Page 60 of The Marquess of Secrets

Huntsford made her feel powerless. She would never be that woman ever again.

Lydia did not harbor the hope of marriage as it was a long shot at best, considering his status.

But if Harrison wished an affair, she would not say no. However, a quiet period was needed before she entered into another relationship. No matter how wonderful the man, or no matter how brief.

Heavens, she was attracted to him, had been from the start.

As for love?

The beginnings of it were there, though it needed nurturing. Or was Lydia merely denying her true feeling for fear of being hurt?

A knock sounded on the door, and Youngston entered carrying five flat boxes, with Harrison carrying three smaller ones directly behind him.

“Your wardrobe has been delivered, Miss Chesterton,” Youngston announced.

Lydia moved aside the trunk to the opposite side of the bed. “Lay them there, thank you.”

With a slight bow, Youngston exited the room.

“I have informed the servants of your real name; I hope you don’t mind. I’ve also informed them of my secret life as Doctor Damian. They already knew of it. And they approve.”

“We had a housekeeper-cook growing up, and she was well aware of every aspect of our lives.”

“Were you close to her?”

“Yes. I let Mrs. Little go when I moved in with Huntsford and was too ashamed to seek her out once my circumstances changed. Not that she would be at the same address, for she had mentioned moving to Manchester to live with her sister.”

The memory was painful to recall, for their parting had not been pleasant. Mrs. Little begged her to reconsider becoming involved with Huntsford, and they argued. If only she’d listened.

Regrets. Lydia accepted and acknowledged them.

Turning her attention to the boxes, she gave Harrison a warm smile. “What is all this?”

“Various gowns and accessories, altered to fit.”

“This usually takes weeks—”

“As I said, you have to know which dressmakers have ready-made garments on hand. And being a marquess can hurry an order along. Have a look.”

Lydia opened the top box and was greeted by a gown of white silk and lace. So delicate and lovely. Her fingers traced across the lacey low-cut neckline.

Harrison opened a smaller box. “It comes with these silk gloves and lace neckerchief or, as the dressmaker called it, a choker.”

“White? Isn’t that the color for a bride to wear, not a guest?”

“Not necessarily,” Harrison demurred. “Not that I’m an expert on London fashion. The queen wore white on her wedding day. Some have copied it. But in the four society weddings, I have attended the past ten years, no bride wore white. Besides, Mrs. Desfrene thought this gown would be appropriate for the dinner the night before.”

She met Harrison’s gaze. “There is to be a dinner?”

“Somewhat formal, I imagine, knowing my mother.” He moved the box aside and opened another. “This one is for the wedding.”

Lydia gasped. She had never seen anything so beautiful. There was light purple velvet on the bodice, while the rest was a silk pattern of pink and cream roses.

Harrison pulled the gown from the box and held it up for inspection.

Oh, my.

There was a purple velvet overlay on the rear of the gown, with puffed layers to accommodate a bustle. Which Lydia had never possessed. Nor had she owned anything as lovely as these gowns.