by Sophia James
‘Why?’ Surprise at her admission had him frowning.
‘The accident in the carriage that we told you of. I had my head shaved so that the surgeon could drill into my scalp to release the pressure on my brain.’
My God. No simple accident, then, but an operation that could have so easily killed her. He tried to hide his concern and concentrated on the fact that she had survived. ‘What colour is the hair beneath?’
‘Not this shade.’ The lowering sun radiated on her face, altering the plain sallowness of her complexion. ‘It is lighter. And curlier. I did not think it would take this long to grow back, though, so I retrieved this old hairpiece from my mother’s things. Now I regret it. But on saying so I do not wish you to think I am vain, it’s just that....’ She stopped, her teeth worrying her bottom lip and confusion sending her eyes away from his.
Sometimes she looked so unexpectedly beautiful that for the first time since he had met her he allowed himself to imagine something finer between them, his sex swelling with the promise. Amethyst Amelia Cameron was honest to a fault and forthright and direct. She did not simper or lie or pretend. He was so very sick of the deceit of women, that was the trouble. Charlotte Mackay had for ever cured him of liars and his sisters and mother had done the rest with their duplicity and falsities.
He wished they were somewhere else, somewhere quiet and private, some place that he might bring her up against him and reassure her that he did not think she was vain, but the pathways of the park were filling with more riders and the crease on her forehead told him that she was as astonished as he by their candour.
‘We should go back.’
She glanced away from him and nodded, her fingers tense on the leather reins and every nail bitten to the quick. He wondered why she did not wear the riding gloves he could so plainly see tucked into the fold of her belt.
* * *
The dream came again that night of the carriage turning over, the scream of the horses and the cold of the day. Her hand had been caught by her thick woollen glove against a seat that had come loose and she could not free herself and jump to safety as her father had done.
Over and over and over, in the slow motion of fear. She had not lost consciousness when her head slammed against the roof or lapsed into a faint as her wrist had broken. No, she had lain there as the dust settled, the bright stream of blood turning the day to red and listening to the last dying breaths of one of the horses.
Her father had reached her first and by his expression she knew things must have been bad. ‘My broken doll,’ he had whispered, words so unlike his usual diction she had thought she must already be dead.
But the pain came later, as did the fear of heavy gloves, and carriage speed and long-distance travelling. Unreasonable, she knew, but nevertheless there. She had seen Daniel look at her bare hands and wonder.
Her fingers went up to feel her hair. It was finally growing, a good amount of curl now covering the pink baldness of her scalp. She could have almost dispensed with the wig altogether, but it had become a sort of disguise that she liked in the time since she had put it on and now she was loathe to simply do away with it. People did not notice her as they once had. She blended in more, the colour of the hairpiece picking up some tone in her skin that kept her hidden. She could walk amongst a crowd and barely feel a glance.
Her tresses had once been her crowning glory. Gerald Whitely told her that time and time again before she had married him. Afterwards he had barely mentioned it, the long silences between them hurtful and unending.
A light tap on her door had her pulling the neck of her nightgown up.
‘Come in.’
Her father walked forward, the silver cane the only vestige of his fall the other evening, though he leant on it with quite some force.
‘I saw the light under your door.’
‘You could not sleep either?’
He shook his head. ‘You seem out of sorts lately and I keep wondering whether this marriage agreement is the cause of it? Lord Montcliffe is after all quite forceful and if you should wish to nullify—’
‘No, Papa.’ She cut across his words and watched his face light up. ‘I am quite happy with things as they are.’
‘It is just the marriage notice will be in the paper tomorrow and I should imagine after that things might change a little.’
‘Lord Montcliffe said the same this afternoon when we were riding. He asked me to a ball on Saturday evening, a formal occasion with much of society in attendance.’
‘And you agreed?’
‘He made it difficult to refuse.’
Her father sat down on the chair opposite and wiped his brow. ‘I am uncertain of the ways of all this. Perhaps we should employ a chaperone for you, Amethyst, so that we don’t get things wrong.’
‘I do not think it will be necessary, Papa. We will repair to Dunstan House as soon as we are married and then we need not worry at all.’
‘Montcliffe is amenable to that?’
‘He once told us that he would be. Besides, a friend of his, the Earl of Ross, asked if his sister might be able to assist in the preparation for the wedding. Perhaps I could also ask her for a little assistance with the ball as well. It seems she is most creative with these things and I have a few gowns that could be altered to make them more fashionable without too much trouble.’
The smile on her father’s face was bright with relief. He looked happier than he had been in a long while.
‘If we had some notion of how many people would attend your marriage ceremony, that would also be of a help. The contract stated the marriage would take place before the end of July and the weeks will run away if we do not get it all in hand.’
‘It will be a small group, Papa. No more than twenty.’
‘But the Montcliffe family will be there?’
‘I am not sure, Papa. They all seem distant from one another.
‘A shame that, for family is all you have to rely on in the world when it comes down to it.’
‘I am uncertain Lord Montcliffe would agree as he seldom speaks of his.’
‘Well, I shall send them invites, nonetheless, for it is only good manners.’
A sense of dread began to play in Amethyst’s mind. Would the Montcliffes be difficult? Would they accept her? Would they come? Only a few weeks until her wedding and she still had not procured a dress. Tomorrow she would send a note to Lady Christine Howard to see if she might consent to help her.
* * *
‘You are marrying whom?’ His mother’s voice was shrill and disbelieving.
Both his sisters sat very still at the dinner table, their eating utensils poised to listen.
‘Miss Amethyst Amelia Cameron.’
‘And you say her father is a man of trade?’
‘Mr Robert Cameron is a successful timber merchant and is far wealthier than the Montcliffes have any hope of ever being.’
He hated that he should have to qualify his choice of bride in monetary value, but it seemed such an explanation was all Janet Montcliffe understood. She looked furious.
‘Amethyst? What sort of name is that?’
‘Hers.’ Daniel was tired of being careful and polite. His mother’s frown deepened.
‘We will be the laughing stock of the ton.’
‘I doubt that sincerely, Mother.’
‘Do you love her, then?’ This question came from his oldest sister Gwen, the sort of light shining in her eyes that could only belong to a naive and unworldly girl.
‘Of course he does not.’ His mother answered for him. ‘The interloper has simply tipped her cap at the title and managed to do what a hundred well-brought-up daughters of society have not been able to. She has brought your brother to heel and he will regret it, mark my words. You are marrying well beneath your stat
ion in life, Daniel, but any remorse afterwards will be useless. You will be tied to the upstart for life.’
‘I am taking it that you will not be attending the wedding ceremony then, Mother?’
‘None of us will be. I could not bear to look on Miss Amethyst Cameron’s face and see the gleam of victory within it. The girls should not be allowed anywhere near such...tradespeople either.’ She almost spat the word out. ‘As for your grandfather, he is sick and hasn’t the energy for all this nonsense so you are alone in your foolish choice of bride. I had such high hopes for you, too.’
Daniel stood as the resulting silence lengthened. ‘Then I shall bid you goodnight.’
With that he simply walked to the door and left.
* * *
He found himself lingering in the confines of Grosvenor Square. The Cameron house was dark save for a light on the second floor where the curtains had been drawn. The shadow of a woman caught in candlelight moved in a way that made him frown. His wife-to-be was dancing alone in her room and the outline showed no sign of the shape of her wig. A waltz, he determined by the beat of steps she took, a practice of the dance of love.
The tension he felt began to lessen and lighting a cheroot he leant back and watched. Janet Montcliffe and her bitterness had been a constant in his life, the anger and the rancour almost normal.
Amethyst Cameron, unlike his mother, was a logical and reasonable woman and one who held to the tenet of wording differences of opinion in a sane and sensible way. She did not whine or moan or berate. He liked her smile and her dimples and the low timbre of her voice. Her clothes might be shapeless and ill-formed but when the wind had caught her riding attire and pressed the material against her body he saw that there was a surprisingly shapely form beneath. He was intrigued by the description of her hair. Light and curly. Velvet-brown eyes would complement such a shade admirably.
After the scene at the dinner table tonight he wished he was anywhere but in London town. A different life was one he had been dreaming of for quite a while now. He smiled as the shadow drifted closer to the window and hoped she might pull the curtain back to look down and see him.
He liked talking to her. He liked her blushes and the quiet way she had dealt with the snobbery of Lady Charlotte Mackay. He liked her father.
Breathing out heavily, he wondered what all this meant.
He had always felt homeless, but Amethyst Cameron had had the effect of anchoring him. His father had been a man who was melancholic and weak and as his bitterness grew he had sworn that no offspring from his unhappy marriage would ever see a penny of the family money. An unhappy coupling that had brought out the worst in both of them, Daniel suddenly reasoned, and the thought made him drop his cigar beneath his boot and stomp out the embers. Nigel and he had been caught in the crossfire of their parents’ shortcomings. The spending of great sums of money and long holidays apart had dammed up the resentments for a while, but even that had not altered their basic dislike of each other. When his father had fallen from his horse after a long drinking binge his mother had buried him with a smile on her face.
Daniel did not look back as he strode into Upper Brook Street and hailed a passing cabriolet.
Chapter Six
‘No, this is a far better colour on you, Amethyst. See how the gold brings out the shade in your eyes.’ Lady Christine Howard smiled as she wound a darker gold band about the neckline. ‘With just a bit of manoeuvring we can lower the bodice and attach it. If I fashion it carefully, it will fold like this to show off your curves.’
Lord Ross’s sister was like a small whirlwind, her clever fingers pushing the fabric into a shape that was indeed flattering.
‘You do not think it a little daring?’
‘Absolutely not. Compared to some of the other gowns on display you will look like a novice newly released from a French convent.’ Christine laughed loudly and Amethyst joined in. Nowhere at all lingered the depression or sadness that her brother had spoken of, though the large ruby ring she wore on her marriage finger alluded to a lost betrothed.
‘The trick of it is to believe you are the most beautiful woman in the room and act like it.’
Amethyst’s face fell. Such a thing sounded impossibly difficult.
‘Your hair will need to be done differently, of course, to have any hope of pulling it off. The wig must go.’
‘You knew I wore one?’
‘Does not everybody? You could look so much prettier than you do now with it gone and I love the art of dressing hair.’
Like a shop dress form, Amethyst was pulled this way and that and the strangest thing of it all was that she was beginning to actually enjoy the unfamiliar pampering and the rapid conversation.
‘Your husband-to-be has most of the women of the ton panting after him and why would he not, for he is beautiful.’
‘Too beautiful for me.’
The words were out before she realised she had said them, but Christine appeared completely unfazed.
‘You hide what you have, that is the trouble, but it is time to come out from the shadows. More importantly you have a fortune and is that not what all of the men of the ton need these days? I know Lucien does. It is a great pity you do not have a sister for then he could marry her and we would be related and no longer poor. I do hate how money, or rather the lack of it, defines one.’
‘In my circle of acquaintances it doesn’t, really.’
‘That is why you are such a refreshing find, Amethyst, and why I like being here to help you.’
Christine reached into the case she had brought with her for another piece of fabric, this time the lightest shade of red and held it to Amy’s face. ‘Next time you buy a gown, choose this shade. See how it suits your skin? What colour is your real hair, by the way, or do you have none?’
Because there was no artifice or malice in the question Amy undid the pins and lifted the dull brown wig away, fluffing out her curls beneath.
‘There was a carriage accident,’ she explained as Christine stood in silence. ‘It has only just begun to grow back properly again.’
‘I did not expect you to be so blonde,’ the other woman finally said. ‘Has Montcliffe seen you without your wig?’
‘No.’
The resulting laughter worried her. ‘Then we will be able to greatly surprise him come Saturday and I for one cannot wait to see the look on Lady Charlotte Mackay’s face when she understands what she is up against.’
‘I have met her already.’
‘Where?’
‘In the park riding the other day. She barely talked to me.’
‘That is because she is formidable and scary and so are all her friends. So be warned, while she is undeniably beautiful, she also finds people’s weaknesses and uses them to her full advantage. Word has it she wants Lord Montcliffe back and will do anything to achieve her goal, so don’t be fooled. Beneath her pale and refined appearance lies a character of pure steel.’
‘She would not have been pleased to see our marriage notice in the paper, then?’
‘Indeed. It is a wonder Lady Mackay has not been around here already saying all that she imagines you would want to hear whilst searching around for the secrets that you don’t want revealed.’
Gerald Whitely.
The thought struck Amethyst with a blinding ferocity. How easy would it be for her to find out about him? A cloud of worry descended, though when Christine brought forth a folded cloth threaded with glass-headed pins, she decided not to think about her many problems.
Gerald belonged in the past and that is where she wished for him to stay. Nobody in the ton had the slightest idea of who the Camerons were and where they had come from. She would tell Daniel, of course, about her first husband and a few of her reasons for being most grateful when he had died, but that was all.
Perhaps she could have a conversation with him about it all at the ball on Saturday. If she asked the Earl to take her home afterwards that might give her a moment of privacy to try to make him understand the nature of her past.
When Christine indicated that she had finished attaching the band of cloth to her gown Amy turned to the mirror and was astonished. The gold in the silken cloth brought out the colour in her eyes and her hair and made her complexion appear almost flawless.
‘I cannot believe that this is me.’
‘It will be even better on Saturday,’ her new friend returned, ‘because I will put your hair up like this and fashion it with flowers.’
Clever fingers arranged the curls in a way that gave the impression of far more hair than she had and Amethyst smiled.
‘See,’ Christine exclaimed. ‘With a simple smile everything comes together in exactly the way that it should.’
* * *
On the evening of the Herringworth ball Daniel Wylde and Lucien Howard waited in the salon downstairs with Robert Cameron.
‘My daughter will be down presently. Your sister, Lord Ross, is helping her to dress as we speak and I have been banned from going anywhere near the upstairs bed chambers.’
Looking at a clock on the opposite wall, Daniel nodded. It was still considered early in society terms and so they had all the time in the world to wait. Besides the brandy that Robert had plied them with upon their arrival was both smooth and rich.
He wondered as he took the first sip whether he should have asked his sister Gwen to help Christine with Amethyst’s preparation for the ball, but dismissed the thought as most unworkable. Perhaps after the wedding he could make certain that both Gwen and Caroline spent more time with them at either Montcliffe Manor or Dunstan House in the hope that his mother’s influence over the young girls might lessen. He envied Lucien for the smooth ease of the Howard family dynamics, in spite of Lucien’s contrary grandfather.
‘I have not known Amethyst to take quite this much trouble with her appearance before.’ Robert Cameron was peering at the clock.
