d-don’t think so.’ She slumped against the edge of the bed, thinking of the chaste peck on the cheek he had given her the previous two evenings, before marching off to his own bedroom. ‘Besides, all these clothes are far too big for me. They might even have been bought for the—the lady Gideon thought he would marry—’
‘He told me she was an actress.’
‘Yes.’
‘Then you need not call her a lady,’ Gwendoline corrected her, coming to sit beside her. ‘Did you see her?’
‘Yes, she is... She has a—a fuller figure.’
‘And no doubt will run to fat as she gets older.’
Dominique giggled. ‘Perhaps. But she is much taller than I am. She is very beautiful, too, and fair.’
‘A big, blowsy woman, then,’ said Gwendoline. ‘Not at all the sort to suit Gideon. He is very chivalrous, you know, and will much prefer a wife he can cherish and protect. Once we have bought you a few gowns that are more becoming to your size and figure, I have no doubt he will find you irresistible.’
Dominique sighed.
‘I doubt it. But it is not only that she was so very beautiful. He thought she—that is, he thought I—was English, but I am not. I am half French and I cannot alter that.’
‘Ah.’
Dominique looked uncertainly at her new friend. ‘Why does Gideon dislike the French so much?’
Gwendoline’s smile disappeared.
‘You do not know?’
‘No. Will you tell me?’
Gwendoline hesitated, saying at last, ‘Very well, but not until we have been shopping. My carriage has been standing at the door for far too long. We must leave now, if we are to get anything done today.’ She jumped up. ‘Come along, my dear, put on your bonnet, we are going out.’
* * *
To one who had lived very retired for the past ten years, a shopping trip with Lady Ribblestone was a revelation. Dominique soon lost count of the modistes, milliners, bazaars and warehouses they visited. Gwendoline sailed through the establishments, setting everyone running to do her bidding.
* * *
By the time they returned to Brook Street an alarming number of orders had been placed and an even more alarming number of packages and bandboxes filled the carriage.
‘I think we have done very well for the first day,’ remarked Gwendoline, reviewing their purchases.
‘First day!’ Dominique laughed. ‘I do not think I have ever had so many new things in my life.’
‘Well, you came to town with nothing,’ reasoned Gwendoline. ‘Tomorrow we shall order you a riding habit. I shall take you to Ribblestone’s tailor, he makes all my habits. Unless you think Gideon would prefer you to use his own tailor...?’
‘I think Gideon will say I have spent more than enough,’ declared Dominique. ‘Heaven knows how much all this will cost.’
Gwendoline shrugged.
‘Gideon can afford it. Old Lady Telford left him everything, you know, and until now he has frittered it away on larks and sprees. It will be good for him to have some responsibilities.’
The word threw a cloud over Dominique’s spirits.
‘And I am a responsibility.’ She sighed. ‘Will you tell me now why Gideon did not want to marry a Frenchwoman?’
‘The war, my dear, surely that is reason enough.’
‘No, it is more than that,’ said Dominique, a tiny crease furrowing her brow. ‘He looked very shocked when he found out my father is French. He seemed quite, quite repulsed.’ She fixed her eyes upon Gwendoline. ‘Please tell me, then perhaps I can do something to alleviate the situation.’ She added quickly, ‘What is it, why do you look at me like that, as if you pity me? What is it I should know?’
Gwendoline hesitated.
‘I think Gideon should tell you himself.’
‘Please, Gwen.’
Her pleading look and the hand placed so insistently upon Lady Ribbleston’s arm had its affect. She sighed and nodded.
‘Very well. You see, our aunt—Papa’s sister—married a Frenchman, the Duc du Chailly. They were guillotined during the Terror.’
‘Oh, I am so very sorry!’
‘She was also my godmother and I am named after her. We knew her as Tante Gwendoline and when we were children we spent many happy times with them in France, until the Revolution. It was quite devastating for the family when they died.’
‘Oh, that is so very sad. And Max knows this?’
‘Martlesham? Yes, of course. It was no secret and the executions were much talked of in town at the time.’
‘Then how cruel of him to trick Gideon into marrying me!’ declared Dominique angrily. She frowned. ‘Max thought that as soon as the deceit was known Gideon would seek an annulment.’
‘Yes, Gideon mentioned that.’ Gwendoline added quietly, ‘He also told me why that is not possible.’
Dominique bowed her head, her cheeks crimson.
‘He could still divorce me.’
‘Not Gideon,’ said his sister decidedly. ‘He is far too honourable to drag any woman through that.’
‘Then we are man and wife, until death.’ Dominique sighed. ‘That sounds so bleak, but perhaps, given time...’
Lady Ribblestone reached out and covered her hands, saying quickly, ‘You must not hope for too much, my dear.’ She hesitated. ‘I think it best if you know everything. Our older brother, James, died in France, too. At the hands of the Girondins.’
‘And Papa was a Girondin.’
If there had been any light at the end of the long tunnel Dominique saw stretching before her, it was shut off in an instant. Beneath Gwendoline’s warm clasp she gripped her hands together very tightly, hoping that small pain would stop her from crying.
‘Tell me,’ she said, her throat constricted.
‘It was the winter of ninety-one. The Legislative Assembly had been appointed—young, fanatical anti-royalists hell-bent on destroying the old order. James went to France to try to help tante and the duc. Father had friends there, you see, contacts opposed to the new administration. He had arranged a meeting, but on that very night they were attacked and James was killed.’
‘And the Legislative Assembly was Girondiste,’ Dominique said in a whisper. ‘Papa was against the violence. He wanted to end it, but who will believe that now?’ She looked up, all hope gone.
