My baby’s smile wasn’t there. It was probably my imagination, but my boy surely noticed the difference in the house.
Jemina swept into the room. She held Colin’s diary. “How’s the duke? Is he any better?”
“I’m not sure.”
My friend leaned against the door. “The night of the gaming hell changed so much. We found Sullivan. We know of the extortion, but you and the duke are not the same.”
“He’s injured, of course things aren’t the same.”
“Butyou’renot injured. You’re tentative. Tiptoeing everywhere. You’re not you.”
I wasn’t me.
I didn’t know who me was.
Jemina took my hand and sat me at my vanity. “You talk in your sleep, you know?”
“I do?”
“Yes. You have nightmares of Colin Jordan, and now you talk of the duke.” She spun me toward the mirror. “Where’s the bold girl who snuck into Hamlin? Who slipped away every night despite the countess’s orders and threats by Markham?”
I stared at my reflection, the frightened island girl staring at me in the mirrored glass.
Jemina leaned in close. “I see the mistress of Hamlin. She needs to run this place, and she needs to see about the duke.”
Iwasafraid.
Wasn’t I pretending that we hadn’t crossed a line in the carriage?
That he hadn’t hurt himself chasing after me?
But mostly, that I hadn’t turned down his proposal?
What would make me commit to a marriage where I’d have to walk on eggshells? Lionel and I were meant for Demeraran seashells.
“This is all my fault. I’ve taken away his Jove’s favor with all my masquerades. Why else would he be hurt now?”
Jemina put her hands to my face. “You and the duke are so similar, so stubborn. Don’t let fear come between you. You deserve to be happy. For a woman, that means being brave. For a widow, it means learning to be brave again, not just smarter.”
She was right.
My fears, my guilt pushed me back into that quiet life of just moving about Hamlin wondering how to please Colin.
Repington wasn’t Colin.
And I had ideas how to please the duke, at least a little.
“Help me find a beautiful dress. That’s what the guardian of Hamlin requested.”
My friend nodded and began creaking open my trunks, the rest of them brought up from the catacombs. After plowing through this shift, that gown, Jemina lifted a muslin dress with a silver overskirt. Points of Vandyke lace circled the hem and edged the bodice.
It was beautiful. Perfect for a dinner party I thought Colin and I would attend. The muted colors, the airiness, the nonexistent waist for a girl with hips wouldn’t do. “Let’s try my other trunk.”
She opened it, and I thought I could smell the sea.
Her hands dipped into the linens and silk, the rainbow of colors from the mud cloth for shoulder scarfs. Then she tugged out the last dress my mother made.
Long sleeves, made of smooth shiny silk, this grand robe had a luster that caught candlelight. This beautiful dress of a marigold hue with gathers at the waist was perfect to me, always perfect, worth the fittings and the admonishment for fidgeting. Mama. I loved her so. She was my chandelier, that bright lady who gave light to everything she touched.
