by Anna Bradley
Lachlan didn’t deign to explain himself, but rose to his feet and approached Isla, his eyes narrowing on the blue gown. “This isn’t the gown you intend to wear to Lady Bagshot’s ball, is it?”
“I’d thought to, yes. Why, don’t you like it?”
Lachlan’s gaze shifted to Hyacinth, who was standing behind Isla, then back to his sister. “Not for you, no.”
Isla ran a reverent hand over the skirt of the sky blue gown. “Well, it’s up to Lady Chase and Hyacinth, not me.”
“What’s wrong with the white one? It’ll do—” Lachlan began.
“Of course you should have it.” Hyacinth was aware of Lachlan’s gaze fixed on her, and she forced a smile, ignoring the pang in her chest at the thought of losing the blue gown. “You look lovely in it. Doesn’t she, Grandmother?”
Lady Chase’s eyes were misty. “Do you recall your final fitting for this gown, Hyacinth? I do. You reminded me so much of your mother that day. She used to wear that shade of blue. Well, well, Miss Ramsey must have it, of course. Such a lovely gown must be worn, mustn’t it? I don’t mind saying I did long to see you dance in it, Hyacinth, but there, never mind my sentimental ramblings.”
Hyacinth turned hastily away to hide the sudden tears pricking her eyes.
It’s just a gown. It doesn’t matter.
But the whisper she’d been trying to silence ever since she’d agreed to go to Brighton insisted she hadn’t just given up a gown.
She’d given up her season. Perhaps her future.
“There will be other gowns,” Hyacinth murmured, though she wasn’t certain if she meant to reassure her grandmother, or herself. “Can you alter it to fit Miss Ramsey in time for Lady Bagshot’s ball, Madame Bell?”
That poor lady was still trying to recover from Ciaran’s slur about the lace caps, but she rose from her chair, drew herself up with as much dignity as she could muster, and nodded to Lady Chase. “Because Madame is such a valued client, I will forget the grievous insult dealt me today. Send the gown to my shop in Bond Street, and it will be done.” She snapped a finger at the footman, who’d been stationed by the door. “See my carriage is fetched at once. Come, Eliza.”
“And you, Mr. Ciaran Ramsey.” Lady Chase pointed the tip of her cane at Ciaran. “You will escort Madame Bell to her carriage, and beg her pardon for your unspeakable rudeness today. Lace caps, indeed.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Ciaran offered Lady Chase a meek bow. “I can’t imagine why you should all be in such a fuss over Mrs. McGurty, but I can safely promise you, Isla, never to attend another dress fitting as long as I live. I’ll save my energies for ladies without gowns.” Ciaran frowned. “That’s not quite what I meant to say, but it’s, ah…something like that.”
Isla groaned. “For pity’s sake, Ciaran, will you hush?”
Hyacinth, who thought it wise to separate Ciaran and Madame Bell as soon as possible, gathered up the measuring tapes and pins still scattered across the floor, handed them to Madame Bell’s assistant, then followed them all down the hallway and saw them safely turned over to Lady Chase’s butler, Eddesley.
When she returned to the parlor, she found Isla Ramsey wringing her hands, her face flushed with embarrassment. “I beg your pardon, Hyacinth. Ciaran is…well, he nearly killed your modiste, didn’t he? I’m not sure how one begs pardon for that.”
“No, me either.” But Hyacinth couldn’t quite resist the smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Ciaran Ramsey was an awful tease, but there was no denying he was entertaining. “Oh, never mind, Isla. Gentlemen are notoriously ill behaved at dress fittings. Perhaps next time we’ll make Ciaran hold the pins, and stick him with one every time he misbehaves.”
Isla laughed. “He’d be bled into a swoon before midafternoon.”
“Lady Chase.” Lachlan had been standing with his back to the company, looking out a window, but now he turned and bowed to Lady Chase. “I see there are a series of pathways off the terrace that wind around behind those hedges. It’s a dry day, and warm enough. May Ciaran and I escort you for a walk while Miss Somerset takes Isla upstairs to change? The ladies can join us when they’re ready.”
“Yes, all right.” Lady Chase pushed the ottoman aside with her cane and got to her feet. “Miss Ramsey, please do join us when you’re ready, but Hyacinth, you look weary, dear.” Lady Chase tutted, and patted Hyacinth’s cheek. “A short rest will put some roses back in your cheeks.”
Hyacinth thought she heard Lachlan Ramsey make a soft, impatient sound, but when she risked a glance at him, his face was expressionless.
“Mr. Ramsey.” She curtsied to him, and then to Ciaran, who’d wandered back into the drawing room, looking rather chastened. “And Mr. Ciaran. Thank you for your…lively company this afternoon. Grandmother, I’ll come to you after I’ve rested.”
Hyacinth’s maid, Jenny, accompanied them upstairs to help Isla out of the blue gown without upsetting the pins. Isla was quiet as Jenny laced her back into her own gown. Isla’s face was thoughtful, and once she was tucked back into her day dress, she took Hyacinth’s hand in hers. “Forgive me, but I must ask. Are you certain you wish to give up the blue gown? You looked at it so wistfully while it was being pinned.”
They both turned to look at the blue gown, which Jenny had laid carefully over Hyacinth’s bed, along with a few dinner gowns, and another cream-colored ball gown Isla had chosen. Hyacinth’s chest swelled with another pang of regret, but she shook her head as she turned back to Isla. “That gown was made to be worn, and for the lady who wears it to be admired. It was made to be danced in.”
“Yes, it was. By you, Hyacinth, not me. Any one of your other ball gowns would do for me, but that one…well. It’s yours, isn’t it?”
“Not anymore. If you don’t wear it, Isla, it will only go to waste.”
“It doesn’t have to. Wear it yourself, Hyacinth. Come to Lady Bagshot’s ball with me, and dance in it.”
Hyacinth didn’t answer, because how could she explain to a lady like Isla—a lady confident enough to hold her own with her two giant brothers, a lady brave enough to face down the ton after a scandal—that even if she did wear the gown to Lady Bagshot’s ball, she wouldn’t dance in it. No, she’d hide behind a column, or cower in the ladies’ retiring room.
After a moment, Isla squeezed her hand. “Just think about it, won’t you?”
She didn’t wait for an answer, but went out the door, closing it quietly behind her. Once she was gone, Hyacinth turned back to the bed to find Jenny was collecting the gowns Isla had chosen, to take them downstairs.
The maid took up the sky blue gown, draped it over her arm, and—
“Leave the blue, Jenny.”
Hyacinth covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes wide. The words had rushed from her lips before she realized she was going to say them. “No, I mean, of course you should take it—”
“No, no. I can’t carry them all at once, miss. I’ll just come back for it later, shall I?” Jenny smiled, then hurried out the door before Hyacinth could argue, leaving the blue gown spread out across the bed.
Hyacinth stared at it for a long moment, then reached out and ran one finger down the gleaming silk folds of the skirt. It felt like a dream under her fingertip, as if the strains of a waltz had been woven into the fabric.
But then it was a dream, wasn’t it? That was all a gown like this could ever be to her.
Hyacinth dragged the back of her hand across her eyes. Such foolishness, to fuss over a gown she’d never wear, and really, it wasn’t so very special, was it? It was a blue silk ball gown, nothing more. Just one of at least five such gowns in her closet.
But even as she lectured herself for her selfishness, Hyacinth caught up the gown and crossed to the mirror. She wouldn’t put it on, of course—she didn’t fancy being stuck with dozens of pins—but if she just held it up in front of her, perhaps tha
t would ease the longing ache in her chest. Then she’d see at once it wasn’t as special as she imagined it was, or meant for her alone to wear—
“You’re not giving that gown to my sister.”
For an instant Hyacinth froze, her eyes closing as the low, deep voice stroked across her nerve endings, but then she whirled around, and her heart leapt from her chest.
Lachlan Ramsey was standing in the doorway.
On the inside of her bedchamber.
“My goodness! Mr. Ramsey, what are you…this is my bedchamber! You can’t be in here with me.” She stared at him, aghast. “You can’t be in here without me, either! You just…you can’t be in here at all!”
Hyacinth was so shocked she hardly knew what she said, but Lachlan Ramsey eyed her calmly, and then, as cool as you please, he closed the door behind him, crossed the room, and took the gown out of her hands.
The slippery material slid through her nerveless fingers. “How did you know where my bedchamber was?” There were at least a dozen things—of far greater importance—she should have asked. For some reason, this question rose to her lips.
“I followed you upstairs, waited around the corner until your maid left the room, and now here I am. Nothing so remarkable in it.”
Hyacinth felt her eyes go so wide she was afraid they were about to fall out of her head. He said it so casually, as if he made a habit of sneaking about hallways and following young ladies into their bedchambers.
Then again, perhaps he did.
“But my grandmother! She’ll have seen you!” If Lady Chase should find Lachlan Ramsey in her bedchamber—dear God, either it would put a period to that dear lady’s existence, or else Hyacinth would find herself wed to the man within a fortnight.
“You cannot be in my bedchamber, Mr. Ramsey! You must leave, at once.” Without thinking, she hurried across the room, braced her hands against his chest, and tried to shove him toward the door.
He didn’t move a single inch. Hyacinth planted her feet on the floor and shoved harder, putting all her strength behind it, but it was no use. She’d have more success trying to knock over a stone wall.
He sighed, as if she were making a great fuss over nothing. “Your grandmother is in the garden with Ciaran and Isla. I told her I wanted a look into the library, and so they went on without me. We don’t have long, however, so let me make myself understood. You will not give this gown to Isla. I forbid it.”
He forbid it? He forbid it!
Why, it was no wonder Isla knew how to deal out a stinging slap when the situation demanded it. With her brothers, she’d had no choice but to learn to assert herself.
“You forbid it? You haven’t any right to forbid me anything, Mr. Ramsey.”
Hyacinth wasn’t sure what response she’d expected, but it wasn’t the twitch of his lips, or the ghost of a grin that followed it.
“What’s wrong, Miss Somerset? Are you overwrought?”
She threw her hands in the air. “You lied to my grandmother, followed my maid up the stairs, sneaked into my bedchamber, and snatched my gown away from me. Yes, Mr. Ramsey. I think it’s fair to say I’m overwrought.”
“I thought you might be. But it’s curious. Didn’t you say your grandmother and sisters worry for your health when you become overwrought? Because you look very well at the moment.” His gaze roamed over her face, lingering on her eyes and mouth. “Sparkling eyes, pink cheeks…perhaps you should become overwrought more often.”
Hyacinth gaped at him. Well. She hadn’t the faintest idea what to say to that.
He didn’t seem to expect her to say anything, because he shifted his attention back to the gown. “I agree with Ciaran about the white scraps.” He shook it a bit, as if he could force it to explain itself. “But no matter. Choose another gown for Isla. You said yourself you have dozens of them.”
“But why? We went through my ball gowns already, Mr. Ramsey, and your sister chose this one.” By this point, Hyacinth was truly baffled. “Why shouldn’t she have it?”
He gazed down at her, his expression unreadable. “Because it’s yours.”
“Strictly speaking, they’re all mine.”
“No. Not like this one.”
“This one’s no different than any of the others.” She tried not to sneak a last look at the gown, but it was no use. Her eyes darted toward it, and her heart sank in her chest.
He noticed, and his eyes narrowed to dark green slits. “Yes, it is. You care about this one.”
Hyacinth fell back a step, closing her hands into fists to stop their sudden trembling. He’d been watching her all afternoon—every time she turned around she found his gaze on her, studying her, assessing every fleeting expression on her face.
He’d seen her.
All she had to do was glance at his face, into his eyes, and she knew he’d seen it all. The yearning she kept hidden. The regret and the disappointment. Not at losing the gown, but the disappointment in herself. How had it happened, that he should be the one to strip away all her protective layers? It made her feel…
Exposed.
Panic curled in her stomach, and as any frightened animal would, she lashed out. “This is absurd. I gave that gown to your sister, and I don’t intend to take it back now.”
“I’ll explain it to Isla. She’ll understand.”
Hyacinth knew very well Isla already understood, but she stubbornly held her tongue. “There’s no time to do another fitting before Lady Bagshot’s ball, so…Mr. Ramsey! Stop that!”
He’d laid the gown over his arm, and now he was pulling all the pins out, one by one.
“No!” She leapt forward to snatch the gown away from him, but of course, it was no use. She might as well have tried tackling a tree. He easily held it out of her reach. Once he’d pulled every pin free, he reached around her and placed them carefully on her dressing-table, then draped the blue gown over the chair.
“It looks as if we’ll have to make time for another fitting. Another gown, Miss Somerset?”
Hyacinth gazed at the blue gown for a moment, then turned to look up at him. He stared calmly back at her, his face composed. Someone who didn’t know him might even think he was bored, but she’d seen that determined glint in his eyes before—yesterday, when he’d told her Isla needed her, and asked her to help his sister.
He promised he’d take care of her.
But she didn’t want to think of all the ways she was disappointing Isla, and disappointing herself. She’d already packed her trunks for Brighton, and they would leave the day after tomorrow. It was too late to change her mind.
Now, all she wanted was to be done—with talk of her season, with these blasted ball gowns, and with Lachlan Ramsey. The easiest way to rid herself of him was to give him what he wanted. She could argue with the man for the rest of the afternoon, but it wouldn’t do a bit of good, and in the meantime, her grandmother would be wondering where he was.
She crossed the room to her closet and began snatching down ball gowns. “Isla likes this pale yellow one, and I thought this ice pink looked very well on her.” She tried to hand the gowns to him, but to her surprise, he was staring at the array of gowns with a frown.
“Why are they all so pale? Don’t English ladies like bold colors?”
Hyacinth sighed. She was partial to bright colors, but even if they were proper, she still wouldn’t have worn them. A lady couldn’t disappear behind a white marble column if she were wearing a bright green gown. “Bold colors aren’t proper for young ladies just coming out.”
Lachlan grunted. “What about this one? It’s bold enough.” He pulled out a gown of a deep violet color, and held it up for Hyacinth to see.
“Oh, I forgot about that gown.” Hyacinth caught a fold of the bright silk between her fingers. It was a glorious gown, but between the color and the low-cut bodice, it was far too daring for an u
nmarried young lady. “It belongs to Iris. She intended to wear it this season—it’s proper for a married lady to wear such a color—but now she’s, ah, enceinte, it no longer fits her. She knew I admired it, so she left it with me. Silly of her, since I’ll never wear it.”
He assessed the gown, his gaze lingering on the low-cut neckline, then he glanced at her. “Pity. It would suit you.”
Something about his expression and the husky pitch of his voice made Hyacinth’s face and chest explode with heat. She stared up at him, her heart beating a wild tattoo against her breastbone.
“I’ll take the yellow,” he murmured, holding her gaze.
“The, ah…what?”
A small smile quirked his lips. “The yellow gown, Miss Somerset. For my sister. I’ll take her to Madame Bell’s shop tomorrow and have it fitted.”
“Oh, y-yes. Of course, the yellow gown.” She handed it to him, then turned and hurried from the closet to hide her flushed cheeks.
He tucked the yellow gown under his arm, then offered her a polite bow, which seemed a bit absurd to Hyacinth, given they’d spent a scandalous twenty minutes alone in her bedchamber.
“I beg your pardon for disturbing you this afternoon, Miss Somerset.”
“Why did you?”
He’d turned to leave, but now he paused, and turned back to her. “Why did I what?”
“Disturb me.” She waved a hand toward the sky blue gown hanging over the dressing-table chair. “Why should you care which gown I give away? Why go to all this bother?”
He looked at her for a long moment, then he put the yellow gown aside on the bed, approached her, and held out his hand.
For reasons Hyacinth couldn’t explain, she took it, and let him lead her to her dressing-table. He took her shoulders in his hands and positioned her in front of the mirror, then moved behind her. The edges of his coat brushed her back and the rasp of his breath stirred the loose tendrils of hair against her neck.
Her gaze met his in the mirror. His eyes had darkened to a deep brown-green, and a hint of softness, rare for him, played about his lips. He took up the blue gown, held it up in front of her, and then leaned down, his lips nearly touching her ear.