Free The Lady In Question by Victoria Alexander Page B

black.
    Delia studied her reflection in the long mirror in Charles’s — no — her room. Or at least it would be, once she had the walls repapered and the fabrics replaced and installed new furniture as well. Regardless of the cause for her behavior last night, this morning she was a new woman. A woman prepared to face the forbidding world of London society. Lady Wilmont. And while Miss Philadelphia Effington would have hesitated to flout the conventions she had abided by much of her life, Lady Wilmont had no such reservations.
    She flashed a wicked grin at her reflection, then winced. Black was not at all her color. It drained the color from her face and turned her pale complexion a stark white. She looked, well, dead. Why hadn’t she noticed this before? She’d been wearing black for months. Indeed, there had not even been time to unpack her clothes sent from her parents’ house after her marriage before she’d had to change her wardrobe to mourning. The dresses she’d worn before her marriage and her widowhood were still packed away in the trunks still stacked in her room. She sighed with resignation. And would have to remain packed for the rest of the year.
    Of course, she was already the subject of scandal and gossip. How much worse could it be if she flouted convention altogether and wore colors? She wrinkled her nose. Much worse and scarcely worth the effort. In spite of her resolve, she wasn’t entirely certain she was ready to face the world as the scandalous Lady Wilmont. Although, as she had destroyed her reputation, she might as well enjoy it. Precisely how to enjoy it was still a question.
    A discreet knock sounded on the door.
    “Come in,” she called.
    The door swung open and she watched Gordon in the mirror. He stepped into the room and paused. His gaze darted around the room, a look of concern flashing across his face, to be replaced almost at once by his usual noncommittal expression. She stifled a grin. Charles’s room looked as though it had been ransacked, the disarray appearing far worse in the light of day than it had last night.
    “I fear it’s a bit of a mess in here, Gordon.” She turned toward him and waved at the chamber. “I had something of a revelation last night.”
    “This is a revelation, my lady?” he said skeptically.
    “Indeed it is.” She nodded firmly. “My life has changed dramatically in recent months, although I believe I needed to return here to truly face that fact.” She paced the room in an erratic path, avoiding the piles of linens scattered over the floor. “Entirely my fault, of course, and I make no excuses for it. However, the time has now come to move on. I am a widow with wealth and property and an entire life ahead of me. It is time I begin to live it.”
    “And how do you propose to” — he cleared his throat — “live it, ma’am?”
    “First of all…” She paused and glanced around the overly masculine room. “This is my home now and I intend to make it mine. Each and every room. I have made a list.” She stepped to the bed, picked up her sketchpad and scanned the neatly written words. “I want you to send for cabinet makers. While the furniture in here is of excellent quality, it is far too heavy and entirely too ancient for modern sensibilities. I also wish to see fabrics for bedcoverings and drapes and curtains and upholstery and carpets and, oh, yes, selections of wallpapers and paint.” She looked up at him. “Have I forgotten anything?”
    He had the oddest look in his eye, like that of a cornered woodland creature, but his expression was unruffled. “It does not appear so, ma’am.”
    “Come along, then, Gordon, we have a great deal to do.” She beamed at him and started toward the door.
    “We shall go room to room and make notes on changes I want made. I want this to be my house, but I don’t wish to turn it into an overly feminine enclave. I have never been keen on flourishes and florals, although I have frankly never