“Naturellement she does,” Madame retorted.
Jane looked around this elegant, if overwhelmingly pink room, then she glanced at Fenella and Helena. There was no doubt that they were confident of their place in the world.
She wanted to feel that same confidence. Perhaps she should begin by emulating how they looked. “You know,” she said thoughtfully, “I daresay I might.”
“Brava, milady,” Madame Lisette said and gestured to the two assistants watching procedures from a distance that it was time to move. “Enfin, let’s get to work.”
*
“I hope you were serious about not stinting on my wardrobe,” Jane said to Garson as they sat in the Wests’ box at the Theatre Royal.
The first act of the silly comedy had come to an end. If he was on his own, he’d go home. But Jane had never been to the theatre before, and while he might take little pleasure in the performance, he took great pleasure in her enjoyment.
He smiled, touched by her transparent delight in her new clothes. “If everything is as becoming as this dress, it’s worth it, even if I have to throw the dining table into the fire for heat next winter.”
“Helena kept ordering things. And Fenella said I should just go along with her.”
“One should always listen to Fenella,” he said drily.
Jane nodded, taking his comment seriously. “I’m finding that’s true.”
They were alone in the box. When the interval began, Helena and West had left to talk to the Kinglakes, who were just back from Italy. Garson had tipped the footman outside to keep any curious intruders at bay. As he and Jane were still officially newlyweds, the request should be respected.
Or at least he hoped it would.
The gossip mills were surely grinding at full speed with the news that Lord Garson had finally chosen a bride. The fact that nobody knew the lady in question would only stoke the fever of curiosity. He doubted Jane had noticed the stares—she was too in alt with her new dress and the novelty of a night out in London to see much beyond her immediate company—but he had.
He passed Jane a glass of champagne from the tray the footman had brought in before he took up guard duty. She accepted it and took a sip, as she looked around the sumptuous red and gold interior. “I’m glad we came. I got home completely exhausted this afternoon—you have no idea how tiring it is to stand still for hours while someone pins and measures and fusses. But I’d hate to have missed this.”
“I commend your efforts,” he said. “That gown is worthy of Helena.”
With an awed expression, Jane stroked the silk skirts belling around her. The gown was in a deep shade of forest green that added a jade tinge to her sparkling eyes. She was so happy and excited. How her restricted circumstances in Dorset must have chafed. With her wearing the height of fashion and her magnificent hair scooped up in a devilishly attractive style that seemed all loose curls, it was as if at last he saw her. How on earth had he dared to call this vivid woman a mouse?
Jane Norris wasn’t born to fade away in some backwater. She was born to reign like a queen. She hadn’t recognized it yet, although she was visibly pleased and surprised at the difference becoming clothes could make. But he’d noted enough glances toward their box to know that Jane’s days of obscurity were numbered.
The change sparked a fleeting sadness. He had fond memories of the shy girl he’d married. But he couldn’t begrudge her the coming success. It was like watching a butterfly emerge from its cocoon and unfurl wings in all the beautiful colors of the world. Whatever else he felt about her transformation, he was dashed glad that those nun-like frocks were a thing of the past.
“Madame Lisette made this dress up this afternoon as a special favor so I’d have something nice to wear to the theatre. Oh, Hugh, you should see my ball gown for tomorrow night. I intend to dazzle.”
“You do,” he said with perfect sincerity. He smiled at her. “There’s not a woman here who can hold a candle to you.”
She took his hand. Once she’d been reluctant to touch him. No more. “You’re being kind again.”
“Not at all,” he said. “Just don’t tell Helena what I said.”
Her lips twitched as she released his hand and picked up her champagne. “She’s been kind to me, too. And West has requested a waltz at the Oldhams’.”
Hugh gave a mock growl. “Well, save me the other one and the supper dance. I don’t want to be the sort of husband who can’t get near his wife in a crush.”
He and Jane hadn’t danced together since those awkward childhood lessons. The prospect of twirling around a
ballroom with his lovely wife in his arms was deuced appealing.
She gave a snort of laughter. “You’re such a wag. You’ll probably have to dance with me all night to save me wilting away with the wallflowers.”
“I promise to come to your rescue if you can’t find a partner, darling,” he said, knowing that outcome wasn’t likely. He had a sudden memory of how cranky he’d been about Jane becoming the focus of masculine attention. But he couldn’t wish her first ball to be a disappointment. That would be too petty.
“Is that the done thing, to dance with the same man over and over? I’m woefully out of practice, but before Papa fell ill, I occasionally went to the assemblies in Lyme. A girl was compromised if she danced with the same partner more than twice.”