The Study of Seduction (Sinful Suitors, #2)(53)

“We didn’t have a choice, Mama,” Clarissa said. “Besides, you know I hate that scent. I wouldn’t have worn orange blossoms anyway.”

“Yes, but you would have worn a more impressive gown,” she said, taking in Clarissa’s dress with a look of contempt. “Why, just this morning I laid out the recent copies of La Belle Assemblée for us to go over in picking your design.” Her mother pouted spectacularly. “And I saw the most perfect little wedding bonnet in a shopwindow a week ago that I wanted you to look at. And now . . . now . . . you’re already married!”

The dowager countess burst into tears.

Edwin blinked. Blast, blast, and double blast. He sincerely hoped that becoming a watering pot was not one of Clarissa’s attributes.

With a side glance at him, Clarissa put her arm around her mother and said, “There, there, Mama, I know it’s a disappointment. But Count Durand was threatening awful things, and we saw no way around it.”

Edwin felt he should say something to help. “I saw him right outside your house the other night, Lady Margrave. I was afraid he might abduct Clarissa if we didn’t marry at once.”

“And it wasn’t as if Edwin could stay here all the time. It wouldn’t be respectable.”

His wife was handling the woman with surprising aplomb. Come to think of it, she always had. Perhaps she wouldn’t be so unsuitable a wife after all. Assuming he could get her to share his bed eventually.

God, he must stop thinking about that.

“But why couldn’t I attend the wedding, too? And perhaps a few of our friends? We could have kept it small.” Her mother began to tick names off. “Just Lady Anne and the Lamonts and the Sweeney sisters, since they’re my closest friends, and of course—”

“Mama! That’s precisely why we didn’t include you. You would have started making a big to-do, Count Durand would have got wind of our plan, and he would have spread scandal in hopes of preventing the wedding. It had to remain secret until it was over.” She frowned at her mother. “Admit it, you do not know how to keep things secret.”

“That’s not true,” Lady Margrave said with a sniff.

“Who told Cook that I disliked her veal sausages?”

The dowager countess lifted her chin. “That was only so she would make better ones.”

“And who told Warren last year that Yvette thought his mustache made him look villainous?”

“Well, it did. She was right.”

“Yes, but she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. She wanted to broach it gently, and you just blurted it out.”

“He . . . he caught me off guard. Asked me what I thought of it.”

“So you offered Yvette’s opinion instead of yours. That way he would be annoyed with her and not you.”

Her mother began to wave her hands. “This is all beside the point. You got married in some havey-cavey manner, and now you mean to blame me for it. But not a soul saw it happen—”

“I told you,” Edwin put in, “we had witnesses.”

The dowager countess glared at him. “No one who matters saw it happen.”

“I don’t really give a damn,” he muttered, which earned him a frown from both women.

Not to mention that Lady Margrave simply continued to complain. “And everyone will assume that we couldn’t afford a proper wedding with a proper gown and a proper breakfast—”

“So have a proper breakfast,” Edwin said irritably. “Some big affair to celebrate the ceremony. I’ll pay for it.” He owed it to the woman, since he’d deprived her of the one experience every lady anticipated—planning her daughter’s nuptials.

That stopped the dowager countess right in her tracks. She eyed him uncertainly. “We can’t have a wedding breakfast days after the ceremony—it simply isn’t done. Besides, it would take at least two weeks to plan a proper one.”

“Fine. Then don’t have one. It’s your choice.”

“Yes, you’re quite right, Edwin,” Lady Margrave said. “It shouldn’t be a breakfast. It should be a grand fete. A real celebration.”

“Mama!” Clarissa said, with a furtive glance at him. “That’s not what he was saying. And I don’t think you should spend Edwin’s money on some grand fete.”

Her concern for his finances amused him. “Technically, it’s your money, minx, since your fortune just increased my coffers by a substantial amount. Even if it hadn’t, I can afford to do whatever your mother pleases.”

Lady Margrave gazed at him as if he’d just opened the doors to Versailles. “Could we have it at Vauxhall, do you think? I know they’re not open at present, but they would probably hire it out to you. And then we can hire one of those balloonists to come.”

Good God. “If you wish.”

“Can we hire the orchestra to play for our guests?”

He stifled a sigh. “Certainly.”

“And bring in our own chefs so we have food that’s decent, instead of those ghastly chickens?”

“Of course,” he said readily. “The fare at Vauxhall is wretched.”

“Edwin!” Clarissa exclaimed.

“What?”

“You don’t even like Vauxhall!” his wife said.