The ache in Juliet’s heart was palpable in her letter. She loved my aunt as a mother in all but blood. She had lost a second mother.
Her father was hardly a comfort in the best of times. And, though Jules spoke little of it, he had all but disappeared in the months after Aunt Sophie’s stillbirth. My friend was alone in the world once more.
My response was entirely insufficient to express my sorrow. Worse still, I had returned to Lincolnshire for winter—there was no hope of returning to her side for months.
She was left to mourn alone.
Winter turned to spring while I waited for the snow to clear. The previous spring had been notably wet. It delayed the planting and subsequent harvesting in late summer and fall. Many of Father’s parishioners were feeling those effects by the time I returned from town. This winter was even more harsh.
It was sometimes a week or more before the snow cleared enough for Mother and me to visit the needy with blankets and baskets of preserves and bread. It was all that we could spare ourselves.
Even Lizzie, my sister, and her husband Sydney, a farmer by trade, had difficulty keeping their four children full.
I was pleased that I had the foresight to clear Aunt Prudence’s basket of scrap linens and notions before I returned to the country. The bits and bobs provided far more comfort here than they would have in an empty London townhome. I was able to provide some of the struggling families with extra gloves, hats, and blankets. They were warm, even if my stitches were crooked.
Kit remained in town for the winter, focusing on his studies, and I missed him fiercely. With him gone, it fell to me to assist Father with the maintenance of our cottage. Most mornings, I rose well before dawn to chop wood beside him.
I often thought of Aunt Prudence while I swung my ax. She would be horrified.
Her invitation to return to town came in early March. The cold persisted long into the spring and I could not be spared until after the planting. I could hardly leave when there was so much help needed here.
My return was again postponed by my cousin’s second confinement. Aunt Prudence left London for the country to be by her daughter’s side.
All these events conspired to ensure that I did not return to town until midsummer.
* * *
My stomach turnedinto knots as the carriage shuddered to a stop outside of the James estate. Torches lit the steps that lead to the imposing black double doors.
The air was balmy, bordering on sticky. Reaching back, I felt my curls for any rebels that may have escaped their pin and ribbon bindings. Aunt Prudence’s lady’s maid performed a miracle, and they were all still shackled.
I was alone tonight. Aunt Prudence had been called to visit an unwell friend, leaving me unchaperoned. Rather than allow me to beg off, she arranged to have her son’s wife fill the role, but they would meet me inside.
I was, however, thrilled with tonight’s theme, royal jewels. Finally, I was able to abandon the pastels that suited me so poorly. And with my aunt’s permission even. Tonight, I donned the gown I purchased last season when I went to the modiste with Ladies Celine and Davina.
The original intent for it had been some heretofore unannounced masquerade. This was better. The deep crimson—garnet—gown cut low on my bosom. Made of a shot silk, it shifted between scarlet and a shade just shy of black depending on the angle. The fabric grazed, hugged, caressed my curves, rather than covering them. Though the cut was low, the bodice wasn’t immodest. I loved it.
Ifeltbeautiful. Stunning. Gorgeous. Resplendent. Everything I had always wanted to feel.
My aunt even lent me her ruby hairpins for the occasion and her miraculous maid wove them with matching ribbon into my inky curls. They were tiny embers left burning in the coal of my ringlets.
Without her oversight, I was able to sneak a bit of rouge onto my lips. The lip color, the wine of my gown, my near translucent skin and perpetual flush came together for the first time. I was lovely.
Also, it seemed, late. I was nearly certain that the invitation said 9:30 p.m. The few stragglers milling about outside, the sheer number of carriages lining the drive, confirmed that I read the time wrong.
Ordinarily, I would have wavered, considered returning home—ball unattended—but tonight… tonight something special hovered in the air. Perhaps it was the gown. Or the lack of chaperone. Maybe it was the unexpected invitation from a lady I hadn’t thought enjoyed my company. All I knew was that those doors were calling to me. Something enchanting and wonderful was waiting just beyond them.
With a deep breath, I closed my eyes and pressed them open.
* * *
HUGH
Lady James was an exceptional host. She managed to gather the best that the beau monde had to offer.
Tonight, her ballroom was filled but not uncomfortably so. She limited the guest list to only those most agreeable. She had chosen a black and white theme which displayed ladies and gentlemen to their best advantage.
Were she not already trapped in a most unfortunate marriage, I certainly would have thrown my hat into the ring. Her white silk gown shone almost silver in the candlelight.
