by Jade Lee
“My father knew just how to encourage a little boyhood wildness without letting it get out of hand. And he instilled in Elliott what it means to be a responsible head of the family.” At this, Diana’s eyes grew misty. “His death was a great blow.”
To everyone, it seemed, because Elliott had spoken briefly about his own grief when his father passed. “My father never recovered from my mother’s death. I miss her terribly.”
A bond was established between her and Diana, one forged in fabrics, fashion, and similar loss. It seemed Diana relished having someone to talk with as much as Amber treasured a friendship with a lonely woman with a fiercely loyal heart. That was something Amber understood. Which made the afternoon fly by until Lord Byrn had the audacity to return.
It was late, and the Lyon’s Den had opened an hour before. Amber was needed in the cage with her grandfather, and this daydream-come-to-life was ended. She had to go back to work. They were downstairs in the front parlor laughing over the antics of Lady Dunnamore’s tiny dog, but the moment she heard Lord Byrn’s voice in the hallway, Amber began her apologies.
“I am so grateful, my lady,” she said, regretting the need to use the honorific instead of “Diana.”
“Stop, stop! You cannot mean to leave. We were having such a lovely time.”
Amber didn’t answer. The ache in her heart was enough to clog her throat. Stupid, stupid to grow attached to a daydream. She had plenty of friends at the Lyon’s Den. The women who worked the upstairs rooms and the dealers all treated her as a treasured sister. She didn’t need another friend, she told herself. And yet, her time with Diana had made her wish for something more. Something that had colors like the fabric on Diana’s settee. Something that did not smell of tobacco or spirits. As if she, too, were the willowy lady of an old title who might one day dance with a prince.
Except it was a dream, and so when Lord Byrn entered the parlor, she stood and made her goodbyes. He had no time beyond a quick buss on his sister’s cheek before they both were outside and headed back to the gray cage in which Amber spent the bulk of her time.
Quick day, quick end.
For the first time in her life, she hated her life with a passion born of despair. Because she knew with absolute certainty that she would grow old and die in the gray cage at the Lyon’s Den.
Chapter Six
Elliott lifted Amber into the phaeton and took too long to do it. Already, he had been hither and yon in London, and he had a full evening ahead. Was it so wrong for him to linger over the smell of a woman? To feel, however briefly, the fullness of her hips, the swell of her breasts, and the strength in her legs? She gripped his shoulders, and he saw her lips part as her body brushed against his. She was light enough that he did not need to hold her so close. But he did so because her body was luscious, and he had been too long without a woman.
Plus, she had the most spectacular eyes. They were hazel, turning blue or green according to her mood. Right now, they were shifting to blue as she locked gazes with him. And her lips were wet and open, parted in surprise or interest or sheer temptation. He didn’t know, but his imagination certainly supplied details that were best left unspoken.
And yet, he did think and linger until it became unseemly. So, he stepped back. It’s what a gentleman should do. But in his thoughts, they were doing something else entirely.
He jumped into the phaeton, using the time to rein in his runaway feelings. And once the horses were moving at a smart clip, he kept his eyes on them, but his words were for her.
“How much time will you need to gather your things for tonight?”
She jolted beside him. “What?”
“Your things for tonight. Tomorrow as well, I think. Balls end very late, and you will want to rest afterward.”
“But…” She took a quick breath. “Who will work in the cage tonight?”
Now it was his turn to jerk in surprise. “In a cage?” The very idea was appalling.
“Yes. All the valuables are kept behind bars. My grandfather and I are there as well as…” She almost said Lina, but quickly switched to the Den name. “The Abacas Woman.” Lina had a character name from A Midsummer Night’s Dream, but no one ever remembered it. She was simply the woman who click-clacked her abacas as she counted out money. Her exotic voice added to the mystery since she never showed her face.
“I suppose it’s safer,” he finally said, though the idea of her locked every night behind bars horrified him. “But surely, you did not think to work tonight.”
She stiffened. “I surely did. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because you are to stay with my sister. I thought you liked her. I thought you’d want to.”
“I do!” Her hands twisted in her lap. “I definitely do, but…” She exhaled slowly. “This is all so sudden. I don’t know what my grandfather will do without me.”
He looked at her. “You can’t be absent for one night? Your grandfather must have done the work alone at some point.”
“Two nights,” she corrected primly. “And… of course, he can. My father helped when I was younger or sick.”
“Then there is nothing to prevent you from taking a couple nights with my sister, yes?”
“Yes,” she said slowly, a low tension in her voice. And when she didn’t continue, he pressed her.
“Why do you sound so glum?”
“I…I don’t know,” she answered with a frustrated harrumph. “I am being illogical. I was just thinking how much I wished to stay with Diana, and now that I might, I am angry with you.”
“With me?” he said, the words startled out of him. “Whatever have I done?” Except get her an invitation to a ball and set her up for a lovely holiday with his sister.
She turned to face him on the bench. “You have completely upset my days.”
He snorted. “You are a creature of habit, then.”
“Absolutely not! I despise habit, routine, and the hideous sameness of my days.”
There was such vehemence in her tone that she confused him even more. “Then why are you angry at me?”
She folded her arms and twisted back to stare out over the horses’ heads. Her words came out low and grumpy. “I told you I was being illogical.”
Yes, she had. And wasn’t that a surprise? Not that a woman could be irrational. His mother, for example, seemed to take pride in twisting things around until black became white and up became down. But Amber was not only aware of her strange thoughts but admitted to them. That was a rarity, even among elite men. And so, he found himself admiring her, even as he poked at her.
“Can you not try to use a little reason?” He kept his tone light because he was teasing her. And thankfully, she did not take offense.
“I am angry,” she finally said, “because, after two lovely days, I shall be returned to my cage, and everything will feel so much worse.”
“You will have some delightful memories, I hope.”
“I will,” she said wistfully. “I only wish…”
“That your life could always be parties and fashion discussions over tea?”
“Yes,” she said, the glumness returning to her voice.
For a few moments, he thought on the difficulties of her life. Every night she sat in a cage and assessed jewelry sold to her family by dissolute men of the worst sort. By day, she fashioned jewelry, likely in another back room. She had little company, few diversions, if any, and probably saw the best years of her life slipping away.
“Is there some way that you have fun? Perhaps a young man who brings you posies and sweetmeats?” The idea didn’t sit well with him, but that was his lust speaking. She was a desirable woman, so naturally, he wanted her for himself. “Perhaps one of those large men who were threatening me earlier today.”
“There is a man,” she said softly. “A prince who dances divinely. He brings me flowers and writes poetry. He dresses in bright colors and laughs like a violin played very fast.” She turned to him, and she seemed to be looking at his face
as she spoke, comparing him feature to feature with this prince. “His nose is strong and his jaw hard, and his eyes sparkle like emeralds in the sun.” Her gaze traveled away from him now to the sky as the sun set with brilliant colors. “He’ll be a great leader someday, but for now, he spends his time studying the great thinkers of the world.” She shot him a wry look. “And writing me poetry, of course. Truthfully, he’s not that good at it, but I love every word.”
“And does he sing arias to you as well?” There was a sourness in his tone that he didn’t like, but he couldn’t stop.
“Oh, naturally,” she said. “And at that, he’s very good.”
He didn’t respond at first. Simply sat there and guided the horses while, inside, he was envisioning her stretched out on a bed while this paragon read poetry to her. Later, he would set the book aside and stroke her body with a leisurely caress. The bastard had clear intent, but she was too innocent to know and too enraptured by his words to notice when his hand traveled to indecent places.
“Who is this prince?” he demanded gruffly. “Where is his kingdom? Have I met him?” He expected that she would say the nearby bakery or tinker stall, maybe a haberdashery. Didn’t they all style themselves as kings of their respective trades? He did not expect her sudden peal of laughter.
“He’s not real, you goose! I made him up years ago when I started working every night in the cage. It can get boring in there, and so when I tire of sketching, I look out at the men on the floor and imagine them better. Smarter, sweeter, and more interested in me than in the dice or cards.” She snorted. “That last part is the most important.”
It would have to be. And didn’t he feel stupid for feeling jealous of an imaginary man? “A prince, you say. Why not a king?”
“Because they are busy ruling their kingdom. A prince has time to play.”
“Of course.” He relaxed into the game now that he knew none of it was real. “And is this a prince of England? Or of some other clime?”
“Most times, it’s here. I have spent nearly all my life in London, and so why not become Queen of England? Other times he is from a very warm, sunny place with bright flowers and fruits that can be plucked from trees that grow everywhere.”
“You are imagining Spain or Italy, then. Africa is too hot and the colonies too far away.”
“Oh no,” she said. “I have read of islands in the middle of the ocean with turtles and huge birds.”
He nodded. “The Galapagos, then.” The British navy had discovered it some thirty years ago. “James Colnett was a friend of my father. He is the one who drew the navigation charts. Every night, I would pester him until he told me about the giant turtles or the birds with blue feet.”
“Birds with blue feet? Truly?”
“Like a seagull only much smaller. White neck and face, black wings, and bright blue, webbed feet.”
She sighed. “How I wish I could see that.” Then she smiled. “It’s decided. My prince is definitely from Galapagos. After we’re wed, I shall lay every day in the sunshine and watch the blue-footed birds. And then at night, I will go into the shop and fashion their likeness in silver and gold. Sapphires for their feet, diamonds for their eyes, and black onyx for the wings.”
He turned to her, surprised. “You shall work even when you’re a queen?”
“Fashioning jewelry is not work, my lord. It is the happiest part of my day.” She glanced at him. “Save talking fashion over tea and attending a ball.”
“Save that, of course.” It was a good thing that she took joy in her family’s trade. So many did their work merely because their fathers and grandfathers had. They went through the motions as their attention wandered to something else entirely. But even though she apparently loved it, he still thought her life restricted. “Surely, there is a real man who has caught your attention. You are an attractive woman. I wager many men are looking at you. Do you not look back at any of them?”
Were he to ask such a thing of a woman in his own set, he would be handed a severe dressing down, and rightly so. It was an impolite question. But she was a tradeswoman and he a lord. Some questions were allowed, provided the lady herself was not insulted.
“They have looked, to be sure,” she said, her voice muted. “They look at the gemstones in the shop and at the fine wool I wear for all that it is a dull brown.”
“You have been hurt by some blighters, then. I am sorry for it.”
She snorted. “All women of means have been hurt by blighters. I begin to think there are no honest men left.”
“You cannot judge all men by those who frequent the Lyon’s Den.”
She nodded. “Of course not. But you live among the politicos and the royals. Are they fair-minded? Do they think of the country first and not their own pocketbook?”
“Yes, certainly, there are many who do.” At her arch look, he forced himself to be honest. “And many who do not.”
“There it is,” she said firmly. “A few honorable gentlemen shall be the hope for us all.”
“Well,” he said dryly, “perhaps it will be different in the Galapagos.”
She laughed, the sound sweet to his ears. “I am sure it is.”
They rode in silence then. The traffic was clogged, the stench even worse. But she seemed content to look at the fading sunset and dream of an island far away. What kind of life was it where a girl’s fantasies took her to something so far removed from reality? A prince in the Galapagos instead of a baker’s son right here.
“You must look around you, Amber,” he said, daring to use her given name. “You must try to live in the world we have, and not in one that can never be.”
She looked at him, surprised. “Why?”
“Because we cannot change what is here unless we set our thoughts here.”
“I am an immigrant who works nightly in a gambling den. I cannot change anything, and so I shall dream of there, wherever it might be.”
He could not argue that. Thanks to the circumstance of his birth, he had every advantage. Who was he to judge how she spent her days? And yet, he wished she had better. Better prospects, better circumstances, a better life.
But all he could do was give her a couple nights with his sister and a ball where she might indeed dance with a prince. Well, probably not a prince, but definitely an earl, for he meant to claim at least one set from her hand.
“Do you know how to waltz?” he asked abruptly.
She blinked in surprise. “No. The dance master considers it too scandalous.”
“Ask Diana to teach it to you, then save the first one for me.”
She nodded slowly, her eyes huge. He smiled at her then, knowing that at this moment, her thoughts were not on some island prince but of him and her dancing a scandalous dance. Her face brightened, and he saw the pulse in her neck leap in anticipation. If it were a different circumstance, he would steal a kiss. Sweetly at first, but with increasing passion, until he was the one reading her poetry at her bedside and singing arias to her as she slept.
Caught in such sweet imaginings, they traveled in silence to her home.
Chapter Seven
Amber’s father did not approve, but he was reassured when Lord Byrn told him the head bouncer, Titan, would provide a couple extra footmen as her escorts. Amber guessed they were really there to protect Diana from her stepson, Mr. Geoffrey Hough. That detail didn’t matter to Amber or her father. They all knew the men would look after Amber as well.
Which is how exactly one day later, she was standing outside of Lady Morthan’s home, waiting to be announced into the ball. Excitement seemed to crackle in the air as she drew in every breath. She couldn’t keep her feet still. This was going to be the best night of her life, and she couldn’t wait for it to begin. She kept shifting from one leg to the other while Diana smiled indulgently at her.
Diana’s mother was with them as well, chattering about her old friends from school and how each of them was a viper who had betrayed her in one way or another. Last of thei
r party was Lord Byrn, still in black but somehow managing to look magnificent.
“I keep telling you, Mama,” Diana said, “Amber is the sister of one of my friends. Elliott got it wrong.”
“I am so sorry, Mother,” Lord Byrn intoned.
“Well, I don’t see how she can just show up and—”
“It was the mail, my lady,” Amber interrupted. “My letter must have gotten lost. That sort of thing happens all the time on the Continent.”
It wasn’t true, as far as she was aware, but Lady Byrn seemed to enjoy talking about how everything over there was worse than it was here. And sure enough, she began to expound on all the things that someone had told her simply did not work on the Continent. Which left Amber free to look at everything and everyone.
At first, she feared that some of the ladies who frequented the Lyon’s Den would recognize her, but so far, none were in attendance. It was the gentlemen who posed the real threat. Nearly every man here had visited the place at one time or another, but she had been a nameless, faceless woman who helped her grandfather set a value on their goods. Surely they wouldn’t recognize her?
She bit her lip, flinching away from one of the biggest louts who frequented the Den. And as she turned, her gaze connected with Lord Byrn’s. Apparently, he’d been watching her as closely as she’d been looking around. Then as their gazes connected, his expression softened.
“Have I told you how exquisite you look tonight?” he asked.
She was wearing a pale, yellow gown of an old style, quickly resewn to her body. The trim had been removed, a bit of ribbon added, and the sleeves changed. All of that in a day such that every inch fit her like a dream. Even with the pale color, she felt like sunlight personified. When she’d first put it on, Diana had made her twirl around to show off every angle, and Amber had laughed like she hadn’t since she was a child.
“The clip in your hair. Is the lion of your own design?”
