Lady Marchent pushed away from the table and stood, looking down on Amber with a calculating expression. “I shall have to see what your maid can do,” she said again. “When you are ready for me to approve your presentation, I shall decide upon our course of action.” She turned her attention to Darra. “We shall be leaving for church shortly. Do not dawdle over your breakfast.”
Amber watched her mother leave the room. Left alone with Darra, Amber turned to her sister and smiled triumphantly. “I am still the eldest daughter,” she said with confidence. “And the Rage of the Season. If I am sent away, you can expect I shall insist you be returned with me.”
For a moment, Darra’s expression was unreadable and then her eyes narrowed and she leaned forward. “Did you not notice that the only reason Mama agreed to your plan was because marrying you off to some fool would free her of you?” She stood and glared at her older sister as she threw her napkin on the plate. “Because I certainly did.”
Chapter 10
It was five days before Amber had an adequate remedy for her missing hair. Suzanne had searched every wigmaker in London and finally found a quality hairpiece that was near Amber’s true color. It was not exact, which was worrisome, but when compared with the alternative of not appearing in society again, Amber was willing to concede. The idea to sew her own hair into a bonnet was abandoned so as not to have two competing hair colors.
In addition to the wig, Amber fashioned a headpiece—essentially a scarf fastened with beads and flowers—that she hoped would be complementary to the new color even as it drew attention away from it. The wig included curls to frame her face and hide the portion where the edge of the hairpiece met against her skin. The wig ended in a length of ringlets that could be tied to the side so as to hang over her shoulder, as Amber had often worn her own hair. Amber was optimistic and yet anxious about the result as Suzanne helped her dress for an afternoon tea. If her mother did not accept her attempts to appear the part, she would likely not be able to attend the ball tomorrow night.
When she was convinced of her mother’s favor, Amber sent for Lady Marchent and then assumed a pose of confidence when her mother entered the room.
“The color is not exact,” Lady Marchent said immediately.
“I have come up with an explanation for it,” Amber said, eager to share her cleverness and ignoring the increasing itch beneath the wrapping on her head necessary for the wig to be attached. She would withstand any matter of discomfort if it meant she could return to society and secure a match. “I have heard talk of colored rinses meant to enhance one’s hair color. I shall explain that while recovering from my ailment, I was morose about my pale complexion and made the erroneous decision to attempt one of these rinses.” She lifted her eyebrows and chin to emphasize the rest of her story. “It went awry and rather than adding to my countenance it detracted from it. In the process, however, I was reminded again of the ills of vanity. I shall share the experience with abject humility and take it as a chance to laugh at myself, which will then soften people’s impression. I think I can use it to my benefit quite well.”
Lady Marchent did not seem convinced, but Amber remained hopeful as her mother walked around her, taking in Amber’s appearance from every direction. When she faced Amber again, she nodded. “It is my confidence in your ability to manage yourself that earns my agreement rather than the condition of the . . .” She waved her hand toward the wig as though searching for the correct word. “Affectation,” she finally said. “It shall be a small group at the Middleton’s tea this afternoon where we can judge the strength of your story based on the reception it receives.”
“And if it goes well, may I attend the ball at Carlton House tomorrow?” She did not want to appear too eager but being shut up for so long had her trembling with the excitement of returning to society and recapturing her position. “Many of my suitors will be there, Mama. I’m most anxious to return to their favor.”
Lady Marchent nodded but still looked reluctant. “If the tea goes well, I shall consider it.”
“Not consider it,” Amber insisted, a bit restored to her usual strength of character. “You promise I can attend Carlton House if the Middleton tea is a success. I’ll let you approve my presentation as I have today, of course.”
“Very well,” her mother said. She looked over Amber again, and when she met her eye, Amber saw sympathy there. Lady Marchent took one of her hands in both of hers. “I hope I have not given the impression that I have not considered your position within these circumstances. I am not so unfeeling as to realize how difficult this has been for you.”
Amber blinked rapidly, taken off guard by the emotion spurred by her mother’s compassion.
Lady Marchent continued, “My consideration in keeping you out of society was as much for your good as anyone else’s. I should hate for things to not go well and your prospects for another season be diminished if the extent of your circumstance were to be known. The ton will not tolerate such imperfection, Amber, and no parent would credit a match of their son to someone with such a blemish. I am uncomfortable to think of this duplicity even as I realize that it is the best option for my child.”
Amber lowered her eyes, emotional for a different reason than she was before. Imperfection. Blemish. The feel of her mother’s hand on her face as she lifted Amber’s chin left her unsure whether to view her mother as a compatriot in this or someone expecting Amber to fail. “I want the best for all of my children, Amber. Do you believe that?”
“Of course I believe that, Mama,” Amber said, eager to forgive her mother’s neglect if only they could return the level of comfort they had enjoyed before this horrid turn of fate. More than ever she wanted her mother’s good opinion.
Her mother dropped her hand and nodded. “We shall be walking to the Middletons and are to be received at three o’clock. I shall lend you my parasol so you need not trouble yourself with a bonnet that could upset your arrangement upon its removal.”
“Thank you, Mama,” Amber said with a smile. “I will make you proud, I promise.”
“It went so well,” Amber said once they were on the street following the Middleton’s tea, which had gone famously. Amber’s story of the rinse was well received and even sympathetic, making for a most comfortable and companionable afternoon. She now walked side by side with her mother while Darra trailed behind them. Of everyone in attendance, Darra had by far been the least responsive to Amber’s charms.
“It did go very well,” Lady Marchent said with a nod and a relieved smile. “I was quite pleased with your behavior and how the tale regarding the rinse was received. You were very engaging to the other women and handled yourself very well indeed.”
Amber smiled at the compliment and felt the comfortable reassurance that this wig would return her to her place in society. Never mind that her head itched atrociously. “So I may attend the ball at Carlton House tomorrow night, then?”
Lady Marchent hesitated, and Amber felt her grip on her mother’s arm tighten the smallest degree.
“You said that I could, Mama,” Amber reminded her. “You said if the tea went well I could go to Carlton House.”
“It is so soon,” Lady Marchent explained. “Perhaps it would be better to wait for a less formal event to make your reentry.” She glanced over her shoulder at Darra and Amber followed the look.
“Darra does not want me to attend, does she?” Amber said.
“It is not that,” Lady Marchent said. “Only she has enjoyed a different kind of attention since your absence. If she had more time for her to accept that things have changed once again she will be more supportive.”
Amber bit back a sharp retort about her mother considering her feelings as much as Darra’s. “All my suitors will be there,” Amber said instead. “And I am of a mind to make a decision as quickly as possible. It would do no good to refuse such an enviable invitation from the Prince Regent himself and miss an opportunity to secure my prospects.”
Lady M
archent remained thoughtful as they passed a gentleman who nodded and bowed to them. They greeted him and then resumed their conversation. “You haven’t had time to plan your dress,” Lady Marchent said.
“I have the emerald dress I did not wear to the Covington’s. My maid can have everything in readiness.” She tightened the grip on her mother’s arm. “Please, Mama. Let me go. Don’t let Darra’s discomfort in sharing the attention prevent me from making progress toward my own potential.”
Lady Marchent let out a heavy breath. “Let me convince your sister of the wisdom of it,” she said, slowing her step and letting go of Amber’s arm. “Go on ahead. We’ll only be a short distance behind.”
“Thank you, Mama,” Amber said, smiling so as not to show her disappointment in her mother’s reluctance. She leaned in and gave her mother a quick kiss on the cheek before quickening her pace, allowing Lady Marchent to fall even with Darra.
Amber reached the house before her mother and sister, but rather than go directly to her bedchamber, she stepped into the drawing room and closed the door enough to be hidden but still able to overhear the conversation as her mother and sister entered the house. They were only a short distance behind her so she did not have to wait long.
“It is not fair,” Darra whined. “I am always pulled about according to Amber’s will, and I can hardly stand it.”
“I am sorry,” Lady Marchent said sincerely, rippling that pool of jealousy not yet dried up within Amber’s chest. “But she is quite ardent in her desire to make a quick match and to let an opportunity pass for her to pursue such a thing would work against that. Surely you can see the wisdom of this course. It is in your best interest as well as hers.”
Darra let out a breath and lowered her voice, causing Amber to lean closer to the gap in the doorway. “He prefers me, Mama, I know he does.”
He? Amber thought. He who?
“Then you have nothing to worry about, my dear,” her mother said. “Your sister has any number of suitors to choose from. Once she’s made her match, you will be free to pursue whomever you please.”
They continued up the stairs to their rooms, and only after they were gone did Amber come out of her hiding place and continue to her own bedchamber. She rang for Suzanne and then explained the plans for tomorrow as she sat before her dressing table so that Suzanne could remove the pins holding the wig to the binding.
“I must look my very best tomorrow night,” Amber said, watching in the mirror as Suzanne lifted the wig off Amber’s head and moved it to the pedestal set on a table beside Amber’s vanity. She thought of Darra’s long dark hair—her real hair. Who was the “he” she had mentioned?
Suzanne untucked the wrapping, and Amber sighed with relief as it was unwound from her head, leaving an oddly satisfying ache behind it. Though she was glad for the success of the Middleton tea, she was equally grateful that her mother had not obligated her for any events this evening. She felt in need of the time to prepare for tomorrow and felt rather fatigued.
Her reflection took her by surprise and she blinked quickly. Hair stuck out in several directions and the bald portions were still red and scabbed from where the blisters had been. It was truly gruesome, but with the wig it no longer mattered so much. She had successfully attended the Middleton’s tea. She would attend tomorrow’s party at Carlton House—the epicenter of society.
It will work, she told herself, looking away from the horrible reminder of her condition reflected in the mirror as she reached for one of the lace caps Suzanne had purchased for her a few days earlier She put the cap in place and looked back at her reflection. It has to work.
Chapter 11
Fenton introduced Thomas to Waiters on a night when the entertainment was thin and Thomas’s patience with wife-hunting was even thinner. The famous club, known for its gaming, was reserved for only the highest of the ton. Thomas had enjoyed himself more than he’d expected. That he left thirty pounds richer than he’d been upon arrival improved his opinion that much more. After that first evening, Thomas and Fenton had attended a few other times and after an assembly last night, returned again.
Too many glasses of brandy combined with other distractions sent Thomas home with a pounding head and pockets on the verge of empty. It wasn’t until morning, however, that he realized the extent of his carelessness. He had gambled away nearly a hundred pounds in one evening and awoke sick to his stomach for more reasons than one.
He left his rooms in search of sun and wind to clear his head and found himself seated at the back of St. Paul’s Cathedral. He was not the only person to seek refuge in the church on a Saturday morning, but he sat long enough to see everyone who had been there upon his arrival be replaced with another set and still did not feel absolved of his regret.
He reviewed his memories of the evening before, more ill at ease with himself each time he ran through his actions.
Why had he accepted that third glass of brandy? It was not like him to be so free with his drink.
Why had he allowed himself to become so distracted by the conversations going on around him that he was inattentive to the cards in his hand? He was usually such a shrewd player.
Why had he kept playing when he’d lost the twenty pounds he’d promised himself as his limit? He was not a man with a sizable allowance that gave him margins for frivolous spending; he knew better.
He did the equations in his head of how much of this year’s corn harvest would equate to those hundred pounds. How much would he spend on his workers who planted, raised, and harvested it? How many families in Northallerton lived off a hundred pounds for an entire year? How many other families could only dream of that much?
With elbows braced upon his knees, he let his thoughts wander down equally dark roads that had little to do with money and far more to do with the pattern his day-to-day life had taken on. He hated that he spent the majority of his time pursuing pleasure that often was not that pleasurable. He hated the growing covetousness he felt toward friends with seemingly endless funds at their disposal. He hated the late mornings and too-long afternoons that became late evenings, which resulted in a foggy head, only to repeat the unproductive efforts of the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that. He hated weighing out the merits of every woman he met and wondering if his attentions would be welcomed. He hated that he had not felt drawn to a single one of them—except the one he knew would not welcome him.
The thoughts cycled through his mind and surged through his heart, building like a thunderstorm in his head and chest until he found himself pleading in silent prayer for God to help him find direction. He wanted to be working his land. He wanted to find a comfortable wife. He wanted to please his mother. He wanted to be mindful of his finances. He wanted to ride his horse through the countryside again without caring how his cravat was tied. He wanted to secure his future. He wanted . . . he wanted . . . he needed to feel at peace with himself. That peace was proving to be fleeting the longer he stayed in this blasted city. The realization brought his thoughts back to the idea that had plagued him increasingly these last weeks: did he belong here?
Which of the women he’d become acquainted with would be satisfied with a husband who sat in the saddle? Would any of them be able to find comfort on his annual income with the rest of his income being dependent on his harvest and management? Would they be comfortable in a country house not yet built rather than an estate with history and distinction?
As the years went by, the smell of the shop, or in his case, the farm, would cling stronger and stronger to Thomas and affect his standing in social circles. His sons would need to pursue careers of their own despite the land they would one day inherit. He did not expect to have adequate fortune to lay about them as they entered maturity. His daughters would have small inheritances but need to marry well to ensure their comfort, likely to a man of trade, which would move them below the society Thomas himself belonged to, if only just. Had Thomas met any woman who could find happiness in such
a life? Never mind that each woman he met was compared to Amber Sterlington—her beauty, her figure, the effect her voice had on him each time he heard it. One more aggravation to heap upon the others.
As his mind turned to matters of more immediate attention, he became even more morose. Due to his extravagance, he had spent the majority of the finances he’d brought with him to London. Next week he would need to pay another month’s rent of his rooms, which would leave his pockets near empty. He could appeal to his solicitor for an advance on next quarter’s allowance, but Mr. Jefferies would inform Albert, and the idea of his brother knowing what he’d done burned in Thomas’s chest like a blacksmith’s fire. He would have to withstand his brother’s censure for the irresponsible management of his funds.
Or, perhaps Albert would clap him on the back and express his relief to see Thomas become as irresponsible as every other man in London. Albert had been the second son when he’d come to London and unburdened by the responsibility of one day becoming the Baron himself. He had therefore been quite the rake—even more so after Charles had died and Albert faced the expectations of an inheritance he was not eager to fulfill. Albert had often said that Thomas was too straitlaced and should embrace the pleasures afforded the younger sons of the nobility. Thomas had never wished for such dissipation, it was not in his nature, and had endured his brother’s ribbing with tolerance and amusement. Yet now he had started on that same path—a path that had left Albert at odds with their father after Lord Fielding had ordered Albert back to Northallerton and railed him on the level of propriety he expected. The breach never entirely healed before the old Baron passed. Thomas had no desire to create such chaos within the family, which would not be a concern if his behavior was above reproach.
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