“If you need further proof, I’d be happy to provide it.” Intently, he said, “You’re beautiful, Polly, but more than that you’ve got so much passion to share. You are my match—and then some. Never doubt it.”
“You’re right.” Regaining her composure, she took a deep breath. “And I will.”
He cocked his head, not following. “You will…?”
“I will marry you,” she said.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“How much longer?” Polly’s lashes brushed against the blindfold.
“Just another minute, Miss Kent,” a voice—which she identified as Maisie’s—called out. “Now ’old still—we’re almost finished!”
Hearing the girl’s excitement, Polly smiled and complied. She was in one of the classrooms at the Hunt Academy, where Madame Rousseau had set up a changing area to mimic the one she had at her exclusive boutique. Screens provided privacy around the dressmaker’s dais upon which Polly stood, the modiste and her pupils bustling around her, making adjustments to their masterpiece which would be debuted at the charity ball in two days’ time.
Maisie had tied the scrap of silk over Polly’s eyes, saying that they didn’t want Polly to see the dress until it was perfectly in place.
Although Polly couldn’t see the ball gown, she felt the swish of fine fabric against her skin… and the waft of air against the places the garment left bare. Which, she could already tell, were far more than what she was accustomed to. But instead of apprehension, she brimmed with anticipation. A readiness to try something more daring when it came to fashion… and life.
This was Sinjin’s effect on her, of course. He gave her the courage to take risks, the ultimate one being her decision to commit her future to his. Yet from the moment she’d pledged her troth to him, she’d had no regrets. Her focus was now on the future, which held such promise… as long as she kept her deformity and love hidden. And she would. Shewouldmake this work.
Sinjin, for his part, had wasted no time in making their engagement official. The day after the Pickering-Parks’ picnic, he’d paid a call and presented her with a ring. She rubbed her left thumb against it now; she didn’t need her eyes to see it since she’d committed every detail to memory. The ring matched the necklace Sinjin had given her, with a flawless aquamarine cabochon set in a frame of sparkling white diamonds and mounted atop a delicate gold band.
Her sisters had agreed that the ring was perfect for Polly, and Ambrose had given his blessing to the marriage, which would take place eight weeks hence. Marianne, an expert at wedding planning, had said that two months was the minimum time necessary to properly execute such an event, and Ambrose had seconded the notion, although for different reasons.
After a week, the search for Miss French’s accomplice had gone surprisingly cold. The scoundrel seemed to have vanished into thin air despite the fact that Ambrose had had a sketch made up of him and was circulating it far and wide with the promise of a reward. Ambrose wanted to clear up the business before the wedding, to give Polly and Sinjin the ultimate gift: peace of mind.
Thus, in two months’ time, she, Polly Kent, was going to become the Earl of Revelstoke’s wife. The wallflower was going to wed the rake. Recalling the way Sinjin’s powerful body had shuddered against her when they’d made love by the pond, the way he’d growled her name in his throes, she was filled with a heady sense of wonder and power. He had claimed she was his match—and she was finally beginning to believe it.
“Attends, Annie,” Madame Rousseau’s accented voice said sharply. “The bow by the hem has come undone. Details, no matter how large or small, must not be overlooked.Comprends?”
“Yes, Madame,” her pupil replied in a chastened voice.
Polly felt a slight tug as the girl worked on the overlooked ribbon.
“Maisie, straighten the train at the back,” Madame Rousseau instructed. “Alors, stand back,mes filles, and I will perform the final inspection.”
One could hear a pin drop in the silence that followed. Even Polly’s heart sped up as she heard the dressmaker’s slow, precise footsteps circling her. Finally, an instant before the tension became unbearable and Polly was about to tear off the blindfold herself because she couldn’t stand the anticipation any longer, Madame declared softly, “Bien. Have a look, Miss Kent.”
The silk slipped from Polly’s eyes. She blinked, staring at the image in the looking glass.
“Don’t you like it?” Maisie said.
Polly couldn’t summon up a single word.
“It’s so much prettier than your other frocks, miss,” Annie piped up.
“The color may take getting used to,chérie,” Madame Rousseau interjected, “but I assure you it is all the rage in Paris and—”
“It’s perfect.” In a voice that wobbled, Polly said, “Thank you, all of you—I couldn’t have imagined a more perfect dress. I truly do feel like the Girl in the Cinders. And I’m so honored to showcase your creation at the ball tomorrow night.” Polly smiled tremulously at the beaming faces. “I expect your handiwork will bring a flood of donations to the academy.”
As the girls squealed, clapping their hands, Polly’s gaze was drawn back to the image in the glass. It was amazing how different a dress could make one look: she felt as if a stranger was looking back at her.
The lady in the mirror wore a gown that was neither blue nor green but some extraordinary, shimmering shade in between. The silk chiffon flowed like water over her figure, highlighting lush curves and a nipped-in waist, the full skirts cascading to the floor. The bodice was cut daringly low off the shoulder, edged with frothy, sea-green lace that emphasized the purity of the skin above.
In the reflection, Polly saw herself standing taller, her carriage imbued with a new confidence. Because of the dress… and because of Sinjin. Because of how he made her feel: wanted and desired, no longer a wallflower but a lady coming into bloom.
Then and there, she made a decision.
