Lydia did not respond to the rhetorical, sniping question. Her fingers worked expertly as they swept her hair into a smooth chignon and anchored it with a half dozen strategically placed pins. A few tendrils curled damply at her temples and ears. Lydia pushed them back. They rebounded stubbornly. She looked at the clock on the mantel and saw she didn’t have time to spare. She abandoned the attempt to make her hair obey and stood, giving Madeline her back. “Fasten me, please.”
“I don’t think you should have napped so long this afternoon. Look at you,” she said, focusing Lydia’s attention on her reflection again. “There are shadows beneath your eyes. I came by your room several times, but that sloe-eyed witch you keep wouldn’t let me in to wake you. She said you didn’t want to be disturbed.”
“I’ll speak to Pei Ling. I really was exhausted this afternoon, but I never meant that you shouldn’t come in.” Of course that was exactly what she had meant and her maid had followed her instructions to the letter. Somewhat belatedly Lydia realized Pei Ling must have had her hands full keeping Madeline at bay. She promised herself that she would find some suitable reward for Pei Ling’s undiminished loyalty.
“Pinch your cheeks,” Madeline admonished. “Perhaps that will distract from those violet bruises under your eyes. Honestly, Lydia, would you look at yourself?” Exasperation crept into her voice. “Could you have found a more unflattering gown for this evening?”
“You had this dress commissioned for me,” Lydia reminded her softly.
“So I did.” Madeline’s dark green eyes made a swift assessment of Lydia’s ball gown. Daffodil yellow did not flatter Lydia’s complexion, making it appear unappealingly pale while emphasizing the shadowed look of her eyes. The rounded bodice should have drawn attention to the high curve of Lydia’s breasts, but the stiff taffeta material flattened her chest and the ruffle that edged the bodice looked as if it had been sewn there to compensate for an inadequate bosom. Two tiers of ruffles adorning the hem broke the line from Lydia’s waist to her ankles. Extra material draped heavily from her waist until it was swept into a bustle at her back.
“I don’t understand it,” Madeline said. “It was beautiful on the young girl who modeled it at the salon. I thought it would be perfect for you. How could it make you look so thick and awkward?”
“Perhaps because Iamthick and awkward.” Although Lydia’s smile was brittle, she used the same matter-of-fact tone that Madeline had used ealier. She only had to look at her mother to know the truth of her statement.
Madeline was everything Lydia accepted she wasn’t. She was several inches taller, gracefully slender, and at the same time generously curved. Her face was a classic oval with fine-boned features and wide green eyes the exact shade of emeralds. In the depth of the color was a blue flame that darkened with her mood, lending Madeline a smoldering, and somehow distancing, glance.
Her lustrous auburn hair held its coif no matter how it was styled. The deep, understated fire of her hair offset a flawless, alabaster complexion. She was long of limb, with a narrow waist, slender neck, and beautifully sculpted hands and tapered fingers.
Madeline finished fastening the gown. She placed her hands on her daughter’s shoulders, adjusting the gold locket at Lydia’s throat. “Nonsense,” she said, but her voice was not encouraging. “It’s only the gown that makes you appear that way.”
“Perhaps I should change.”
A faint frown pulled down the corners of Madeline’s full-lipped smile. It disappeared so quickly that it was easy for Lydia to believe she had imagined it. “I don’t think so, dear,” Madeline said, pushing at Lydia’s shoulders to adjust her posture. “There’s really no time. If you hadn’t waited, you might have been able to—”
“I know, Mother,” Lydia interrupted wearily. She stood straight, her spine like a ramrod until Madeline’s hands stopped their prodding and poking and fell away. “I’m sorry I’m such a disappointment to you.” Lydia moved from the vanity and out of the line of the mirror’s harsh reflection. Caught in an old memory, Lydia’s smile held a hint of sadness. How many times before going to sleep she had prayed to wake up looking like her mother?
“Lydia! How could you think you’re a disappointment? Have I really given you reason to believe I’m disappointed in you?”
Lydia answered as expected. “No.”
“Well then, I fail to understand what you meant by that remark.”
Feeling two instead of twenty, Lydia bit her lip. The inside of her mouth was still bruised and tender from her encounter in the alley and she tasted blood almost immediately.
“Don’t do that. It’s unattractive.”
Lydia released her lip. She felt like crying. “I only meant that I must remind you of him and that must be disappointing.”
Madeline did not have to ask who “him” was. “How can you bring up Marcus?” she asked, her eyes expressing both astonishment and hurt.
“He’s my father.”
“Yourfather is waiting for us downstairs, preparing to greetyourguests, opening his home toyourfriends foryourcharity affair, and you choose this moment to bring up Marcus.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“I don’t think I’ll ever understand you, Lydia.”
“But—”
Color heightened the contours of Madeline’s cheekbones. Her eyes darkened. “We are not going to discuss it.” She drew a deep, calming breath and let it out slowly. “Now, let me look at you. You could use a pair of earrings.” She went to Lydia’s jewelry box and sifted through the jet beads, pearls, and sapphires. She found a pair of dainty gold drop earrings with yellow diamond centers. “These will do fine,” she said, handing them to Lydia. “Much better. They brighten your face. I’m really very sorry about the gown, darling. I thought it would be perfect for you. The next time perhaps you’ll go to the salon with me instead of letting your charity commitments overwhelm your time.”
“It’s fine, Mother,” Lydia said. “I don’t mind. Really, I don’t. No one will notice me with you in the room.”
Madeline did not appear mollified. “I’m not the one in need of a husband. You are.”
Rather than argue the point, Lydia said, “That isn’t what this evening is about, and I’m sure you realize it. You and Papa agreed to help me raise money for St. Andrew’s. Please don’t make the ball into something it’s not.”
