexpensive fabric?"

"No one has ever commented about my choice of fabrics before, and this is the sort of thing I have always worn. Father couldn't afford to buy things like that for us." She indicated the fabric he had chosen.

"Because of his debts, no doubt. But things are different now. You are no longer simply the daughter of an earl who lives in debt. You are now the wife of a wealthy marquess, and your clothing must reflect that. I want to see you in the finest things. That is my decision." He walked back to the original bolt of fabric he had chosen and beckoned to the modiste. "We'd like this one, please. And…" He moved to a pale gold cloth. "And this one as well, I think."

"Yes, Lord Feverton." The modiste could recognize a good sale when she had one in front of her. She pulled down the fabrics. "These will look positively lovely on you, Lady Feverton—particularly the blue. I think it will bring out the color of your eyes. You're going to look wonderful! You'll be the talk of the ton ."

"Well, that's what we want, of course," Matthew said. "This will be our first time going out into society as a married couple, and I need everyone to see what a vision my new bride is." He wrapped his arm around Cressida's shoulders and hugged her close.

She didn't know what to make of it. Or rather, she did know what to make of it—she knew he was doing this in order to keep up appearances—but she wasn't sure how to feel about what was happening. On the surface, this looked exactly like the way he had behaved the previous night during the storm. He had his arm around her and was holding her close as if he meant to comfort her and let her know that he cared for her. But this time, none of what he was doing was for her benefit and she knew it.

It made what had happened last night feel less real somehow. She had felt so comforted, so assured by the fact that her new husband really did want to care for her, and now she was forced to face the fact that he could act that way in any set of circumstances. Maybe none of it had ever been real. Maybe he had always been acting how he saw fit with the hope of accomplishing some goal.

What could his goal have been last night, though? How would it have benefitted him to care for her feelings—what was the selfish motivation for something like that?

She didn't know. She only knew that she had to be careful with her feelings. She had been so close to him last night, feeling like she could really trust him with her heart. But now she could see that it was wisest to safeguard her feelings.

She couldn't be sure how much of him was real, and what was only an act.