The Youngest Dowager: A Regency romance(57)
The clock struck ten and they picked up their reticules and sunshades and stepped out onto the landing as Nicci’s door opened.
For a moment both were speechless, then Jane’s cry of dismay echoed round the landing. ‘Nicole. You cannot go out dressed like that. Go and change immediately. Where did you get that hat?’
‘It is a lovely hat and I am not going to get changed and I think this will be the most striking outfit on the course.’ Nicci stamped her foot and refused to move.
Marissa gazed thunderstruck from deep purple pumps, up the length of what had begun as a simple white cambric gown but which was now transformed by an abundance of dark ribbons and braid, to Nicci’s crowning glory, a bonnet of midnight-purple ruched silk, edged, trimmed and lined in white satin with an abundance of white bows.
She finally found her voice. ‘You bought that in London when Madame de Rostan left you with the Misses Richardson, did you not, Nicci? How you could have thought for a moment that this would be suitable for a young girl…’
‘What is going on?’ Marcus ran up the stairs. ‘The carriage has been at the front door these last fifteen minutes and I do not care to keep my horses waiting… Good grief, Nicci, you look like a magpie! Marissa, whatever possessed you to allow her to rig herself up like that?’ Despite his words he sounded more amused than annoyed.
‘My lord, I believe you may lay this unique outfit at the door of your friend Madame de Rostan. I can claim no credit for it. Nor do I intend to make any further comment – doubtless you can prevail upon your sister to change into something more suitable. It seems that neither Miss Venables nor I have that sort of influence any longer.’
Marissa swept downstairs with a faintly clucking Jane on her heels. She had surprised herself at the sudden wave of anger that had swept through her. In the carriage, listening to the raised voices issuing through the front door, she examined her mood. Annoyance with Nicci, of course, but also, maddeningly, annoyance with herself, that Marcus’s attention had been entirely on his sister’s outrageous outfit and not on her. She had wanted to look good on his arm, to do him credit, to be seen and admired with him on this one day before she broke off the betrothal. And to be blamed for the effects of Diane de Rostan’s influence was the very last straw.
Five minutes later Nicci swept triumphantly out of the door, her outfit intact. Marcus, on her heels, caught Marissa’s eye and shrugged. She returned the look frostily and averted her face.
Jane was still protesting as the doors of the barouche were shut behind him and he took his seat. ‘But, my lord, you cannot possibly permit Lady Nicole to appear in public in such an unsuitable outfit.’
‘Why not?’ he enquired laconically. ‘Do you fear some gamekeeper will mistake her for a magpie and shoot her? Quite frankly, Miss Venables, I am just thankful that she is decently covered. And when people laugh at her she will soon learn her lesson.’
‘Ha! Much you know about it,’ his sister riposted. ‘All eyes will be upon me.’
‘Precisely,’ Marcus said drily, and looked out at the passing countryside.
Derby Day was one of the highlights of the Season and the ton was out in force. The racecourse was already a sea of colour from the fashionable gowns and parasols, the uniforms of the many officers, the silks of the jockeys and the gay bunting on the pavilions. The barouche drew up alongside ranks of other elegant carriages and Jane exclaimed with pleasure at the sight of so many acquaintances.
Nicci was bouncing in her seat with excitement. ‘Come on, come on, we are missing everything! We must promenade.’
‘Calm down, Nicole,’ Jane chided as the footman helped them to descend. ‘Too much excitement is so unsophisticated – surely you do not wish to appear gauche?’
Effectively quelled, Nicci fell in beside the others and began to stroll meekly along, casting looks from under her bonnet-brim to see what effect her outfit was having.
Marcus shepherded them through the entrance into the Royal Enclosure and found a place by the rail where they could assess the horses being led around the ring. He had acquired race cards for them all and began to describe the runners and riders.
‘There were fifty-one entries, but only eleven are running. That is not unusual,’ he explained, as Marissa tried to separate what seemed at first sight to be an indistinguishable crowd of horses. ‘The favourite is Nectar, owned by Lord Cavendish – see, over there, the bay colt. He looks very well, does he not? And he has already won the Two Thousand Guineas.’
‘It does look a very fine horse,’ Jane observed. ‘What are the odds, my lord?’
‘Ten to six, so hardly worth putting money on at this stage, I would have thought. Let us choose horses with longer odds – it will be more exciting. How about Lord Stawell’s chestnut, Pandour? It is from the same sire as the favourite, but it is at sixteen to one.’
Both Jane and Nicci agreed to place a guinea each on Pandour, but Marissa was feeling perverse and was in no mood to take any advice from Marcus that morning. ‘Which is that?’ she asked, pointing at a large bay as it passed them close by the rail.
Marcus checked the colours against the race card. ‘That is Prince Leopold. It is running in the colours of Mr Lake, the Duke of York’s Master of Horse, but I believe it is owned by His Royal Highness himself. First time out, and the odds are long – twenty to one. With no form to go on, I would not hazard your guinea on him, Marissa.’