Hyacinth didn’t know what to think anymore, but she did know one thing, beyond any doubt or hesitation.
She wasn’t going to Brighton.
No, she was going to the Sedleys’ ball, and to Lord Pomeroy’s ball next week, and to every other tedious, wretched ball she was invited to attend, right through to the end of the season, just as she’d planned.
Lachlan was under the mistaken impression she and Lady Chase had left for Brighton this morning. How he’d been so misinformed, Hyacinth hadn’t the least idea. That is, shemayhave said something about Brighton to Isla, who’d come by yesterday afternoon to fetch some ribbons, and Islamayhave repeated it to Lachlan, but then bits of gossip like that often got muddled in the retelling.
What she’d told Isla was shedidn’tintend to go to Brighton. If Lachlan had heard something else, well…that was unfortunate, but hardly Hyacinth’s fault. If he’d truly been concerned about her plans, he could have called on her, and asked her himself.
But he hadn’t. He’d kept away from her since their passionate encounter in Lord Hayhurst’s library last week. Indeed, he’d made his feelings regarding their tryst perfectly clear, and there was nothing for her to do but accept it, and try and forget the kiss had ever happened. Rather difficult, when every moment of that kiss haunted her dreams—both the sleeping and waking ones.
But not tonight. Tonight she was tired of it all—tired of mooning over a kiss, and tired of pale silk gowns and bland hairstyles. Tired of theton’s vicious gossip, and tired of fruitless yearning.
Tired of LachlanRamsey.
“Shall I arrange your hair in the usual style, miss?” Hyacinth’s maid stood behind her chair, a pair of hot tongs in her hand and a resigned expression on her face. Jenny’s fingers itched to work her hair into the kind of sophisticated, curled, bejeweled affair worn by all the other young ladies, and it irked her to no end Hyacinth insisted on such understated, simple styles.
But tonight, Hyacinth was tired of the usual style. What good had it done her to try and fade into the background? She’d been bounced from one humiliation to the next since the season began, and she was sick to death of feeling like a billiard ball careening wildly around the baize as thetonstruck at her from all sides.
“This gown is dreadful on me, isn’t it?” She lifted a fold of the pale yellow silk, and met Jenny’s eyes in the mirror. “The color isn’t flattering, and the cut is better suited to the schoolroom than the ballroom. It makes me look like an infant. Besides, Miss Ramsey is wearing a yellow gown this evening. I want a different gown. Something brighter, Jenny.”
Jenny went still, like a predator who longs to pounce, but is afraid of charging too quickly and scaring off her prey. “The blossom pink satin with the white lace, or the pale blue?” she asked, carefully assessing Hyacinth’s reaction in the glass. “The cream-colored one, with the tiny pearls?”
Pearls. Hyacinth’s mouth twisted with distaste. “I suppose the cream will have to do.”
Jenny regarded her for another moment, then she turned and disappeared into the wardrobe. In a few moments she returned, a triumphant smile on her face, and waved Iris’s violet gown in front of Hyacinth with a dramatic flourish.
Hyacinth’s eyes widened. “No, Jenny. I couldn’t possibly wear something so...well, it’s far too daring, isn’t it? What will people say? They’ll all stare at me!”
But they were already staring at her, and they’d do so tonight no matter what she wore, so what difference did it make?
Jenny, who hadn’t much use for theton, gave a great sniff of disdain. “Oh, let them all hang! I don’t see how it could be any worse than what happened at that last ball.”
Both Hyacinth and Jenny glanced down at Hyacinth’s feet. She’d spent the week after her disastrous encounter with Lord Chester’s pumps hobbling about like a three-legged dog with the help of one of her grandmother’s canes.
Even so, she still didn’t regret her actions that evening. None of her toes had been broken, and with judicious applications of ice, and days lying about with her feet resting on a stack of plump pillows, the swelling had gone down quickly. She still had a few bruises, and she wouldn’t be able to dance tonight, but then no one would ask her anyway, so what did it matter?
At least something good had come out of that debacle. Lord Chester had called on her the day after the ball to offer his apologies, and he’d told her he was leaving London to take a tour of the Continent. Hyacinth was glad of it. Lord Chester was a lovely, decent man, and she hated to see him ruined by an association with Lady Joanna.
“Hmmmm.” Hyacinth held out one foot and turned it this way and that, considering. “I daresay you have a point there, Jenny.”
Jenny saw her chance, and she pounced. “This deep violet color was made for a lady with your complexion, miss. Why, with your dark blue eyes and fair hair, you’ll be mesmerizing!”
Mesmerizing?
Hyacinth turned back to the glass to stare at her reflection. She was well enough, she supposed, but mesmerizing? “Oh, nonsense, Jenny.”
Jenny shook her head, her eyes solemn. “It’s not nonsense, miss. It’s a great pity for such a pretty lady as you to hide as you do. I always said you’d be a belle if you just put yourself forward a bit.”
“I’ve never had any wish to be a belle.” That was true enough. She’d never wanted that, and she didn’t want it now, but there was something shedidwant.
To make her opinion regarding Brighton perfectly clear to Lachlan Ramsey.
He was going to be furious when she walked into the Sedleys’ ballroom this evening, so why not wear the gown? After all, if a lady was going to stage a rebellion, there was no sense in doing it in half-measures. Anyway, hadn’t Lachlan complained about English ladies only wearing pale colors?
Jenny turned in a circle, a delighted little sigh escaping her as the violet skirts fanned out around her. “Miss Iris has wonderful taste. This silk is divine, and the cut…well, Mr. Ramsey won’t be able to take his eyes off you in this!”
“Mr. Ramsey!” Hyacinth whirled around in her chair to face Jenny, heat flooding into her cheeks. “Why should I care what Mr. Ramsey thinks? That is, if I do wear the gown, it won’t be to impress him—” Hyacinth broke off as a knowing grin crossed Jenny’s lips. “Oh, very well. It won’t beonlybecause of him.”
