by Wendy Vella
Was he really occupied with business or was that just an excuse to have no further contact with her? Could it be true that he, like Lord Sumner, did not care about her past? Yet she had not seen him for three days. Wouldn’t that suggest a change in his regard for her?
“Sophie?”
Opening her eyes, Sophie looked at Amelia. “Mellie!” she gasped. “I barely recognize you.” And it was no exaggeration; there was no resemblance to the Amelia who had stood before her just minutes ago. The dress was made of a soft, floating material and was a beautiful pale lemon color. The neckline was modest but the bodice fitted snug against Amelia’s breasts and a lemon satin ribbon formed a band beneath, the skirt was full and fell in soft folds to the floor. Her hair had been released and caught in a ribbon of matching lemon and the picture was one of sweet innocent beauty. Sophie was finding it hard to form a sentence as her surprise was so great.
“You look beautiful, Amelia,” Sophie whispered, as Timmy stirred in her arms.
“Really?” Amelia whispered back.
“Really.” Sophie nodded vigorously.
Amelia beamed as Madame Fontaine led her back into the rooms for more measuring and fitting.
When Amelia reappeared, still wearing the lemon dress, she was clutching a package.
“I have a dress for tonight, too, Sophie, and Madame Fontaine has given me matching ribbons for my hair.” Amelia’s eyes twinkled with excitement.
“Alas, I will have to sew through the night to make its replacement,” Madame Fontaine said, handing Amelia her old dress.
“Oh please, Madame Fontaine, I would be grateful if you disposed of that as you saw fit,” Amelia shuddered.
Sophie thanked Madam Fontaine and quietly told her to bill her for the dresses, and then once again she lifted Timmy into her arms as they prepared to leave the shop.
“I love this dress, Sophie,” Amelia said, giggling as she held out the lemon skirts of her new day dress. “Unfortunately, it will not be possible to wear my new evening dress tonight, as Mother will never let me leave the house looking so different,” Amelia said as Robbie took the carefully wrapped dress and laid it on the carriage seats before assisting Sophie and Amelia back into the carriage.
“Letty will know what to do.” Sophie sounded confident and hoped that her sister-in-law could indeed work some sort of miracle before they went to the ball that evening.
* * *
The Shelton ball was a huge event, grand in every way, from the elegantly liveried servants all lined up the front steps holding flaming torches, to the stunning decorations. Guests spilled from the numerous carriages and waited to be received by their hosts, all primped and pampered and excited to be attending such a magnificent occasion.
“I am still not sure how you managed to persuade Mother to let me dress and leave from your house, Lady Carstairs,” Amelia said, clutching Sophie’s arm as they walked slowly up the stairs.
Letty smiled at Amelia. “I have known your mother for many years, my dear, and we have an understanding, she and I.” Letty tapped her fan gently on Amelia’s wrist. “So now let us enjoy this evening, because I have no doubt that the battle with your mother has only begun. However, I believe your success tonight will strengthen any future arguments.”
“And do you believe I will be a success?” Amelia said, suddenly beset with nerves.
Letty looked Amelia over, from the tip of her silken curls to the toes of her satin slippers. “My dear, there was never any doubt,” she said with a smile.
In fact, to Letty’s eye, both Sophie and Amelia looked stunning, and she doubted there would be a man present this evening who would disagree with her.
Jenny had softened Amelia’s auburn curls by piling them on top of her head, leaving a few flowing down Amelia’s spine in long silken ringlets. Ribbons of cream wound through the mass and the ends trailed down on top of the curls. Her dress was cream, draped softly over the bodice, the sleeves were fitted to the elbow, and she wore a pair of Sophie’s gloves. The skirts fell in layers to the floor and the picture of alluring innocence she presented was sure to set any man back on his heels.
Sophie was once again the unattainable countess, although Letty could see a gleam in her eyes. Trepidation, perhaps, or was it excitement? Whatever the emotion, she was sure Lord Coulter had put it there. Her dress was more daring than Amelia’s and seemed to float over her curvaceous body. The deep red heightened Sophie’s lustrous raven curls, and with her thick lashes and creamy skin she almost had an exotic air. Letty just hoped the earl made his move soon.
Soon they reached the front of the line, where they greeted Lord and Lady Shelton. Both showed surprise when Amelia stepped forward, but quickly masked it behind a smile.
“I fear every other girl will be left in the wings this evening, ladies,” Lord Shelton said. His wife was less complimentary, however. Being the mother of three eligible and as yet unwed girls, she did not relish any further competition for their hands. Glaring at her thoughtless husband, she gave Amelia and Sophie a tight smile and ushered them on.
The ballroom was on the second floor. Many of the guests had already arrived, and Sophie stiffened as they reached the room where both noise and people seemed to spill through the large doors. This was where she pulled on her countess façade. However, with each evening it was becoming harder to wear, a difficulty she laid directly at the door of a large, dark earl.
“I feel different, Sophie, nervous yet excited at the same time,” Amelia whispered as they left Letty with a friend and started walking around the edge of the room. “Before, I would just want to hide in the corners, but perhaps tonight will be different.”
Sophie wanted to make sure tonight would be the beginning of so much more for Amelia, so as soon as she spied Stephen, that was the direction in which she headed. He would be the perfect person to expose Amelia to first, especially as Lord Sumner was already aware of her as a woman.
“Lady Monmouth,” Stephen said, disengaging himself from the small group he was conversing with and bowing as they drew near. Sophie waited for him to realize who her companion was, but when he rose he looked at Amelia, then at Sophie expectantly.
“May I beg an introduction to your beautiful companion, my lady?”
Sophie heard the indrawn hiss from Amelia. It was very bad of Stephen not to recognize her, but Sophie understood why. The lighting was not good, and he, like many of the other men present, had only seen Amelia’s drab clothing and severe hairstyles.
“You already know Miss Pette, Lord Sumner,” Sophie rebuked softly.
Stephen had noticed the woman with Sophie as soon as she walked into the ballroom. Her gown had swirled around her like a sensual cloud, the skirts caressing her lush body with each step, silken curls draped across one slender shoulder. Could this beauty really be Miss Pette, the vixen who either snubbed or chastised him most evenings? The woman who already made him feel like he was suffering from a perpetual case of stinging nettle? He looked down into her eyes. Yes, it was she; he saw it now and was instantly ashamed of himself.
“If you will allow me to remove my foot from my mouth, may I beg the first dance, Miss Pette,” Stephen said, looking contrite, which hardly ever failed to win him exactly what he wanted.
Amelia shook her head, her expression closed as she fought to control the shock of Lord Sumner’s reaction to her.
Christ, she was fighting back tears; Stephen could see them glistening in the brown depths of her eyes. He felt like every kind of brute for not recognizing her. “Amelia, please forgive me, it was never my intention to hurt you,” he said so only she could hear.
Sophie pretended a sudden interest in her surroundings; her eyes immediately searched through the crowds for Patrick.
“How could you not recognize me? Are you so shallow, my lord, that you cannot see beyond a low bodice and a different hair style?” Amelia, having found her tongue, was now wielding it with a vengeance. “Perhaps if I simpered a little and offered you a f
ew twittered compliments, my transition into the ranks of the brainless debutantes would be complete.”
Sophie winced when she heard Stephen growl Amelia’s name. Taking a few steps to the right, she moved out of hearing distance. Amelia was more than capable of handling herself. Stephen, however, was possibly in grave danger.
“May I have this dance, my lady?”
Had Sophie been alert she would have noted Sir Milton coming her way, but because she was attempting to avoid Amelia and Stephen’s conversation, she had not.
“Sir Milton, of course I would be honored to dance with you.”
Preening peacock, Sophie thought as he led her onto the dance floor. Dressed in puce, lemon, and lavender, the man looked utterly ridiculous, but surprisingly did not seem to realize it.
“A quadrille,” Sir Milton mewed in disappointment. “I had so hoped for a waltz.”
Not I, Sophie thought, relieved that she would not have to be in the man’s arms while he proceeded to talk about himself.
“You look like a meadow filled with flowers this evening, Countess.”
Sophie forced a smile onto her face as she touched hands with Sir Milton. Why must he pitch his voice louder than everyone else’s? She could see the dancers to her left and right wincing or smirking at his words.
“Oh one so fair with raven hair, she fills my heart to bursting.”
Dear God! He was quoting poetry to her on the dance floor. Could she swoon? Sophie wondered. Literally sink to the floor to put a stop to Sir Milton’s ravings?
“If you stick out your foot, Countess, the old windbag will trip and hopefully bite his tongue off. We will be forever indebted to you. Is that not right, Baron?”
Sophie giggled as Lady Sumner passed in a turn and drawled the words in her ear.
“You’ll have my undying gratitude, Countess,” the Baron agreed.
And with those few words Sophie felt better. There were people who liked her and people who did not judge her, and although Sir Milton Hapforth was making a cake of himself, it was not her fault. She felt another piece of her armor fall. Society seemed a better place when you had a few friends.
“Oh to walk with her through a dew-drenched meadow …”
“Really should think about those words, Hapforth. A dew-drenched meadow would play havoc with one’s hem,” Lady Sumner said.
Sophie laughed through the remainder of the dance as the Baron and Lady Sumner teased Sir Milton until finally he gave up, his face a picture of dejection. She should not find joy in his humiliation, yet the man was so filled with self-importance she was sure it would not be long before he was back to his former self.
“Perhaps a second dance later, Countess, when the floor is not quite so full,” Sir Milton said, as he returned her to where Amelia and Stephen still appeared to be in a heated discussion.
“Perhaps,” was all Sophie said as he walked away.
“Can the male population thank you for the transformation of Miss Pette, my sweet?”
“Lord Coulter!” Sophie jumped as he appeared from behind her.
“You called me Patrick just three nights ago.” He took her hand and placed it on his arm and then he steered them away from the arguing couple.
“I … It would not be right in such a public setting, my lord.” Sophie took a steadying breath. When she knew he was coming she could school herself against the rush of emotion he wrought in her, but when she did not, it was as if someone had squeezed all the air from her lungs.
“Perhaps, but after what we went through together, Sophie, there is no further need of pretense.”
She wondered about that as they slowly circled the room. She no longer thought of him as Lord Coulter, only as Patrick, and after the intimacies they had shared and their combined efforts in the rescue of her brother, she knew he was right. Yet she still had no wish to alert society to the fact that they were … what were they? Friends? Lovers? Surely they could be nothing further.
“How are Timmy and his nurse? No lasting effects from their encounter, I hope?”
“Thanks to you they are completely unscathed, my lord,” Sophie said, trying to push aside the troublesome thoughts of what she meant to Patrick.
“Lord Coulter, Mary is so looking forward to her dance with you, the quadrille I believe?”
“Lady Finch,” Patrick said stopping before a gimlet-eyed old matron who had stepped into their path. “The pleasure will be all mine, I assure you,” he finished gravely.
Patrick watched as Lady Finch’s smile transformed into a scowl when her eyes turned to Sophie. The gesture was only slight, but Patrick felt Sophie lean closer to him as Lady Finch continued to look down her nose at her. He liked that she sought him for protection, even if she was unaware of that fact.
“My lady,” Sophie’s tone was icy.
“Countess.” Lady Finch’s tone matched.
At this rate Patrick would end up with frostbite. Nodding to Lady Finch, he steered Sophie around the elderly lady and continued walking.
“Well, that went well,” Patrick said in a patently false yet hearty tone.
Sophie giggled; she couldn’t help it. The sound just came out of her mouth before she could stop it, which seemed to be happening more and more of late.
“The problem is, my lord, that you are the most eligible fish this season and many an ambitious parent would like to land you.” Sophie blushed at her forthright speech.
“Ah well, there they are destined to be disappointed, as I have found the line I wish to be lured onto,” Patrick said, looking down at her. Just one glance made his body clench. He didn’t know why or how it had happened, but this woman had gotten under his skin and he no longer wanted to fight the attraction.
“My dance, I believe,” he said, leading her onto the floor as a waltz struck up.
Sophie felt a cold chill take up residence in her chest. He had made his choice from this year’s debutantes and she had been a fool to believe it would be any other way. But dear lord, it hurt that he did not choose her. Secretly, she had wanted exactly that, and she had thought that his actions toward her the other night had indicated that he felt something for her; she had thought that when he made love to her it was because he had wanted a future with her. You are a fool, Sophie. Why would a man like him be interested in you, a servant who tricked her way into becoming a countess?
“You look beautiful tonight, my sweet.” Patrick smiled as the tension of the past few days slowly eased from his body. She felt right in his arms, the perfect fit. The brief contact of her body against his as they moved was a mixture of heaven and hell.
“Congratulations, my lord, I hope you will be very happy.” Sophie was proud that she had managed to keep her voice steady, although it was a struggle to keep her face emotionless.
Looking down at her, Patrick wondered if he had heard Sophie correctly.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I … I wish you and your n-new wife every happiness.”
She wouldn’t look at him; her eyes were trained on his shoulder, her neck stiff as she held herself rigid. Patrick felt the bite of anger as he realized how wrong she had got his words; in fact, if he followed his first impulse it would be to wrap his fingers around that bloody neck and squeeze.
“Thank you, Sophie, I am heartened to know that I have your blessing,” he said in a calm voice that he was far from feeling. That put a poker up her spine, and he smiled as her teeth snapped together. How dare she think so little of him, let alone herself?
“M-may I enquire as to whom you are marrying, my lord?”
He ignored her as they negotiated a series of turns with ease, moving with each other as if they had danced this way their entire lives. Patrick noted she was not counting her steps now.
“As the woman concerned has not given me her acceptance, it would be wrong of me to tell you. But you know her well … very well.”
She stopped dancing then, eyes blazing as she looked at him.
“Sophie.”
Patrick could tease her no more. She ignored him, twisting in his arms for release. “Do you think so little of me that I would offer for another woman after what we have shared?” he said, trying to move her back into the dance.
He heard the gasp, and then she wrenched from his arms.
“How dare you tease me like that?” Sophie hissed, because she could think of nothing further to say and because he had touched at the very core of her insecurities. The fear that he did not want her—did not believe her good enough.
“How dare I?” Patrick said. “You believed me capable of marrying another woman, Sophie! How do you believe that made me feel?” he added, his voice now considerably louder.
“I … I.” Sophie glared at him, so he smiled at her because they were standing in a crowded room with every eye upon them. Patrick cared nothing for himself, they could all go to hell, but he would not have Sophie subjected to their sniggers or innuendos, even if he was furious with her.
“You’re laughing at me!”
“I’m not,” Patrick said, dropping the smile immediately. This had to be the most absurd conversation he had ever had. He had finally found the woman he wanted to marry and she had no idea how he felt; in fact, she believed he wanted another.
“Go to hell!” Sophie said as she left him standing on the dance floor.
Shaking his head, Patrick wondered what had just happened. Frustrated, he watched her storm across the crowded ballroom, banging into people as she walked. He started to follow her and then suddenly she was gone, swallowed up by the masses circulating the crowded room. Well, he would not chase her; he’d let her simmer for a while—teach her a bloody lesson, the little fool. “Women,” he muttered under his breath, then headed for the card room. He would sort this mess out tomorrow.
“Women!”
Patrick stopped as Stephen approached, a dark scowl on his face, and raising a brow, Patrick questioned what had upset his friend.