“Oh, yes, most certainly.” Lucy nodded eagerly. “When his sister, Lady Dorothy, lived in this house, he often bought her gifts. He’s a kind man indeed.”
Frederica couldn’t stop the smile spreading across her face. Could she really have been so fortunate as to find herself married to a man of such kindness and generosity?
It is a far cry from the marriage I could have had to Lord Wetherington.
“Ooh, will you open one, My Lady? My nerves cannot hold in all this excitement!” Lucy giggled and turned on the spot.
Frederica reached for the first box and lifted the lid. The gown seemed to shimmer in the morning light as it streamed through the windows. Pale blue dappled with white thread to look like snowflakes, it was almost incandescent.
“It’s beautiful,” Lucy said in awe.
“Indeed, it is.” Frederica stood and moved towards a mirror, holding the gown to her shoulders. “It doesn’t have too many ruffles or pleats. My mother would have probably insisted on both.”
Lucy giggled at the idea.
Frederica pressed the dress to her body and gazed into the mirror. The blue material complemented her eyes perfectly. Had that been on purpose? Had Allan paid enough attention to her to make such a choice?
“It is very beautiful indeed,” Lucy whispered.
Frederica put the dress down and reached for the other boxes. There were two other dresses already made and a note from the modiste who said that another two would be delivered the following week. In the bottom box, there were new shoes, too.
Frederica pulled them out of the box and put them on, surprised to see that they fit perfectly.
“He must have gotten my measurements from Dorothy,” she whispered. “How else would he know what size I was?” With the new shoes on, she returned to the mirror and held the gown up to herself.
“Will you wear that for the ball tonight, My Lady?” Lucy asked excitedly as she started to find places for all her new things.
“Yes, I will.” Frederica nodded. “I hope he likes it.”
“Ha! I rather think that Lord Padleigh was hopingyouwould like it, My Lady.”
Frederica jerked her head away, deep in thought at Lucy’s words.
“Of course, I like it.” It wasn’t just his choice now that had been so perfect, it was the effort he had gone to which meant so much to her. “Lucy, I think I shall go down to breakfast.”
“Excellent, My Lady. I believe Lord Padleigh is having breakfast now.”
Frederica laid down the gown and walked out of the room. With nervousness, she wrung her hands together repeatedly, but she kept on going, all the way to the breakfast room. As she stepped inside, she saw Allan was at the head of the table reading a newspaper as he ate. He was so startled to see her enter the room that he jerked his head toward her in a double-take.
“You are joining me?” he said, with something of a small smile playing on his lips.
“Yes. I think I will.” She tried to smile back as she moved to the chair beside him and sat down. “Thank you, My Lord.”
“Why are we back to this ‘My Lord’ nonsense?” he asked with a sigh, discarding the paper beside him. “Frederica, my name is Allan.” The way he looked at her quite captivated her. In that moment, she found it hard to even think about breaking the connection of their gazes. “Please, use my name and not my title. Then tell me why you are thanking me,” he added with an amused smile.
“The gifts… Allan,” she said pointedly. “The dresses, the shoes, the letter box. They’re all beautiful. It was a very kind thing for you to do.”
“Do they make you happy?” he asked. He seemed quite fixed on having an answer, not looking away from her.
“They have made me smile,” she tried to explain it best. She didn’t want to bring up Lord Wetherington at that moment. She had no wish to throw him into a happy conversation, even though her fear of him constantly burned at the back of her mind.
“That is all I wanted,” he said contentedly. “To see you smile. Now, let us talk of something else.” He folded up the newspaper, and with it, she saw an article he had been reading. It was about a new exhibition at Somerset House.
“You enjoy art?” she asked curiously, turning the paper to face her.
“I do. Do you wish to go to the exhibition?” he asked, to which she nodded. “Then I shall arrange for us to go. As long as they don’t have too many Caravaggio pieces this time. He’s too morbid.”
“Too morbid? How can you say that?” she asked with a laugh. “He’s a dramatic painter.”
