seriously.’
Dominique looked around her at the packages littering the carriage.
‘What is the point of buying me all this? He can never love me.’
‘Very few of us marry for love, my dear.’
‘But I represent all that he abhors. And you are Gideon’s sister—you have just as much cause to hate me—’
‘Gideon does not hate you, my dear, I am sure of that, and nor do I. You are not responsible for what happened in the Terror. My godmother married the Duc du Chailly because he was a good, kind man, and before the war we met many such people in France.’ Gwen turned and put her hands on Dominique’s shoulders. ‘You must look upon this as an arranged marriage. Not perhaps what you would have chosen, but you must make the best of it. Gideon has already decided to do so, that is why he asked me to take you under my wing.’ She gave Dominique a little shake. ‘You have to make a life for yourself, my dear. You are not an antidote, there is no reason why you and Gideon should not be happy together. With the right clothes and a little confidence I think we can pass you off quite creditably in society, and when Gideon sees other people taking notice of you, he will do so, too.’
Dominique looked at her. ‘Do you really think so, Gwen?’
‘I am certain of it. We will make you into such a beautiful, stylish wife that he cannot fail to be proud of you!’
Dominique was not convinced by Gwendoline’s brave talk, but they had reached their destination and there was no time to discuss anything more. Judd informed them the master was in the morning room and they went to find him.
‘My dear Gideon,’ declared Gwen, greeting him with a kiss. ‘Have you been waiting in for us? How sweet of you. We are quite exhausted.’
‘And is my credit similarly exhausted?’ he asked, smiling slightly.
He invited Dominique to sit on the sofa and sat down beside her, once Gwen had dropped elegantly into an armchair.
‘Lord, no. I had everything put to Ribblestone’s account and he will sort it all out with you later.’ Gwendoline paused while the wine and cakes were served. ‘Now, Gideon,’ she said at last, selecting a dainty confection from the selection on her plate. ‘We have made a start in setting your wife up with clothes for the Season. I have been promised that the first of the gowns will be delivered here tomorrow. What about Court Dress? Are you presenting her at a drawing room?’
‘Oh, I would rather not,’ murmured Dominique in some alarm.
‘Nonsense, your husband will be the next Viscount Rotham. You must be presented.’
‘But not yet,’ said Gideon. ‘I think my father should meet Nicky first. This visit to town is merely an—er—informal one.’
‘And when do you intend to go to Rotham?’
‘All in good time.’
Gwen frowned. ‘You cannot put off the meeting forever, Brother. Whatever was said in the heat of the moment Papa will not hold it against you, you know that. Your tempers are too similar for him not to understand. He is lonely, Gideon, and however harsh his words he does care for you, very much.’
‘I do know that.’ He rubbed a hand across his eyes. ‘I shall go, but not yet, not yet.’
Dominique sipped her wine and listened to the conversation, aware of a tension between the brother and sister.
‘Is it because of me?’ she ventured. ‘Will Lord Rotham be angry with you for marrying me?’
‘Of course not—!’
Gideon put up his hand to stem his sister’s denial.
‘He will not be happy about it, but his wrath will be on my head, Nicky, not yours. I shall not take you to Rotham without his assurance that you will be received with the respect that is due to you.’
Respect! That sounded very bleak indeed. Dominique was relieved Gideon had no immediate plans to take her to Rotham. Perhaps once she had her own clothes she would feel more courageous. From all Gwen had told her she knew she would be a fool to cling on to any hope that Gideon would ever feel more for her than a mild friendship, but perhaps she could gain his respect. She resolved there and then never to embarrass him by any show of affection that he would have to rebuff. No, she would show him—and his father—that despite her French heritage she could be a model wife, a fitting consort for an English lord.
* * *
Dominique was soon on good terms with Mrs Wilkins and slipped naturally into her role as mistress of the house. She began to make little changes, such as ordering a fire to be kept burning in the morning room, and she asked Judd to remove some of the heavy silver from the dining table, so that she could at least see her husband when they dined together each evening. If Gideon noticed he said nothing, but she was heartened when he suggested a place should be laid for her at his right hand for dinner, rather than sitting so far apart, and she was quietly pleased when he began to seek her out for a glass of wine when he came in each afternoon, before going upstairs to change for dinner. For the first week she remained in the house, going out only with Lady Ribblestone on shopping trips, but by the end of Dominique’s second week in Brook Street, Gwendoline declared that her sister-in-law was at last fit to be seen.
They were having breakfast and Lady Ribblestone suggested they should drive through the park at the fashionable hour.
‘I should like to go out,’ Dominique admitted, ‘but Hyde Park—will it not be very crowded?’
‘Oh, excessively,’ replied Gwendoline cheerfully. ‘The world and his wife will be there.’
‘So many people?’ exclaimed Dominique, dismayed. ‘I am not sure I am ready—’
She broke off as Gideon came in.
‘Now, what are you two plotting?’ he said, smiling. ‘Are you off to spend more money today?’
‘Not at all,’ retorted Gwen. ‘I want Dominique to accompany me to the park. It promises to be a very fine afternoon and we could drive out in the barouche.’
He sat down at the table and poured himself a cup of coffee. Gwen watched him in surprise.
‘This is a change, Brother,’ she said, momentarily diverted. ‘I thought you only drank ale at breakfast.’
He grinned. ‘Bachelor fare, Sis. I am a married man now.’
‘Then help me to persuade your wife to drive out with me. She has been cooped up in this house long enough.’
‘I agree,’ said Gideon, ‘but I am not sure if riding with you in a stuffy barouche is how she should make her entrance into polite society.’
‘There is nothing stuffy about Ribblestone’s barouche,’ retorted his sister, offended.
‘Perhaps not, but I would rather drive Nicky in my curricle.’
