A Heart Revealed

by Josi S. Kilpack

  Amber frowned and allowed her shoulders to slump. “Please take him this note,” she asked in a completely different tone. “It shall hurt him worse to hear the words than to read them.”

  “You believe it shall hurt you less, and yet if you should think on that a bit more you know it is not true.” She moved toward Amber and looked at her hard, no longer smiling. “You know as well as I that your heart will break in a hundred pieces if he does not call on you again. The man is full in love with you.”

  Instant tears filled Amber’s eyes and spilled down her cheeks. “He knows nothing about me. It is for the best that he forget me, Suzanne, even if it means he is disappointed for a short time. Surely you can see that.”

  “I can see no such thing. You are in love with him too.”

  “He does not even know who I am.”

  “He knows your heart, at least as much as he has been allowed to see. Tell him the truth; let him show you the kind of man he is. I am sure you will not be disappointed.”

  Amber shook her head. “I cannot bear his rejection. He has been such a brightness for me, and I want to treasure those memories, not be haunted by the look on his face when he realizes my deception and my truth.”

  The intensity of Suzanne’s dark eyes bore through Amber’s senses. “Do you truly believe he comes all this way out of chivalry? Do you not see that his heart is as affected as your own? Did he not kiss you as a man in love kisses a woman of his desire?”

  The kiss had filled her with such light and hope and goodness that for the space of an hour she had quite forgotten who she was and what ailed her. It was perhaps the most pleasurable moment of her life and she would forever cherish it. Should she have to see his censure when she rejected him, or, worse, be forced to tell him the truth—which would result in his rejection of her instead—she might lose that moment even within her memory. She dared not risk it and therefore must ensure that the last memory she held of Mr. Richards was one of such joyful pleasure that it would sustain her for the rest of her life.

  “But he does not know me,” Amber said for the third time. “And when he learns the truth of my dishonesty and deformity he will not wish to associate with me any longer.”

  “I feel you are denying both of you great happiness,” Suzanne said, sounding frustrated. “If you could for one moment see the changes that have taken place these months, you would see the very thing Mr. Richards has fallen in love with. You are unwilling to accept that you are worthy of a man such as he is.”

  Amber wished she could believe it, but nothing in her life or education gave the idea any credibility. To emphasize her point she reached up and pulled off her knit cap. It had been months since Suzanne had seen Amber’s head, and Suzanne backed up a step in shock.

  “This is what I am,” Amber said loudly, her arms spread wide. She walked to the table and slapped the note upon it. “If he knew, he would not feel anything but revulsion for me no matter what improvements have taken place with my character. I am not a woman who could be accepted by his family or friends, and I will not ask him to choose me over his future, his connections, and his obligations to both. I would never make him happy and have deceived him from the start. Between that deception and revelation of the truth, he should want nothing to do with me. You have to understand the wisdom of my choice to give him leave before either of us is hurt more by this game I have played with him.”

  Suzanne said nothing. Amber turned away from the maid’s wide-eyed stare and replaced the cap as she returned to the sideboard, embarrassed by the depth of Suzanne’s reaction, which confirmed her fears. She could not bear to see such a reaction in Mr. Richards’s face; the anticipation of it alone was enough to bring tears to her eyes.

  “I appreciate your hopes for my happiness,” she said in a softer voice. “Truly I do, but I will appreciate even more your taking the note to Mr. Richards. It will be better for him to read the words in privacy and accept what is inevitable.” She took a breath before revealing the remainder of her decisions, hoping that perhaps Suzanne would understand this next choice better than she had the first.

  “The letter I asked you to send to my mother is an acceptance of the invitation to Darra’s wedding ball. It is important for my family to have me seen by their society, and I have chosen to leave Yorkshire. I have made a request from my parents in regards to retaining my inheritance and setting up a home similar to this one, but in a different place so as not to be so close to Mr. Richards and cause him further harm. I believe I am able to care for myself so I shall not allow you to make such sacrifice as to attend me again. I am hopeful that without my situation to confine you, you will feel free to pursue your man in town and provide for yourself the happiness you deserve.”

  She had to stop as emotion threatened to overcome her at the idea of losing Suzanne, but she took a breath and straightened her posture. She kept her back turned, however, unable to look Suzanne in the eye as she delivered her final words. “My mind is quite set on the matter, and I would remind you that I am still your mistress and you are still my servant. I expect you to fulfill my commands, which are for you to deliver my letters and abide my wishes.”

  “Miss,” Suzanne said in a choking tone that cause Amber to close her eyes as she struggled to contain herself. She could not absorb Suzanne’s sorrow when her own was already so overwhelming.

  “Please go,” Amber said, a waver to her own voice. “I have made peace with this decision, and if you care for me at all I ask that you leave me to my choice and set about the tasks I have asked you to perform in my behalf.”

  Suzanne did not speak, and Amber did not turn to face her. After a moment, Amber heard her maid finish her preparations to leave, move to the door, pull it open, and then close it again. Amber braced her hands on the edge of the sideboard and dropped her head, waiting for the emotion to wash over her. She had hurt Suzanne. She would soon hurt Mr. Richards. Had she hurt every person who had ever cared for her? Was that the true reason for her exile?

  Mr. Richards would surely be angry, but he would then leave her alone, assured that her heart was not bound to him in any way. She had not been gentle in her letter, and he would have no doubt that she had no interest in seeing him again. Sometime in the next fortnight her father’s traveling carriage would collect her, she would endure discomfort at the family estate for a time and then move forward with a life of her own choosing—protected from a fantasy that had only resulted in pain. Perhaps in time she could interact with whatever community surrounded her, perhaps working through the local clergy as Suzanne had encouraged her to do.

  Regardless, she would never allow such a connection to take root in her heart again, not as it had with Suzanne, Mr. Richards, or her own family. She would protect this heart Suzanne so admired, take comfort in purpose, and . . . she did not know what else. She did not want to live as Constance had, but it was safer, not only for her but for those who would be hurt by her.

  “It is best,” she said out loud. Mr. Richards deserved a wife he could respect, admire, and desire. Amber could never be those things, and even Suzanne, the one person who had attempted to convince Amber she could be accepted, had seen the wisdom in the end.

  Amber would never see Mr. Richards again, and she would soon leave this place, which had become a sanctuary, forever. How it broke her heart to know it.

  Chapter 45

  “Thank you, Nelson,” Amber said to her mother’s maid as Nelson put the last of three ostrich feathers into the folds of the expertly draped turban Lady Marchent had procured. It was the same soft green fabric as the dress Mama had chosen for Amber’s presentation tonight. The dress was meant not to draw attention—it was Darra’s ball—but it still complimented Amber’s eyes and figure.

  The wig Amber had worn in London was considered but eventually dismissed by her mother who wanted no memory of that night’s display to accompany this evening. Amber was to attend the wedding ball, make polite if not shallow conversation with their connections,
be part of a toast to Lord and Lady Sunther’s happiness, and then fade away secure in the knowledge that friends and family would no longer worry about her well-being. Perhaps she would be invited back to Hampton Grove for family events now and again, but never to draw attention back to her own self. Never that.

  Amber fingered the pendant resting just below the hollow of her throat. The jewel had once felt like a trademark, and though it was as well-crafted and lovely as it had ever been, it felt strange and foreign now. Heavy. Cold. Everything felt that way.

  “I need but paint on the brows and ye shall be ready,” Nelson said, sounding nervous.

  “I can paint on the brows,” Amber assured her. The paint her mother had purchased was a finer quality than what Amber had from Constance’s trunk, and it more closely matched the true shade of Amber’s eyebrows—if she’d had them. “I have painted them on many times now and know just how it is done.”

  After the brows, she painted a very thin line along the edge of her eyelids in order to give the shadow of lashes; it was the best she could do. If the attendees at the ball looked long enough they would see something awry, but Lady Marchent had asked her to give as few opportunities for scrutiny as possible and Amber agreed that would be best.

  “Thank you, Nelson. You may go. The dancing has already begun, has it not?”

  “It ’as, Miss. I ’eard the strains of music when I was comin’ up to ’elp ya.”

  Lady Marchent had requested Amber show herself after the formal introductions of the other guests. While Amber could not say she was not wounded at being asked to come late, she did not mind so much. These last days at Hampton Grove had revealed to her that the company of her family was no longer something she craved.

  The older boys were still away at school, and while William, the youngest, was still in the schoolroom at Hampton Grove, she suspected her mother was purposely keeping him apart from his eldest sister. It would be easier for him to forget about her entirely if they did not renew whatever affection might lie between them.

  Darra had come to Amber’s room the first night of her return. They talked for hours of Darra’s wedding, and Amber had hoped for more time exactly like that, but it was not to be. Beginning the next day, Lady Marchent seemed determined to keep the girls apart and, but for family meals and a few promises of finding time to talk again, Amber had seen little of her sister.

  At least they had resolved the difficulties between them. She would forever be grateful for the chance to be reconciled to her sister again and hoped that once they were removed to their separate futures that connection would continue.

  Amber had seen her father only long enough to repeat the request she’d sent in the letter and receive his assurance that a man was looking for a location she could remove to. She had asked after Constance, and, without meeting her eyes, Lord Marchent had given a brief description of what she already knew—his younger sister became ill toward the end of her second season and was removed from London in hopes of a recovery that sadly never came about. After two years of convalescence, she removed to Yorkshire where she lived her life in isolation. She was not buried in the family plot because of the influenza, not her “other condition.”

  Amber did not accept his explanation, but did not argue with it either. What was the purpose? He was determined to justify his family’s treatment of Constance just as surely as he justified his treatment of his own daughter. He was resolved that he had done the right thing and Amber would be unable to change his mind about it.

  “It was her choice to go to Yorkshire, Amber. No one forced it upon her. She simply realized, as it seems you have, that causing discomfort to the people around her was a great source of her own discomfort. I believe she was quite happy in the cottage, so much that she chose not to come to the funerals of her own parents when they passed. It’s a shame you are not willing to stay there. It would be far simpler for you to return to Yorkshire than to arrange a new location.”

  “I should like a more mild climate,” Amber said, inserting the reason she’d invented to explain herself.

  Since there was no affection between her and her father, she hoped it meant she would not be too disappointed by the loss once she left the family estate again. He was working to secure her independence as a yearly income she could control and hoped to have all things in arrangement by the end of the month. She had chosen simply to be grateful for his assistance rather than hurt at his eagerness to dispose of her.

  With her family so uncomfortable with her presence, and Darra frequently unavailable to talk, Amber had spent the majority of her time walking the grounds of Hampton Grove alone and enjoying the nostalgia of childhood memories. At times, she removed her bonnet and cap when she was assured she was alone. The weather was fine and the sound of birds and wind in the trees was a comfort. It had been many months since she had been outdoors, except for trips to the cottage stable, and she wondered why she had resisted it while she had been at the cottage.

  The cottage.

  Her head was as full of thoughts regarding Yorkshire as it was with thoughts of her current surroundings; she could not be free of them no matter what she did to distract herself. It seemed everything brought her thoughts back to the quaint house and Suzanne, whom she missed terribly.

  Suzanne had not spoken of the letter she’d delivered to Mr. Richards and had not treated Amber any different upon her return from town that day. They had worked and lived side by side until Lady Marchent had arrived to take Amber back to Somerset.

  The night before their parting, Suzanne admitted that Mr. Larsen had declared himself to her the week before. She had not said that without her mistress she had no reason to refuse him any longer, but Amber understood it all the same. Amber wished her dear friend happiness and the next day bid her a tearful good-bye on the cottage steps. Suzanne, who rarely showed emotion, had been crying into her apron when the coach pulled away.

  It was only her mother’s frigid disapproval that dried Amber’s own tears. The woman was only a servant, Lady Marchent had said. Why waste tears on one such as that?

  Knowing that Suzanne would be happy with her blacksmith made it easier for Amber to mitigate her regret at disappointing her. It was not so easy to think of Mr. Richards, however, whose memory brought so much conflict to her heart and mind.

  Amber had tried to read Hamlet upon her arrival at Hampton Grove, but Shakespeare’s words now sounded with his voice in her head. The sound of hoofbeats made her think of him arriving at the cottage, her morning chocolate was the same color as his hair, and her own solitude reminded her of what it felt like to be in his company. She had only known the enjoyment of his presence a handful of hours, and yet every hour without him she felt as though she was missing something. Something she could never have. Something she could never forget.

  Each time the sadness seeped inside her, she tried to think only of that kiss, the feel of his heartbeat beneath her hand, the scruff of his face against her own, the way he smelled of wood smoke and leather and tasted of tea. It was a bittersweet remembrance to be sure, but she hoped that in time the ache in her chest, the question of “what might have been,” would fade and leave only the sweetness behind. She hoped it with her whole battered, bruised, and broken heart.

  “Enough of this,” she said before taking a deep breath and looking at her reflection in the mirror. She must be mindful of the moment at hand—Darra’s wedding ball. The gown and turban drew upon the color of her eyes and complimented her skin, browned from the time she had spent in the Somerset sun. She would look wild to the rest of society but to her mind she had not looked this beautiful for many months. The brows she’d painted on looked very much like her true eyebrows once had, her figure was as well defined—though not so prominently displayed—and she was grateful for the chance to feel as much an equal with the other women here as she could ever hope to.

  Yet her optimism could not protect her entirely from the discomfort she knew awaited her. There would be whispers r
egarding her appearance after so long an absence, a few braver guests would ask after her health, and everyone would comment when she was out of range how changed she was, how she was a shadow of the woman she’d been in London. What a pity. What a shame. Amber knew precisely how they would look at her and talk of her because she had been one of them only a year ago, eager to put herself above someone else, quick to find another’s flaws.

  But perhaps a few generous young men would ask her to dance—how she longed for a dance. Never mind that she would wish it were Mr. Richards’s hands she held through the steps, wish it were Mr. Richards’s arms around her, and wish it were Mr. Richards’s compliments she folded into her heart to pull out and read over on future nights.

  An unexpected memory of her last ball came to mind, but instead of shrinking from it she remembered the man who had given her his coat. She could only assume the coat was still in London, where she had left it in the wardrobe. Remembering him reminded her that there was kindness amid the ton—not everyone was cruel. She would take Suzanne’s counsel and look for those of her society who would not dismiss her for being imperfect. No, she would never be one of ton again and they would never know the extent of her deformity, but perhaps for one night—this night—she could expect better of people. The man with the coat was to be a reminder of the possibility.

  “You shall find joy in this night,” she said to her reflection, lifting her chin in her most regal expression. “Your sister is marrying her prince, and you are allowed to celebrate with her. Every happy memory is that much more light you will take with you. Be glad for it.”

  It was one thing to give herself such direction, but quite another to enter the ballroom and feel the glances turn toward her and hear the whispers rise out of the surprised guests. In that moment she wanted nothing more than to slip back to her room and beg off the evening, but she knew her role and lifted her chin as she made her way to her parents. They welcomed her with a kiss on the cheek and a press of her hands. Only she could see the wariness in their eyes, but it served to raise her determination to be exactly who they wanted her to be tonight. She would give them no reason to regret allowing her to attend. If she played her part well she hoped to be allowed as a guest for the wedding to be held in a few weeks’ time in Suffolk.