by Kim Bowman
Harper bobbed his head agreeably as he set his burden on the table. “I’ll be happy to examine and compare the ledgers, your grace. May I suggest we start with last year’s books, since those were in balance?” He laid out a small wooden case next to the ledger and lifted the lid, revealing an assortment of quills and a bottle of ink.
Grey heaved a sigh and prepared to spend several hours in the company of the mouse-like man, looking at the very same numbers Grey hadn’t been able to make sense of earlier.
Chapter Eight
“Hold still, dear, so I can finish dressing your hair.” Charity’s words might have sounded harsh but for the air of excitement she seemed unable to contain.
Seated on a low needlepoint stool in front of a vanity, Juliet remained as still as she could manage but equal parts apprehension and anticipation sizzled through her and she fidgeted in the seat. Just the notion of repeating that disastrous birthday dinner gnawed at her stomach. She tried not to consider the many egregious errors she might make at a ball in front of the ton, but her thoughts inevitably drifted in that direction.
That is, when she wasn’t consumed by thoughts of Grey… and the waltz they’d danced together. His touch on her hands during the chasse had set her heart fluttering. When he’d embraced her and glided across the floor in time to the music, she’d been certain her heart would beat its way out of her chest. Heat had radiated from him until the hot blood rushing through her veins had taken over her being. At times during the dance, she’d been uncertain where she left off and he began.
Shivers tickled up and down her spine just thinking about the moment.
“Are you cold, my dear?” asked Harmony.
Juliet glanced down. Goose flesh raised the fine hairs on her arms. “Yes, I suppose I am. It’s quite chilly today.”
“I told you she needs a pelisse,” fussed Harmony.
“Oh, pish! That sounds like something you would wear.” Charity tossed the concern aside with a dismissive gesture and again drew the comb through Juliet’s hair, with gentle tugs on her scalp. “These short puffy sleeves show off the lovely shape of the girl’s arms. And this cut is all the fashion this season. See how the folds make her look like a Grecian goddess?” She handed Juliet a pair of white silk gloves. “These’ll warm your arms. Slide them on, then.”
Juliet tugged the soft white gloves over her elbows, where they crumpled into gentle folds, and she smoothed the elegant silk. They were far more elegant than anything she’d ever worn in her life. “It’s like wearing a glove made out of brand new snow,” she murmured.
Charity pulled some of Juliet’s hair back and wound it into a loose bun, leaving the sides free.
“She’s so fortunate to have these natural curls,” Harmony said with a sigh. “All we have to do is tame them and hold them in place with these combs…” She wrapped a strand of hair around her finger then did it again with another. She stepped back and sighed then slid a comb along the side of Juliet’s head and tightened the ringlets in place. When she moved to the other side, she frowned.
“What’s the matter?” Juliet leaned forward for a peek into the looking glass, but Harmony pushed her back with a gentle hand.
“Charity, why did you leave her hair so loose, with so much of it hanging down around her neck?” She began winding Juliet’s side tresses around her finger.
Lady Charity chuckled. “She has beautiful hair. It’s a shame to tuck it away, don’t you think?”
“It looks slapdash, if you ask me. And it’s not going to hold.” Harmony finished forming the ringlets and slid another comb in place.
As the tines scraped against her scalp, Juliet squirmed in her seat. She had fixed Annabella’s hair every day for more than four years. But it still felt odd having someone fuss over her the way her mum had when she’d been younger. Even Emily didn’t give her this much attention when she helped her dress in the mornings. But did the aunts really know what they were doing?
“Oh… so tempting to touch.” Charity pinched a tendril between her thumb and fingers and giggled as she gently tugged. “See?”
“Aunties, I need to look presentable. I can’t embarrass his grace again.” She shouldn’t have let Charity send Emily away. The ladies’ maid would have seen to it she was done up properly.
Juliet leaned around Harmony and finally glimpsed her reflection. She hardly recognized the young lady gazing back at her. Two golden ringlets framed her face, in front of the tortoiseshell combs pulling the rest back and up behind her ears. Strands of hair tickled her neck and she twisted but couldn’t see the back. In the mirror, she caught the aunts exchanging conspiratorial smiles.
“What is it?”
She lifted her hand but Charity pushed it back down.
“You’re quite lovely, darling. I simply left your hair a little looser than the current style to… er… cover your long neck a little bit. Besides, I was inspired.” She gestured toward a pillar. A fine white marble sculpture of a young woman regarded the three of them. For all her coldness, the woman appeared quite content, with her head bent in demure fashion and her eyes partially closed. She had ringlets on either side of her face and the bun at the back of her neck had come partially free, so much of her hair spilled over her shoulders. One hand paused over her breasts, the other rested across her abdomen.
A silver plate on the front of the pillar gave the statue’s name and the sculptor. Juliet squinted at it. What had inspired Aunt Charity? She didn’t recognize the artist’s name and frowned.
“Maiden After Ecstasy,” she murmured. “I don’t understand. What does that—”
Harmony’s self-conscious titter interrupted Juliet’s contemplation just as the word “ecstasy” registered and she grasped the specific meaning. Juliet’s face flamed. “Oh!” She seized the silk fan on the table before her and fluttered it in front of her face, though it seemed to increase the heat. “Oh, my! Aunt Charity!”
What was such a statue doing gracing the Duke of Wyndham’s home? Juliet fanned harder as she considered that he must know of its presence in her rooms. Would he take note of her appearance and envision the marble woman? Her blood warmed and her heart raced as her body recalled his touch when they’d danced.
“Oh, dear… oh, dear,” she whispered, trying to still the nervous fluttering of her stomach. “Aunties, please! You must fix my hair properly!” Juliet dug her fingers into the misguided arrangement of curls. Hair, hair, hair… surely the pins had to be in there somewhere. The brisk knock on the door froze her hands.
Emily entered the room, giving a slight curtsey at the threshold. “Begging your pardon, m’ladies, but his grace sent me to inform you that he’s waiting,” she said, speaking so quietly Juliet had to strain to hear.
“Very well. We’ll be only a moment longer.” The dreamy smile gave Harmony the look of a smug canary. She plucked at Juliet’s hair some more and attached a clutch of slender blue feathers and pearls to the comb above Juliet’s right ear. “There, now you have a proper head cover.”
“Up you go, then, dear. Time for your first ball.” Charity placed a hand under Juliet’s elbow and gave a little push.
“Oh, but—” She couldn’t leave just yet. She had to do her hair over. But Charity’s grip brooked no argument.
Harmony draped a long silk shawl in a beautiful shade of pale blue across Juliet’s shoulders. She took one last glance in the mirror and only then did she realize how much her white gown resembled the gown on the marble statue. Juliet’s shawl draped over her shoulders and wrapped across the front of her only increased the likeness.
Heat flamed into her face. The duke was certain to think she’d dressed so provocatively with intent. She stole a glance at the aunts, her nerves reeling with the sudden sensation of having been prepared as some sort of virginal sacrifice.
****
“Nephew, I received the same invitation to Evanthorne’s ball you did.” Lucien loomed like a nightmare in the foyer wearing his foppish finery, obviously prepa
red for an evening of merriment and lady chasing. Except for the ever-present cur at his feet. He drew himself up and tugged at the lapels of his red velvet tailcoat. “I have responded that I shall attend. Therefore, it would be quite rude of me not to do so.”
“I shall extend your regrets,” Grey muttered through his teeth. “After your comment to the Marchioness of Farnham about her bosom reminding you of a fine Grecian statue at their last dinner party, I’m surprised either of us received an invitation to Evanthorne’s ball.” Or perhaps Lucien had been invited with the intent of providing an evening’s entertainment of the same sort. Well, Grey would not be the source of even more gossip to be bandied about.
Lucien sighed. “Well, had you taken note of the lady, you would have seen skin as fine as alabaster arising from—”
“That will be quite sufficient, Lucien. I don’t need you to describe the lady in question.” Grey shuddered. Lady Farnham was well up in years and her alabaster skin had fine wrinkles and pale blue lines running through much of it.
“My boy…” Lucien straightened his back and puffed out his chest, affecting the look of a pouting pigeon. “Most assuredly ‘twas meant as a compliment… comparing her to a fine marble sculpture.” Lucien straightened his jacket. “And with her being widowed—”
“Enough,” snapped Grey, collecting his wits. “I don’t know what you see in those cold pieces of stone. You’re fortunate I tolerate your proclivity for them. They’re scattered around my home like ghostly sentries as it is. I’ll not have you insulting the ladies of the ton with your fiendish comparisons.”
“Step carefully, now.” Lady Charity’s voice floated down from the staircase. “You don’t want to trip, my dear.”
Grey gave his uncle a last meaningful glance before he turned and froze. The lovely creature gliding down the stairs behind Lady Charity enthralled him in her spell. Her beauty stole his breath.
Gone was the impertinent chit who had twisted his dinner party into a disaster. No trace lingered of the awkward girl who routinely stumbled over the hems of her dresses.
The young woman who reached the bottom of the staircase and dipped into a graceful curtsey was nothing short of a goddess. The entry, brilliant now with light from the candelabrum, faded around them. Her gloved fingers rested within his hand, yet he had no memory of reaching for her. In a fog, he pressed a kiss to the back of her hand, and she proffered a demure smile. But her cat’s eyes gleamed with excitement. Satin the color of butter cream embraced her with soft folds, draping her curves and setting off the golden tone of her skin. The neckline was low and somehow managed to hold onto respectability while at the same time making Grey wonder at what delights were hidden beneath the gown.
His gaze wandered, landing on the small wooden box lying on the foyer table. Was he doing the right thing? It felt right even while his brain told him it was sheer insanity. The only things he was certain of regarding the young woman hovering near the foot of the staircase were that she was not his stepsister as she claimed, and she intrigued him more than any woman ever had.
“You… are lovely,” Grey murmured to the goddess when he discovered his voice again, though he remained enthralled by the look of her.
Lucien cleared his throat and Percy bounced to his feet, jerking Grey back to the crowded foyer and too many pairs of interested eyes. Drawing in a sharp breath, he straightened his spine. If he wasn’t careful he’d find himself affianced to the little imposter.
“Well, hrmph,” muttered Lucien, interrupting Grey’s disturbing thoughts. “Come along, Lord Perceval. Apparently, we shall be remaining in this evening.” With his nose pointed into the air, Lucien marched past Grey, heading toward drawing room.
Grey stared agape after his eccentric uncle.
“Oh,” someone behind him moaned softly.
He whirled.
Harmony pressed the back of one hand to her temple. “Oh, dear, I’m afraid I’m not at all well.”
Charity sent her sister a narrow-eyed glare. “What’s the matter with you?” she asked sharply. “Are you ill?”
“Well, I suddenly feel very faint,” said Harmony in a breathy voice. “I do think I should lie down.”
Grey jerked his head up. He couldn’t have his house fall to a sickness. “You aren’t well? I’ll have Higgins send for the physician.”
“Oh, no, please don’t do that!” Harmony dropped her hand and stood straighter. She glanced at Charity and then back to Grey. “That is, I’m quite certain I shall be well in the morning. Just a small twinge in my head, that’s all.”
Grey clenched his jaw.
“I’m sorry, your grace.” Charity sighed. “We shall have to remain here as my sister is unwell.”
“No, please,” begged Harmony. “You go along. I believe I shall just retire early.”
After peering at her sister through narrowed eyes, Charity finally gave her a nod. “You do look a bit weary, dear. Are you sure you will be able to manage here on your own?”
“Of course, dearie.” Harmony offered a weak smile, turned, and set her foot on the first step. “I just need some rest,” she whispered over her shoulder.
As serene as though this was a most common occurrence, Charity folded her hands about her reticule. “I shall go ask Cook to bring my sister some tea. You may wait here. It shall only take a moment, and then we can be on our way.”
Irritation edged into Grey’s consciousness, though exactly with whom, he was uncertain. Lucien with his outrageous behavior had at least never given him orders in his own house.
He opened his mouth to reassert his mastery but before he could speak, Lady Charity bustled past in a cloud of perfumed essence strong enough to knock over a horse. And, if he was not mistaken, making a dramatic effort to limp heavily on her… right foot. His brows drew together. But hadn’t she injured her left one?
Beside him, the stunning nymph sighed. “I do hope Lady Harmony will recover her health.” She glanced up, surprising him with the genuine concern showing in her eyes.
All the reasons he should take care around Magpie and those meddlesome old biddies slipped away. Curls glinted in the lamplight, lending the illusion that flecks of gold had been spun into her hair. Lips the color of roses turned slightly upward as she regarded him, her light brown eyes drawing him in as they always did.
“Your grace?” she murmured, her voice barely audible. She placed three fingers to the back of his hand. “Are you ill as well?”
It was a whisper of a touch. In truth, he saw more than felt it. The delicate silk of her gloves contrasted against his darker skin. Grey stiffened in surprise, not at the familiarity of her gesture but at the caring she conveyed.
How can an imposter be so genuine and real? And how could he care so much for someone about whom he knew so little?
The need to see his gift against her skin raged through him and made his decision for him in a heartbeat. Grey picked up the slim mahogany case from the table. “I would be truly honored if you would wear these, my lady.” He lifted the lid, watching Magpie’s face as he did. The sudden widening of her eyes and parting of her lips as she drew in a startled breath ignited warmth that pulsed through him.
“They’re beautiful,” she whispered, but she shied back a fraction.
“They belonged to my mother.” The double-stranded circle of pearls gleamed against the case’s black velvet. The silver clasp inlaid with amethyst flashed in the light from the chandelier, a fitting complement to the gleaming beads.
Magpie took another breath. “I… I… can’t, your grace.” She backed up a step. “It’s very kind of you to lend me your mother’s jewelry, but I shall spend the night in fear of losing such a gorgeous piece.”
His heart stuttered. At what point had it become so important that Magpie accept his mother’s necklace? A smile tugged at Grey’s lips. “You misunderstand. This is a gift.”
“Oh, but—” Whatever she had been going to say, she swallowed the words. Instead, her lips quivered and s
he offered a shaky smile. “Thank you, your grace.”
Irritation pricked at him like a tailor’s pin. “Please… call me Grey.”
She said nothing and this time her smile was shy.
“Allow me to assist you.” Grey ran his thumb over the lucent pearls, their coolness a balm to the heat in his veins. Magpie slid one gloved hand beneath her loose hair and lifted it, and Grey placed the circlet around her slender neck. Immediately, the pearls took on the golden sheen of her skin. He fixed the amethyst at the base of her throat, and his fingers tingled where they brushed against her soft skin. Grey quelled the tremor of awareness that stirred the beast within him. A bit of silver chain dangled from the clasp, reaching toward the valley between her breasts with twin bits of amethyst weighting the end. Liquid fire shot through his veins, carrying with it fierce desire.
With great effort, Grey forced his gaze upward, away from the length of silver chain to settle on her petal pink lips. Close… so close to her, he had only to dip his head slightly to taste her. The gentle scent of flowers filled his nostrils… lilac this time. He leaned closer, and her breathing quickened, the soft puffs stroking his cheek. He almost fell into her golden brown eyes.
What is your name? He’d wondered that a hundred times since he’d received Jon’s missive. The little magpie’s eyes widened, as though she knew his thoughts.
Hurried footsteps shuffled on the polished wooden floor. It broke the spell. Grey jerked back.
Magpie stared at him, her eyes dewy, her lips trembling. After a moment, she averted her face, with a word on her lips that Grey didn’t catch, but he thought it might have been his name. His throat tightened.
With a hand that was not entirely steady, he settled his silk hat on his head, unsure why he should feel such guilt at his admiration for the beauty he was escorting to Lord Evanthorne’s ball.
