But her chief reluctance, she knew, had nothing to do with the imminent arrival of the guests, who would change Thornwood and the daily life there beyond recognition. Her real reason for delaying going to her room was that she knew what her maid would have laid out for her there. A new afternoon dress of bright royal blue. It was so beautiful that she could scarcely bear to look at it. The thought of actually wearing it was almost painful.
Shewould be different, she thought. The unrelieved black she had worn for the last year and a half was not so very different from the drab, serviceable colors she had worn for years before that. They had come to feel like safe colors, something behind which she had been able to hide. Though she had never thought of them that way until her new clothes had started to arrive and she had tried them on and imagined herself wearing them in public.
Forhimto see.
How foolish she was being, she thought, setting out resolutely for the staircase and her rooms. If she did not hurry she would be late. He had asked her to be his hostess. She must be ready to meet the first arrivals, then.
She was standing in front of a full-length pier glass in her dressing room a little more than half an hour later while her maid hung up the garments she had worn during the morning. Perhaps, Christina thought, she should wear black just for today after all. It would make her look more elegant for receiving visitors. It would make more obvious to them her role in the household as the widow of the former earl. And perhaps...
But the door from the corridor was flung back after the briefest of knocks and Margaret rushed inside.
“There is a carriage approaching,” she said, her voice breathless with excitement. “Much earlier than any of us expected. And I am not ready, Christina. Just look at my hair.”
She was wearing a pale blue dress, a color that became her well. But true enough, her hair was a disaster. Her maid was of the unfortunate belief that the more ringlets and curls she coaxed into her mistress’s hair, the more elegant the resulting creation would be. She had outdone herself on this occasion.
“Perhaps a brush through the ringlets would create soft curls that would look very well for the afternoon,” Christina suggested even as her heart pounded with the news that the first of the guests were fast approaching. “You have such pretty hair, Meg. Sophie will do it for you, will you not, Sophie?”
Her maid looked dubiously at Margaret’s head. “Sit down on the stool, Lady Meg,” she directed, “and I will see what I can do.”
“It really is not essential that you be downstairs for everyone’s arrival, anyway, Meg,” Christina assured her. “You will meet everyone at tea. However, I promised his lordship that I would go down. I had better go without further delay.”
But Margaret, the promise of Sophie’s superior services having calmed her somewhat overwrought nerves, was staring wide-eyed at her sister-in-law.
“Oh, Christina,” she exclaimed. “You lookbeautiful!”
It was a dress deceptively simple in design, only slightly scooped at the neck with slim long sleeves. It flared into soft pleats to the ankle from its fashionable high waistline. It was quite unadorned. It was without question the most elegant dress in her pattern book, Miss Penny had declared, and Christina had agreed with her. But she felt herself flushing now. Beautiful? But all beauty was vanity, Gilbert had been fond of saying, and trying to look beautiful was playing into the devil’s hands. Had she been trying?
But there was no time now to change back to the comfortable black. Or to change her mind about wearing a cap. Sophie had dressed her hair in a smooth chignon, but it was too high on the crown to allow for a cap.
The countess’s rooms overlooked the terrace and the front lawns. Before she could rush from the room she heard the distinctive rumble of carriage wheels moving from the paved driveway onto the cobbled terrace. There was no time even to think further. She left the room and hurried along the corridor and down the grand staircase. The front doors, she could see as soon as she stepped through the stairway arch into the hall, were already open. The Earl of Wanstead was standing near them, about to step outside. He turned to watch her approach.
He dressed usually for comfort, she guessed. But today, in a form-fitting coat of blue superfine, gray pantaloons, shining Hessians, and gleaming white linen, he looked very elegant indeed. Handsome.
But the impression, barely formed in her mind, was soon driven out by acute embarrassment. He stood very still, and his eyes moved with slow deliberation down her body from head to toe. Without her customary blacks she felt naked. He made her a formal bow, which was quite unnecessary since they had seen each other at luncheon.
“My lady,” was all he said, but there was something in his eyes that brought heat to her cheeks.
She wished—oh, how she longed for her blacks!
The Earl of Wanstead had several times over the past week regretted his decision to host a house party. As a bachelor he had rarely entertained on any grand scale even for a single evening. But all the preparations appeared to have gone smoothly, thanks, he admitted, to the servants—-and thanks to the countess. Now that the time had come he was feeling rather excited if the truth were known.
It was impossible to tell who was arriving in the first carriage, but since it was not a private coach but a hired conveyance, he guessed that it might be Andrew Campbell and Jeannette. It would be like them to come early. He hoped theywouldbe first. They reminded him of home—or of what had been home for ten years—and they were particularly close friends of his. He had missed them. It seemed much longer than a week since he had seen them last.
By sheer good fortune the day was bright and sunny. Nevertheless it was cold—the grass and the bare branches of the trees had been white with frost when he had gone riding just before dawn. He certainly did not want to stand around on the terrace longer than was necessary. Even so, he was about to step outside when a movement to his left alerted him to the fact that the countess had come downstairs to help with the greetings, as she had promised to do. He turned his head to look at her.
She looked so startlingly different without her mourning clothes that he forgot all about good manners and stared. No, he did worse than stare. He let his eyes roam over her. Both the design and the color of her dress were inspired, he thought. They emphasized the tall, slim elegance of her figure and accentuated the darkness of her hair and eyes. She looked sheerly elegant. More than elegant. She looked stunningly beautiful.
“My lady,” he said, making her a deep bow just as if it were she who was the one arriving.
“Someone has come?” she asked in her usual imperturbable cool manner. He immediately felt foolish.
“The Campbells, if I am not mistaken,” he said. “Shall we go outside to greet them?”
She preceded him through the double doors and down the horseshoe steps without another word. A groom had just opened the door of the carriage and put down the steps, and a young man was vaulting out, not making use of them. He was smiling cheerfully and looking about him with open appreciation. Yes, Andrew, of course.
“Gerard!” he called, looking beyond the countess’s shoulder. “Thisis Thornwood? Should I salaam?”
It was good to see him again, to hear his slight Scottish accent. “A simple kiss on my signet ring will suffice,” the earl said with a laugh. But he had spotted Jeannette, who in typically independent fashion was about to descend the steps unassisted. She looked delightfully familiar and fetchingly pretty in a green velvet carriage dress. He hurried forward to offer her a hand.
