“Oh, no. Of course not, Miss Hyacinth. Now, let me see if I can’t find the slippers that match the gown.” Jenny shot her another sly smile, then disappeared into the wardrobe again, leaving Hyacinth to face her reflection.
Very well, then. Shedidwant Lachlan to look at her. She wanted his warm gaze to linger on her, to sweep over her from head to toe as it had in Lord Hayhurst’s library. She’d get little enough pleasure from this ball, but if she could steal Lachlan’s gaze from Lady Joanna, even if only for the space of a single heartbeat, she’d consider it a resounding success.
Hyacinth titled her head to one side, then the other, studying the lady who stared back at her in the mirror. Blue eyes, pale skin, fair hair—it was the same reflection she’d seen countless times, but something under the surface had shifted.
Perhaps she did want to torture Lachlan just the tiniest bit, but in truth this wasn’t really about him at all.
It was about her.
A daring violet gown, an elaborate, eye-catching mass of curls—these things were insignificant. They weren’t what mattered. What mattered was she felt…different. She couldn’t have explained to anyone—not even her sisters—in what way she’d changed. She knew only that she felt like one of the genies in Monsieur Galland’sArabian Night’s Entertainment, except now she’d been set free, she didn’t know how to get back inside her magic lamp.
Even if she could find a way back in, she wouldn’t go.
If she were a foolish or whimsical lady, she might believe Lachlan’s kiss had freed her, but she was more practical than she was romantic. No, she’d found her own way out of that lamp, and like most escapes, it had started with a single, courageous step—right into Lady Bagshot’s ballroom. Something inside her had broken loose when she’d decided to go ahead with her season, but she’d been hovering on the edge of it since then, caught somewhere between the old Hyacinth and the new.
Or the old Hyacinth, and the real Hyacinth.
But then Isla had said something to her at the Hayhursts ball a week ago…
I’ve never been very good at doing what I’m told.
For as long as Hyacinth could remember, she’d done what she was told.
Be careful of your health…consider your delicate nerves…guard against becoming overwrought…
It had started innocently enough. She was the youngest, and she’d had her share of struggles, especially after her parents died. She was, by temperament, more timid than her sisters, and they were, by temperament, fiercely overprotective. But if her family had been cautious of her, they’d been so out of the deepest, most abiding love, and she was grateful to them.
But this was no longer about love, and it hadn’t been for a long time. Her doubt, her hesitation, the way she shied away from people, and avoided attracting any notice…
That was about fear.
It was no longer enough for her. If she was ready to escape her magic lamp and experiment with freedom, it had as much to do with Isla and Ciaran as it did with Lachlan.
Well, perhaps notquiteas much.
Scowlish. A little smile played at her lips. Oh, he was scowlish, all right. Brooding and gruff, with that insolent dark eyebrow always quirked, and as likely to frown one out of countenance as wish them a good morning.
Of all the people who might have peered around the side of that column and found her cowering there…
Of all the people who might have taken her by the arm and dragged her out…
Of all the people who refused to believe she was better off there…
It had beenhim.
Lachlan was the only person in her entire life who’d ever told her she was brave.
Hyacinth rose and crossed to the bed, where Jenny had laid out the violet gown. The neckline was so low it would raise eyebrows, and she could already tell the bodice would be tight—tighter than any gown she’d ever worn.
She touched a fold of the fluttery silk. It was so fine it felt like mist against her fingertips, and the color made her think of wild Scottish heather in full, glorious bloom.
There’d be no hiding behind a column in this gown. No disappearing. If she chose to wear it, there’d be no turning back once she entered the Sedleys’ ballroom.
“Here they are, miss!” Jenny emerged from the closet, waving a pair of violet slippers over her head. “Aren’t they sweet, with the pale purple ribbons and all the tiny embroidered violets?”
Hyacinth held out her hands, and Jenny handed her the slippers. “They’re…dramatic.”
“So is the gown.” Jenny gave her a calculating smile, and retrieved the curling tongs from Hyacinth’s dressing table. “You can’t wear your hair in a simple twist tonight, miss. That gown demands something far more elegant. Ringlets, and trailing curls, with a jeweled headband, I think.”
