Chapter Twenty-Five
Mama let out a shriek of relief and ran to embrace her daughter. ‘I feared the worst, my dearest.’
The tight hug pulled against her stitches, but Frederica sagged in her mother’s arms. ‘I am so tired, Mama. Spying is not as glamorous as it seems in trashy novels. I was hit in the face by a nasty French colonel and I got shot. It was not pleasant at all.’
Her mother kissed her cheek and held her tighter. ‘I should imagine not and I know about your wound. Samuel sent me a note yesterday. Had you not been staying with a general, I would have stormed through the doors and demanded to see my daughter. Now, let us get you up to your room.’
Her mother put Frederica’s arm over her shoulder and helped her up the stairs, not saying a word about Frederica’s clothing, nor her hasty marriage. She helped her daughter to the bed as Miss Wade arrived. Together they took off the ugly dress and helped Frederica into a nightgown. Mama tucked her under the covers, like she was still a small child.
Frederica blinked, her eyelids heavy. ‘All I have done for the last twenty-four hours is sleep and yet I cannot keep my eyes open.’
‘Then close them.’
And she did.
Frederica slept fitfully for several hours and awoke to see her mother reading in a chair by the window. The sun had gone down, but it was not dark yet. It must have been five or six o’clock in the evening. There was still time to see Samuel again. Time to tell him that she loved him completely. The words that she had not been able to say quickly enough before he’d left earlier that day.
Groaning as she sat up, Frederica said, ‘Mama, have you been invited to the Duchess of Richmond’s ball?’
Mama closed her book and set it down on the table beside her. ‘Yes, of course. But I do not plan on attending with you being indisposed.’
Frederica slid her feet out from the coverlet. ‘But I wish to go. I must go. It might be the last time I see Samuel alive.’
Her mother looked at her intently for several moments. The concern in her eyes easy to see, but also respect. Frederica was a grown woman and capable of making her own decisions. ‘I will tell Wade to dress you in the white satin frock, and I will lend you my diamond tiara and necklace. We will miss the early dinner, but if we are to go, you will look like a duchess.’
Frederica managed to get to her feet and she hugged her mother, gritting her teeth at the ache in her side. ‘I love you, Mama.’
She kissed her daughter’s forehead. ‘I love you too. But you need a bath and perfume, badly.’
Frederica was too exhausted to laugh, but she managed a small smile. Her mother left the room and the two footmen returned with a metal tub of water. Half of the servants in the house carried hot buckets to fill it. Wade assisted Frederica in removing her nightgown and helped her into the bath. Frederica would have loved to soak her sore body for hours, but now was not the time. She washed herself with the red soap. Her lady’s maid put a poultice on her wound, before wrapping it tightly. Then she helped Frederica put on fresh undergarments, and Frederica howled in pain as Wade pulled up the corset, even if it was not tight.
‘Should I stop, my lady. I mean, Your Grace?’
‘No, no. I want to look my best.’
Wade slipped the delicate white satin dress over Frederica’s head and buttoned the round pearl buttons. Then placed the diamond necklace around her throat and the matching tiara in her curls. Frederica gazed at her reflection in the mirror. She looked like a princess.
Like a bride.
Her maid held up a jar of powder. ‘Your Grace’s mother said that I ought to put some powder on your face to cover your bruises and the circles underneath your eyes.’
‘Yes, please, and some rouge.’
Wade held Frederica’s train as she walked carefully down the stairs. Her mother sat in the sitting room waiting for her. She wore a black gown with a set of rubies. As always, her mother knew how to best show her daughter to advantage. Mama had dressed as her foil. Together they would catch every eye in the room.
‘Are you ready, my dear?’
‘Yes, Mama.’
Her mother took her arm and helped her out of the house and to the carriage. When they arrived at the party, they were directed into a large anteroom with a thirteen-foot-high ceiling. The walls of the room were covered in rose trellis pattern wallpaper. It was hard to believe that a few months before, this had been a storage shed for coaches.
The butler announced, ‘The Duchess of Hampford and the Duchess of Pelford.’
Several eyes turned towards the entrance, and her mother took her arm and escorted her into the room near a crowd of foreigners watching the Gordon Highlanders dance a Scottish reel in their tartans and kilts. Her eyes fell on Mark Wallace, who waved to her merrily from the floor. He was dancing with a pretty blonde who no doubt had a generous dowry.
Georgy took her other arm, her countenance wan and sorrowful. ‘I cannot believe that you did not invite me to your wedding.’
‘Nor I,’ Mama said, releasing Frederica’s arm.