Gorgeous As Sin

Chapter 17

YOU’RE FINALLY BACK,” Julia said, walking into Fitz’s dressing room without knocking shortly after seven. “I need you to change your plans, darling. Kemal has deserted me.”

“You could knock, Mother,” Fitz drawled, taking his shirt from Darby and waving him out.

“Pshaw! As if I haven’t seen you half-naked before.” Dropping into a chair in a swish of green silk skirts, the duchess smiled at her son, dressed only in trousers. “I won’t require your escort for long, darling. An hour or so early in the evening. Kemal had promised to take me to the Turner exhibit, but then some tiresome diplomatic crisis came up.” She waved her hand dismissively. “In any case, I’m off to Bunny’s dinner afterward-don’t scowl… I’m not asking you to accompany me to that event. So you see it’s nothing more than a little slice of your time this evening. That won’t be so bad, will it?” she cheerfully finished.

“It won’t be bad at all,” Fitz said, sliding one arm into a shirtsleeve. “I’m going anyway.”

“With whom? Do I know her?” Julia rightly assumed he was escorting a woman.

“No. She’s one of Leighton’s models.” Slipping the shirt over his head, he began fastening the studs on the shirtfront.

“Well, I shan’t ruin her evening for long.”

Fitz smiled. “You won’t ruin her evening at all, Mother. She’ll be thrilled to be seen in your company.”

“How sweet.” The duchess raised her brows. “Does she speak the Queen’s English?”

“Yes, Mother. She speaks very well and has excellent manners. Her father is a notable surgeon.”

“And yet she takes her clothes off for Leighton.”

“For art, Mother. There’s a difference, I’m told,” he drolly added.

“Come to think of it, Constance Radford has taken her clothes off in public for much less reason.”

“On more than one occasion,” Fitz sardonically noted.

“Indeed,” Julia agreed. “And you needn’t worry, I shall be ever so polite to your little model.”

“I wasn’t worried.” He began tucking his shirt into his trousers.

“Because I’m always cordial to your lady friends,” Julia said with a twinkle in her eye.

He looked up. “As I am to Kemal, Mother.”

She came to her feet, not about to rehash a discussion they had agreed to disagree on long ago. “What time is the carriage coming round?”

“Half past seven. Flora wanted to see the watercolors in natural light.”

“Then I must hurry,” Julia declared, moving toward the door.

“If you like, we could come back for you.”

“No, no, I can dress in a flash.” She opened the door. “I’ll be downstairs at half past.”

Darby reentered the room as the duchess exited and took Fitz’s coat from the armoire. “I expect we’ll see you in the mornin’,” he said, waiting while Fitz slid his white, embroidered suspenders over his shoulders.

“I assume so.”

“Some of your Turners are on display tonight as I recall.”

“Three or four. The Swiss landscapes.”

“It looks to be a right fine evenin’ to be out. Positively balmy it is.”

“A perfect night for a carriage ride with the top down.”

“Would you be wantin’ some champagne to take along?”

“Flora has friends coming over to her place in Chelsea. I think she already ordered what she needed.”

“Lady Buckley rung up this afternoon, Stanley said. Did you hear?”

“He told me.” After which Fitz had given Stanley instructions to have a note and a small gift delivered, with his regrets, to Miss Baldwin at the Savoy.

Darby didn’t inquire further; he’d done his duty. From Fitz’s reply it appeared he wasn’t planning on responding to Clarissa’s call. During the remaining time it took for Fitz to dress for the evening, the men spoke instead of their upcoming hunting trip.

At seven twenty-five Fitz descended the main staircase. He was waiting in the entrance hall when his mother arrived breathless and flushed fifteen minutes later.

“Sorry, darling. Clara had trouble with my hair.”

“It’s not a problem.” He smiled as he held out his arm for his mother. “We haven’t gone out together for months. I’m looking forward to the evening.”

She patted his arm. “You’re such a sweet boy.”

“It must be because I take after you,” he said with a grin.

She chuckled. “I’m sure that’s the case.”

ROSALIND WAS HARRIED as well in her dressing, but not because her maid was having trouble with her hair. First, she didn’t have a maid, and second, her hair was piled on top of her head in its usual casual disarray. What had disrupted her schedule was a customer arriving as the store was closing.

Mrs. Greening was an excellent client so Rosalind couldn’t simply shoo her away much as she would have liked to. Instead, she’d been obliged to cater to the dithering woman’s many whims until she’d finally selected the books she wanted for her trip to the seashore.

Then when she’d arrived upstairs, she’d been faced with a bedroom awash in soiled towels, not to mention the tie and underwear Fitz had left behind. The towels had gone in the laundry basket, the tie and underwear in the trash, although she hadn’t had time to change the sheets on the bed. Now she’d have to look at the scene of her trist on her return when she would have much preferred forgetting everything that had happened last night.

Fortunately, Rosalind’s saffron silk was a Grecian-style silk muslin that was simple to don. She had but to drape it around her body, fasten the shoulders with the pretty little enameled brooches Glynis had made, tie the sumptuous purple silk sash around her waist, and her toilette was complete.

But she kept one eye on the time as she dressed, fretting at the fast-moving minute hand. Sofia and Arthur were coming to fetch her at seven and she didn’t want to be tardy.

The clock was striking seven when she heard Sofia’s hallo drift up the stairs.

“I’m ready!” she cried out, slipping her feet into gold leather Grecian sandals Glynnis had sent over along with the gown. Glynnis was both a friend and an artist who displayed her handmade designs in Rosalind’s gallery; the gown and slippers had been a thank-you gift.

Catching sight of her flushed face in a mirror as she dashed through the parlor, Rosalind vowed to sit quietly in the hansom cab on the way to the exhibit and hopefully appear less like a day laborer in from the fields by the time they reached the National Gallery.