by Sophia James
Gone was the dull brown lustreless wig, replaced by light blonde curls tucked up into a band of small yellow roses, the honey, straw and gold of her tresses making her dark eyes and eyebrows stand out in a way they had not before. In the light of the candles her skin looked transparent, the previously sallow tone of her skin transformed now into almost alabaster.
Daniel found himself on his feet, speechless at the transformation. Her golden gown clung, too, displaying the curves only hinted at in the shapeless clothes she normally favoured. She filled out the bodice of her dress admirably though her waist was tiny. When she saw where he looked she began to speak immediately.
‘Christine assures me that this neckline is most tasteful and not at all racy and that other women wear far more revealing outfits.’ Her fingers tugged at the darker shade of material that swathed the bodice. Gloves, the lightest of gossamer lace, barely covered the glow of her skin.
‘You look...different.’ He hardly recognised his own voice as the dimples marking her cheeks deepened, her bones elegant and sculpted in the light. Her lips were painted with a quiet pink and it emphasised the fullness of them. He could barely breathe properly with the transformation.
Palms open, she gestured to the dress. ‘This is the result of hours and hours of work on Christine’s behalf, I am afraid, my lord. Tomorrow I shall be just as I was.’
But for Daniel time seemed to stand still, caught in astonishment and trepidation. Before Amethyst Cameron might have been largely invisible in a society ballroom, but now...now the knives could be out and sharper than they might otherwise have been.
When he glanced across he could see the same sort of astonishment on Lucien’s face that must have been evident upon his own. Christine simply looked as though she might laugh out loud.
God, he wished they did not have to go out at all, society and its expectations bearing down upon them with all its infatuation with beauty and grace. Her father was watching him too, eyes keen and his smile broad, giving Daniel the impression that he had known all along how truly lovely his daughter was.
‘I think we should ask Lady Christine to help again in the preparation for the wedding day, my dear. You have not looked so pretty in an age and I want a full report tomorrow on all the happenings at the ball,’ Robert said.
Only pretty? Daniel swallowed the words back and looked over at Lucien. There was a definite challenge in his green eyes.
‘I am more than certain tonight shall prove a most interesting experience, Mr Cameron.’ Lucien’s drawl was slow and languid.
* * *
‘Lord Montcliffe, Miss Amethyst Cameron, Lord Ross and Lady Christine Howard.’
As their names rang out across the ballroom the conversations filling the generous space quietened and heads turned their way.
This was exactly what Amethyst had been dreading, this exposure coupled with a public knowledge that she was from the lowly echelons of trade. She held in her breath and wondered if she might ever release it.
‘I always pretend there is a field of grass before me at this moment,’ Christine trilled, ‘and that the colourful gowns are flowers. And I never look anyone in the eye.’
Despite her trepidation Amethyst smiled and the awful horror of being so very visible faded into something she was more able to cope with. Daniel did not look even vaguely nonplussed by all the attention. Rather he seemed almost bored, an Earl who had graced countless ballrooms and endless society functions just like this.
His world, Amethyst thought. His heritage. Today he wore a large ring on the first finger of his left hand. She had not noticed him sport any jewellery before and this one was substantial— the crest impaled with a lion in red on one half and a series of white crosses in gold on the other. The family badges of a noble birth passed down from father to son. Just another small token of an exalted lineage and a further example of how unsuitably matched they were.
She had decided in the end not to wear any jewellery at all, letting the golden gown speak for itself with its intricate folds and detailing, but in this room with all the glamour of the ton she wondered if such lack was a mistake. Here, she felt out of place, the lessons from Gaskell Street leaving her totally unprepared for such opulence. She wanted to take Daniel’s hand and hold it close, an anchor in a world that was foreign and a man who could easily overcome any difficulties. But she did not, of course, for he had moved away slightly, making no attempt to claim her.
As they came to the group of people standing at the bottom of the steps she smiled politely and waited for Daniel to speak.
‘When did you get back, Francis?’ he asked one of the men.
‘This afternoon.’
‘And your cousin?’
‘Was long gone and had left no word of her return.’ His eyes flicked towards Amethyst, the startling depths of hazel guarded and questioning. ‘The ton is abuzz with your news, Montcliffe. Rather hasty, I might add, given that when I saw you last week you made no mention of a would-be wife.’
Lucien laughed. ‘The call of rich and beautiful is a strong one, Francis, as I am sure you must appreciate. Were you not on exactly the same mission in Bath?’
The words were both familiar and strange to Amethyst. Lord Ross could hardly think her beautiful, but she was rich. And was this Francis trying to find his own wealthy intended?
Of a sudden the hazel eyes of the stranger softened and he bowed his head towards her.
A mark of war lashed the newcomer’s left cheek in one cruel and unbroken line, leaving her to wonder at the pain that such a wound must have inflicted. If he noticed her looking, he made no reaction to show that he cared.
‘We were all at school together and followed each other to the battlefields,’ Daniel explained. ‘Overfamiliarity sometimes breeds a contempt of manners, but I am certain my friend will remember his soon.’
This time a true smile creased the ruined face. ‘I beg your pardon for my rudeness, Miss Cameron. My name is Lord Francis St Cartmail, Earl of Douglas, and I am more than interested to know if you have sisters?’
‘I have already explored that avenue, Francis,’ Christine quickly informed him. ‘For my brother, you understand. But sadly she is an only child.’
‘Then we still have to find our own fortunes, Luce.’
Laughter ensued, mirth that was neither embarrassed nor apologetic. The sort of laughter that told Amethyst these were friends who were in it for the long haul, thick or thin, good or bad. And it seemed that each warrior before her was also facing financial ruin.
The war, she wondered, or the war wounds? It cannot have been easy for them to come back into the glittering perfection of the ton from the hell of a Peninsular Campaign. Who would understand what they had been through and what they had seen, save for those who had returned with them. Forging bonds, closing the ranks. There was an ease in shared sorrow.
Compared to these three, the other men here looked effeminate and affected. She also saw the interest of many of the ladies in the assembly stray in their direction, some glances hopeful and shy whilst others were more bold and direct. When Daniel’s arm unexpectedly touched hers she looked down, his large fingers encased in a glove, the fabric of his jacket contrasting against her shimmering gown. A connection, amidst all the movement and chatter, the spark of a vibrating energy running into her fingers. Almost burning.
He must have felt it too because he pulled away, the contact lost, but not before she saw shock in his eyes.
A waltz began to be played by a string quartet stationed at the head of the room. A Viennese waltz played quickly. She had danced to this in her room in Mayfair as a practice. Back-two-three. Back-two-three. Her heart raced even faster when Daniel turned and asked her to dance.
* * *
Daniel found it difficult to know exactly what to make of Miss Amethyst Cameron as she came into his arms, her wheat-gold curls piled beneath yellow rosebuds and the gown of a darker hue sending the shade of her eyes to a burnished velvet.
&nbs
p; She did not look as if she belonged here amidst the ton and the ballroom and the vacuous pursuits of those with little else save social soirées to occupy their time. She was so much more than that—an interloper who would bide here for a while just to watch it all.
It was the strength in her that made the others look weaker, he decided, for women who needed men to survive had a certain brittle incompetence that was shown up by Amethyst’s independence. His arms tightened about her.
‘Thank you for coming.’
‘You thought I might not?’
He smiled and led her into the dance. ‘I watched you practising the waltz the other night from the street. Your shadow had fallen against the curtain.’
Her breath stilled, puzzlement making her pull back a little. ‘Why were you there?’
‘I was walking. I walk sometimes when I cannot sleep and when the sense of life is questionable. My wanderings brought me to Grosvenor Square.’
‘Then, given our unusual marriage contract, you must have found yourself exercising a lot of late, my lord. I might add that practice does not make one perfect so I hope my lack of prowess as a dancer doesn’t disappoint you.’
The imbalance was back, clawing into reason, her eyes full of laughter tonight and as close as they had been when he’d kissed her. He wanted to again. God, how he wanted to.
‘This marriage is not all about the money, Miss Cameron. Your father’s offer was unexpected and generous, but...’ He stopped and looked away.
‘You did not have to take it?’
Shaking his head, he brought her closer, but wrapped together in the arms of a crowded room there was so little space to be honest.
He liked the way she smelt and felt, he liked how her head fitted just beneath his chin and how the warmth of her skin came through the gossamer lace of her gloves.
Perfect.
Hell, he was turning into a man he did not recognise, the soldier in him submerged beneath another force. He could feel her breath against his throat, too, and the small intimacy held him in thrall.
‘Your hair looks nice.’ He could have phrased it better, he supposed, could have talked of the colour or the curl or the way it matched her skin, could have used the flowery words that women were supposed to like. But she answered before he could dredge up more.
‘Christine hid the shortness in the flowers.’ Her eyes met his own. ‘It must be exhausting to be a constant part of an assembly such as this, my lord? So much attention upon us and so much expectation.’
‘It hasn’t always been so. In the army I was largely free of it. My older brother was the one in the public eye and I left him to it.’
‘When did he die?’
‘Almost eighteen months ago now in an accident whilst out hunting at Montcliffe.’
‘Perhaps he was not as happy as you thought him to be, for the dubious habits of gambling and fast living don’t point to a man at peace with himself.’
Daniel hoped his laughter did not sound too unkind. ‘The duty of an Earldom rules out many of those personal luxuries. He was supposed to be protecting the Montcliffe name, not gambling it away to anyone who would meet him at the card table. When he lost, Montcliff Manor lost as well.’
‘It was sold?’
‘No, I have largely closed the place up for now. Most of the servants were given their notice, but I have kept on a very small staff.’ He had hated taking livelihoods away from people who had worked at Montcliffe Manor for years and whose great-great-grandfathers and grandmothers had toiled at the same job in other centuries.
‘Your brother wasn’t a champion of family heritage, then. My father has tried to inject tradition at Dunstan House even though the history is not our own.’
‘What’s it like?’
‘Beautiful. It is made of honey-coloured stone and sits behind a lake. My father wrote a poem about it when we first went there and I had it framed.’
‘Only one?’
She laughed. ‘He never took to the pen again in such a descriptive way. “The rooks swarming and the swallows skimming and the oak trees reflecting in the lake.” My mother would have loved it.’
‘But she had died by then?’
‘Yes. When I was eight.’
‘So it was always just the two of you?’
‘It was. Just us, and that is why Papa...’ She stopped, a line of worry etched into her brow.
‘Why he is so important to you? Why you wish for him to be happy?’
* * *
The music swirled about them, the notes of the violinists to one end of the room plaintive. Amethyst had never heard such music played before, but everything about tonight had been like a dream and Daniel’s hand across her gossamer-silk gloves made her feel different.
Even with his injured leg he danced well, the quiet push of his body against hers as he led her around the floor. If his brother Nigel had been weak and fickle, Daniel was strong and solid and good, a man who would protect his family with all that he had, a soldier who had fought for crown and country and had spilled his blood in doing so. A husband as unlike Gerald in every way that it was possible to be.
The thought made the breath in her throat shallow. Here in the midst of society in the bosom of a group who could so easily revile her, she felt safe and protected in Daniel’s arms. But she needed to tell him of her first marriage before much longer, needed to make him understand that such a mistake sometimes left you floundering for the right words and the proper explanations. A further reflection made her stiffen. Gerald’s business deals had taken him into the world of the ton. Perhaps some here had even met him. The room felt suddenly warm.
‘Your friend Lucien mentioned that you once bred horses?’ she asked, trying to push her anxiety aside for now.
‘I did indeed, at Montcliffe, before I sold most of them and bought a commission into the army. Deimos was the only one left of that line.’
‘You will like the stable at Dunstan House, then. Papa has not held back in buying the best of livestock, although lately he has lost interest in the project because of his health. The Arabian greys were a part of his big plan.’
‘Yet he looked more robust tonight.’
The sentiment made her smile. ‘I think it is your influence, my lord, and I thank you for it.’
His fingers tightened on her own. ‘I need to find you a ring. Is there any stone you might favour?’
She shook her head. ‘I seldom wear jewellery.’
‘There was a large diamond ring at the bottom of the bag you left at my town house. When I lifted it the contents fell out.’
Gerald’s ring. The one he had given her when he had pledged eternal love and loyalty in the chapel at Gaskell Street. He had won it at cards, she was to find out later, from a man who had stolen it from his sister in order to stay at the tables. A symbol as broken as its promise. She had forgotten she had even thrown it into her cloth bag where it had lain forgotten until the night Daniel had kissed her.
‘I dislike diamonds.’ She tried to keep the anger from her voice.
‘Then you must be the only woman in the entire room who does.’
‘And I prefer my hands bare of any adornment.’
So nothing can catch. So that the gloves she wore in public could easily slip off at the end of an event.
‘Because of the scars on your wrist?’
He had noticed? She thought that even through the sheer silk and lace they had been hidden. The skin above muscle torn away from bone was healed now, but there were other scars that would never mend.
Missing a step, she fell against Montcliffe, his strength gathering her in and holding her steady.
‘Everyone harbours secrets, Amethyst.’
She liked the way he said her Christian name, with that precise accent of privilege. She also liked the way his breath fell against her scalp, the soft whisper of her freed curls so different from the heavy cloying feeling of the wig.
She noticed others watching them, some covertly and others
more directly. If she could, she would have closed her eyes and only felt Daniel’s arms about her, the steady beat of his heart, the smell of strength and maleness and honour. She wished her father might have been here to watch the pageantry and the beauty, the chandeliers above, the violinists in the leafy grotto, the women dancing, bedecked in every colour of the rainbow, jewels sparkling in the flame.
A different life and so very far removed from ledgers and order books and the brisk trading of timber. So very different from Gerald, too, with his heavy fists and his angry ranting, all the faults in the world everyone else’s save his own.
Her father would have loved to have seen her enjoying a night like this, being a part of society in a way he had never imagined she would.
Here in this room it was beauty that was most remarkable, the old lines of tradition and the mark of history holding its own kind of thrall. Swallowing back a growing delight she let Lord Montcliffe guide her around the floor.
* * *
As he caught his sore leg on an intricate step Daniel was pleased when the music ceased. He needed a drink badly, the back of his throat dry and a dread in his stomach that he remembered from the battlefields.
No control. No damn certainty. Amethyst was his bride of convenience and yet here he was, falling under her spell. Like a green boy. Unmistakably stupid. Two years she had made him promise until they could end it all. Just a union of utility to benefit her father and his family. How much plainer could she state it?
Francis handed him a drink when they were once again back within the group. A fine smooth brandy that did away with the foolishness. He made certain that he did not stand next to his wife-to-be, slipping into the space between his two best friends instead. His leg ached and throbbed, but there were other parts of his body too that were bursting into a life long since deadened.
He wanted Miss Amethyst Amelia Cameron. He did. He wanted to lie down with her in their marriage bed for all the hours of all the nights of his life and listen to her heartbeat. She was honest and real and true. A woman who did not lie or simper or deceive.