The Bridemaker Read online

  * * *

  An unexpected interlude leads to a shocking outcome…

  While Hester stood there, rooted to the ground, Adrian lifted his hand to cup the side of her face. And when she stared at him in shock, undone by the intimacy of that wholly unanticipated caress, he cupped the other side of her face as well.

  He was going to kiss her, he was going to kiss her! But for a long stretched-out moment, he did not. He only held her gaze and waited.

  For what? For her to tell him to stop, she realized. But her realization came too late. By the time her muddled brain understood, he lowered his face to hers, and their lips met in a whisper of a kiss.

  A whisper, yes. Neither greedy nor demanding. Yet by its very restraint it unleashed a violence of emotion within her chest.

  She became the greedy one. She was the one with demands unmet…

  * * *

  THE BRIDEMAKER

  REXANNE BECNEL

  * * *

  St. Martin’s Paperbacks

  Copyright © 2002 by Rexanne Becnel.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.

  ISBN: 0-312-98311-5

  Printed in the United States of America

  St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / November 2002

  St. Martin’s Paperbacks are published by St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.

  * * *

  For Dion, Jim, and Betsey, Guardian angels in the truest sense.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 1

  This was the part Hester liked best, the part that made all the other less pleasant aspects of her job worthwhile. She fastened the Ainsley family emeralds around Dulcie’s neck, then tugged at the tissue-light silk that draped with such deceptive grace across the girl’s shoulders and neckline.

  “There.” She smiled down at her student who, despite her past two months of hard work, looked panic-stricken at the thought of attending tonight’s ball. “Are you ready to view yourself now?”

  Dulcie heaved a great, woeful sigh, then stared down at her new apple-green gown. “It’s a very pretty dress,” she admitted. “That Madame Henri you suggested is indeed a most talented dressmaker. But…” Her voice wobbled a bit. “But,” she continued in little more than a whisper, “I hate balls. I hated them last year, and I shall hate them even more this year.”

  “Now, now. What have we discussed in the past about the importance of attitude?” Hester gave her young charge an encouraging smile. Dulcie Bennett was too plain, too plump, and too shy to make much of a splash in this, her second season. The first season had apparently been dreadful: social gaffes, humiliating disappointments, storms of tears, and a vow by the girl never to attend a party again. Ever.

  From what Hester could tell, that had been the first act of self-will the girl had ever evinced. And more than overdue, Hester had decided when she’d heard about it. Fortunately Dulcie’s mother, Lady Ainsley, had done as one of her old aunts had advised: she’d engaged Mrs. Hester Poitevant of the Mayfair Academy to properly prepare Dulcie for her next round on the marriage mart. Hester knew what they said of her, and she took great satisfaction in it. Gossip had it that every girl Mrs. Poitevant coached inevitably became a bride. And more importantly to the harried mamas, the matches were accomplished with a minimum of bother to them.

  Some called her the Bridemaker. Others referred to her as a miracle worker, given the raw material she often had to work with. Word was that Mrs. Poitevant could make a stout young lady appear slender, turn a wallflower witty, groom a plain girl into handsomeness, and make a graceless creature endearing. In short, her girls learned how to charm men. The right men.

  So long as your daughter had a reasonable dowry attached to her hand, the wags said, Hester Poitevant could get her married with a minimum of fuss and investment. Considering the expense of a second, third, or even fourth season, the fees charged by the Mayfair Academy were actually a great bargain. Hester often made that point when the subject of her fees came up, and it always silenced the protesting papas.

  But Hester was not thinking of fees right now. She was thinking, rather, of Dulcie who, despite her outward limitations, was as sweet and loving as a young person could be. Truly amazing, considering that thoughtlessly blustering brother of hers, and her shallow, self-important mother.

  Under Hester’s steady stare Dulcie bashfully lowered her eyes. “I know. I know. I mustn’t allow myself to speak so negatively about myself.”

  “Nor think negatively,” Hester added. “You have focused so long on your perceived shortcomings, Dulcie, that you quite overlook your lovelier aspects. And in the process you convince others to overlook them as well. Now, turn around. Take a good, long look in that mirror and tell me what you think.”

  Slowly—reluctantly—the girl complied. Hester caught her breath in anticipation.

  As usual Madame Henri had worked wonders with the pattern adjustments Hester had requested. Into the most current pattern of pinch-waisted dresses, Hester had instructed her to add a wider and lower corsage with drapery folds which did not descend completely to the waist. The bodice beneath it and also the skirt were fashioned with several gores piped at the seams with a slightly darker shade of apple-green silk.

  As she’d expected, it created an amazingly slimming illusion. Higher heels than normal added to that illusion.

  Dulcie’s eyes grew huge as she caught sight of herself in the tailor’s mirror. Her mouth formed a small, shocked O, and for a long moment she could not speak. Finally she said in a reverential whisper, “It’s… it’s lovely.”

  Hester’s eyes danced with glee. “No. It’s you who are lovely.” Indeed, the dress was even more becoming than Hester had imagined when she’d selected the fabric and patterns. Cream and soft apple green complemented the girl’s coloring far better than white and mint. Dulcie’s hazel eyes glowed as green as the gown, and her delicate coloring fairly bloomed.

  “With your hair styled this way—and that little touch of makeup we applied—” Hester added that last in a whisper. “You have become beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.”

  “Oh.” That was all the stunned girl could say as she turned back and forth before the tall mirror. “Oh.”

  To Hester’s satisfaction, a smile began to curve Dulcie’s lips. First hesitant, then happy, and finally ecstatic. At the same time the girl’s posture straightened, and she relaxed her shoulders as Hester so often reminded her to do.

  Dulcie had a beautiful complexion, not a spot or a freckle in sight. She had a lovely bosom and delicate, expressive hands. Plus a beautifully shaped mouth. A longish nose, shortish chin, and a too high brow prevented her being considered pretty. But Hester had had girls with far greater flaws. In truth, she’d rather work with a sweet, plain girl than with a pretty petulant one.

  Hester folded her hands neatly at her waist. “I take it you like the dress?”

  When their eyes met in the reflection of the mirror, Hester saw the glitter of tears in her young student’s eyes. Dulcie nodded, for she seemed unable to speak. But that was all right with Hester. Though she endeavored never to reveal any sign of favoritism, Dulcie was without a doubt the favorite of her students this year. To see her so happy gave Hester a thrill of her own.

  But enough of all this sentiment. It was time for the ball.

  “All right then.” Hester pushed up the spectacles that were always sliding down her nose. “Here’s your reticule. And your fan. Now, let’s go show you off to your mother and brother, shall we?”

  George Bennett, V
iscount Ainsley, clearly was struck speechless by his sister’s appearance. He’d been impatient to depart for tonight’s entertainments so that he could sample Lord Soames’s renowned selection of cigars and brandies. When Hester and Dulcie reached the head of the stairs he was pacing the foyer, slapping his gloves against his thigh and complaining to his mother about tardy females and their endless vanities.

  But when he spied Dulcie, his expression mirrored that of his dumbstruck parent: eyes wide and staring; mouth hanging open in stunned appreciation.

  As well they ought to be, Hester thought with no small amount of pride. In addition to the handsome gown, Dulcie’s hair had been arranged to disguise her high brow. Plus Hester had added a few touches of shadowing—dark to shorten her nose, and light to bring her chin forward. And of course the striking green gown and slippers made her look taller and slimmer.

  But more than the illusions applied to her person, it was Dulcie’s bearing that most altered her appearance. The girl’s family might not recognize that fact, but Hester did. The changes to her clothing were all well and good. But it was the confidence they lent the girl, the belief in herself, that made the greatest difference.

  Dulcie Bennett had never thought herself beautiful, nor even passably pretty. But tonight she believed it, and so tonight she was beautiful. There was a proud tilt to her head, an excited light in her eyes, and a pleased curve to her lips.

  As was her custom with her clients, Hester was attending tonight’s event to lend the girl support. But even if she hadn’t been planning to be there, Hester knew Dulcie would succeed as she never before had.

  Hester paused three steps up and let Dulcie proceed without her. Her family hurried forward, twin smiles on their faces.

  “My dear, you look wonderful,” her mother gushed.

  “Indeed,” young Lord Ainsley admitted, recovering his more normal arrogant tones. “You actually look presentable, Dulls. P’rhaps now I can convince Westham to dance with you.”

  Hester shot him a quelling look. It had only taken two weeks for her to learn to hate George Bennett. He might be handsome and considered by some to be quite a match, but she thought him a selfish boor.

  “The dress is lovely,” Lady Ainsley said, circling her daughter with an examining eye. “I would not have picked that color, nor such a plain style. But it suits her. Yes. It suits her.”

  The woman turned toward Hester, and for a moment their gazes held. Then Mrs. Bennett nodded, a concession to Hester’s greater skill and knowledge. “Perhaps you and I should take tea tomorrow,” she said to Hester. “Just you and I. Why don’t you come at four.”

  Not a request of course, but a demand. Hester gave the woman an aloof smile. “I’m afraid not, Lady Ainsley I’ve a previous engagement in Portman Square.” No need to reveal who her other clients were, only that their address was very good. “Perhaps Friday. Around ten?”

  Viscountess Ainsley hated being dictated to, especially by a woman she employed, a woman she looked upon as little better than a tradeswoman. But she agreed to Friday, and Hester knew why. This wasn’t the first time a society matron was so amazed at Hester’s improvement of her daughter that she sought Hester’s services for herself.

  Perhaps it was time to elevate her fees, Hester thought as she donned her cloak and gloves. People like Lady Ainsley could certainly afford it.

  They took two coaches. One would not accommodate three women’s full skirts as well as Lord Ainsley. Hester was only too glad to ride independent of the puffed-up viscount. He and his widowed mother were two of a kind. Self-involved and greedy, with only one view of sweet Dulcie and her three younger sisters: pawns to be bartered with; potential brides to men who could fatten the Ainsleys’ pockets and increase their standing in society.

  An earl or his heir for Dulcie. That’s what the mother had specified. The brother wanted money and connections.

  Neither of them cared in the least what Dulcie might want.

  Across from her Dulcie sat, running her small hands along the elegantly piped skirt, fingering her fan, and all the while smiling.

  “I see you no longer dread this evening,” Hester remarked.

  Dulcie averted her eyes, but her smile only deepened. “I suppose not. Though I remain just as nervous.”

  “You shall do wonderfully well.”

  “Yes, but…” Her hands knotted together around the fan.

  “But what?”

  After a long pause, when all they heard was the metal-clad wheels rattling against the pavement and the busy city sounds as they passed along High Street, Oxford Street, and Regent Street, Dulcie cleared her throat. “There is this particular gentleman, you see.”

  Aha. Hester idly fiddled with the cuff of her own plain gloves. The first phase of her work with Dulcie, preparing her for the season, was done. The second phase, making her into someone’s bride, had begun. “A particular gentleman?”

  “Oh, yes.” The words were said with such breathless reverence Hester had to suppress a smile. “He is a paragon among men,” the girl rhapsodized.

  Even by the light of the carriage lantern Hester could see the pink glow that flared in Dulcie’s cheeks, making the girl almost pretty. Hester had yet to see Dulcie so infatuated. She hoped the man was someone suitable.

  “So. Who is this paragon of manliness?”

  Again came a great, heartfelt sigh. Really, it was like something out of a lurid novel, Hester thought, amused. But her amusement swiftly faded. Hadn’t she sighed just that way when she was Dulcie’s age?

  “His name is Adrian Hawke.”

  Hester nodded. She’d heard that name several times now. Every year society seemed to fix upon a new darling. Mr. Hawke seemed well on his way to capturing this season’s title. “Adrian Hawke,” she repeated. “Have you been introduced?”

  “Well, no. Not yet. But… But I’m hoping we will be. Perhaps tonight,” she added in a lower voice, as if speaking of some exalted personage and not simply another attractive, unmarried young gentleman.

  “Tell me about him,” Hester said. She considered it an important part of her work to keep up to date on the most eligible men in society.

  Dulcie’s round face turned serious. “Well. He’s very handsome. Very. And I’ve heard that he’s terribly rich.”

  Hester pursed her lips. He would not have become society’s latest darling if he were not.

  “There’s only one thing,” Dulcie added more hesitantly.

  “Yes?”

  “He’s from America.” She gave a dejected sigh. “You know how Mother feels about Americans.”

  Indeed Hester did. The phrases “radical upstarts,” “crude provincials,” and “untitled nouveaux riches”“ came to mind. Dulcie’s mother was nothing if not a snob.

  “But he’s not really an American,” Dulcie went on. “He was born in Scotland, you see. Southern Scotland. He’s certainly not one of those wild men from the north. But he’s lived in America for years and years. They say he has only come over for his cousin Catherine’s wedding.”

  “If you haven’t even met the man, how do you know all this?” But Hester knew how. Gossip during the season had legs of its own, galloping through the ton like a town crier might. Anything new or curious or, best of all, scandalous, was pounced upon, dissected, digested, and inevitably passed on considerably modified from the original truth.

  She of all people knew that.

  So a rich, handsome American was fair game for the gossipmongers. Hester wondered if the man had any idea what he was in for.

  “I don’t know. I’ve just heard about him. That’s all. But I’ve also seen him. He was riding down High Street last week with his uncle, the baron,” Dulcie explained. “The family resemblance was much in evidence, though of course he is much younger. And handsomer.”

  Lord Hawke of Scotland. Of course. His uncle was Baron Neville Hawke, the war hero who was also much respected for the stable he kept and the quality of horses it produced. His daughter’s betrot
hal and upcoming marriage to Lord Findlan’s son was considered quite the event of the next several weeks.

  Still, an untitled cousin to a baron would never be acceptable to Dulcie’s family—especially her mother. Hester supposed it would be her unhappy duty to discourage any ill-advised infatuation.

  The girl went on. “He is extraordinarily handsome, Mrs. Poitevant. I’m certain even you would be affected by his manly bearing.”

  I doubt that. But Hester kept that ungenerous opinion to herself. She’d learned many years ago that handsome men, or terribly rich ones, or those otherwise gifted with power or influence, were the ones most prone to misuse their gifts. Power had the tendency to corrupt, especially the male of the species whom she did not generally hold in very high esteem. That’s why she’d never married, nor accepted any of the insulting offers and disgusting propositions made to her. That’s why she’d left London in the middle of her second season.

  She’d only come back to London several years later when her mother had suddenly died. It was her friend Mrs. DeLisle who’d convinced her to come to work at the Mayfair Academy. But Hester had only agreed after hitting upon the idea of disguising herself as a recent widow.

  Respectability and independence, that’s all she wanted, and she worked hard to maintain it. Through the academy she took special pleasure in helping other young girls recognize and develop a power of their own.

  It troubled her that her young students’ powers must be obtained through the judicious use of their personal charms, for she knew beauty was a double-edged sword, as capable of destroying a woman as saving her. Wasn’t she proof of that?

  But for girls who were protected by their families’ names and social standing—girls like Dulcie and the rest of Hester’s wealthy clients—beauty was an invaluable tool. With beauty and charm on her side a woman could negotiate a far more advantageous marriage contract. And an advantageous contract was the only way a woman could gain access to her own money and the attendant power it provided. Women without that benefit too often lived at the whim of the men in their lives, whether father, brother, or husband.