“Must you?” she asked, the words escaping her all at once.
“I think it best, yes.”
She felt numb as he handed her the basket and turned his back, walking away across the garden again.
Guilt raged though this time, it had nothing to do with her parents and nothing to do with her scandals either. All Frederica could think about was that she had driven Allan away.
Come back.
As if he had heard her words, he hesitated, turning back to look at her.
“I forgot to say…” He cleared his throat. “… tomorrow night, we have a ball to attend in town. Would you be willing to attend? It would be our first event as a married couple.”
Frederica blinked.
He may be there.
A horrid image of Lord Wetherington approaching her at the ball made her feel quite disgusted. Then she reasoned it could not be all bad. She would be there with Allan. He would be beside her, her hand on his arm. She would be safe.
After all that she had told him about what had passed with Lord Wetherington, she was comforted that if she told Allan they had to leave, he might listen to her and adhere to such a request.
“Of course.” She forced herself to smile. “But I…” She glanced down at the pink gown she was wearing. “I do not have many gowns to choose from.”
“Let me guess.” He had a smile of amusement on his face now. “Your dresses have mostly been picked by your mother, have they not?”
“How did you know that?”
“It takes no great leap of imagination to see your parents are fond of controlling you.” He shook his head.
“I’m not a bit of clay to mold to their wish.” She jerked her head a little higher, finding the mere idea abhorrent. Was that not why she had run away in the first place? To show to everyone that she would remain herself and not be changed by another?
“I’m glad to hear it,” he said, that smile growing wider still. “I had a little worry in the parlor today that you listened to everything they said.”
“Not everything. Only wise things.”
“You and I may disagree on the matter of wise things,” he said with a chuckle. “Fear not about your gowns. I stopped at a modiste in Covent Garden this morning. She is sending over a number of gowns for you.”
“Truly?” She stumbled forward in surprise.
“Yes. I told you that money is no object. You can keep the ones you wish and feel free to return any you do not like. I shall leave you to your peace now.” He inclined his head in a formal way and swept out of the garden.
Frederica stared after him in amazement, unsure which part she was more surprised by. Was it the gowns? The gift on top of the correspondence box he had already given her?
Or was it the fact that as he walked away, she was more certain than ever that he had glanced at her lips?
He was thinking of a kiss too. I’m sure of it.
* * *
Frederica couldn’t summon words as the boxes were delivered to her bedchamber.
“There are so many,” Lucy said in awe as she arranged the boxes into a stack by the bed.
“There are.” Frederica thanked the two manservants who had delivered the boxes. Once they were gone, Lucy hastily shut the door.
“What a gift!” Lucy cried gushingly. “The master hasn’t done this before.”
“I suppose he has had no wife before to do this for,” Frederica mused as she knelt before the modiste’s boxes, still amazed. “Is he always this generous?”
