Chapter 32
Amber,
I’m afraid the demands of the holiday kept me from responding to your letter sooner than this but perhaps it was a blessing as I had time to think over your apology and prepare my response.
While I hope your words are sincere, I am unsure you can fully understand how it felt to be treated as I was at your hand during our time in London. I cannot express the hurt and betrayal I felt, and yet I harbor my own guilt for what happened at Carlton House. Perhaps one day I shall be able to tell you the whole of it, but for now I can only admit to having been infected by the same selfishness and jealousy I believe inspired your own actions that night.
After your letter, I admitted the whole of it to Lord Sunther, and though I feared his disgust at my behavior, he has given me good counsel on the importance of forgiveness toward you.
I can say with confidence that I have no wish to be cruel to you, Amber, or press further infliction upon your circumstance. I am accepting of your apology, and I am trying very much to think only of the goodness we once had. I hope my honesty is understood and not taken poorly.
I am glad to hear you have become comfortable in Yorkshire. I have spoken with Mama about your request to attend the wedding, and she is concerned that your appearance at what shall be the event of the county would serve as a reminder of what happened at Carlton House. I have told her of the number of acquaintances who ask after you as well as suggesting that having you attend might resolve any concerns that have developed regarding your well-being. I also feel it would give credit to our family, as well as to Lord Sunther, to include you at such a happy event. Mama would like some time to consider my words.
Perhaps you could write her and promise to follow her direction in all matters of the wedding. Perhaps you could use it as a reason to return to Hampton Grove. Mama and Father shall be leaving for London in April; there would be time enough for you to procure the necessary arrangements to attend with them.
She mentioned you had not given her an update on the state of your hair, so perhaps include that as well for her peace of mind. I shall continue to encourage your attendance, though you know as well as I that if Mama is set against it, my opinion will not change her mind.
I wish you well, Amber, in body and spirit.
Sincerely,
Darra Elsinore Sterlington
Amber folded the letter carefully and put it in the slot reserved for her correspondence—five letters in all the months she had been at the cottage. Six, if she counted the one she’d thrown into the fire last September. Amber was relieved by Darra’s desire to forgive her, but unsettled about her mother’s reluctance to include Amber in their family again.
Darra had given her hope, however, and she would make sure to follow Darra’s advice and write another letter to Lady Marchent as soon as possible; Suzanne could post it the next time she went to town. Weather prevented frequent travel, but yesterday had arrived with blue skies and dry roads so Suzanne had made her trip, returning today with Darra’s letter.
Amber entered the kitchen where Suzanne was finishing a bowl of stew, shivering from the cold air outside.
“How were things in town?” Amber asked, gathering the ingredients for bread. Suzanne had brought back yeast with her and Amber was determined to use it properly this time.
“Very well,” Suzanne said, a lilt in her voice that caused Amber to look at her.
“Very well?” Amber repeated with suspicion.
Suzanne’s cheeks were still pink from the cold, but Amber felt sure they went a shade darker.
“I saw Mr. Larsen at the mercantile, and he assisted me to the gig with my purchases and asked after my next trip to town.”
Amber abandoned her ingredients and sat across the table from Suzanne. “Did he now?” she said with a smile. “You must tell me the whole of it, then.”
Suzanne did not hesitate and told Amber of every expression and movement Mr. Larsen had made during their time together. Amber was careful to be excited and positive even though the continuing attention of Mr. Larsen filled her with fearful anticipation. He was a widower with three small children. Amber was sure he was attempting to court Suzanne but had not yet said as much out loud.
When Suzanne finished her account, she updated Amber on the other matters she’d attended to in town, including delivering apple cakes to both Mr. Peters and Mr. Dariloo.
“Mr. Peters seemed rather surprised by it, but grateful. The Dariloos, however, were quite taken with the kindness and asked that I relay their most sincere thanks. He will be coming next week to see about any repairs we might need. I promised we would make a list for him.”
Amber smiled. “I am glad they were pleased, though a cake now and again does not account for much.”
“What did your sister say in her letter?” Suzanne asked, changing the topic while scraping out the final bite of stew from the wooden bowl. “Shall you attend your sister’s wedding?”
Amber looked past Suzanne to the window while offering a soft smile and a shrug. “My mother is still deciding, but Darra did encourage my attendance so there is cause to hope. She suggested that perhaps I should return to Hampton Grove permanently at that time.” Amber did not mention Darra’s suggestion that Amber could then go on to London. She did not think she would ever go to that city again.
“Is it your wish to return to your family’s estate?” Suzanne asked.
Amber shrugged again. “I do not know. When I think of the comfort of the place, being part of my family again, and planning for my future once more I feel eager for it. But I cannot believe it will ever be as it once was, or at least how I thought it was. I found happiness with my family because they loved me, and although I am hopeful that Darra still does, she will be making a life for herself as Lady Sunther in Suffolk and . . .” She paused for a breath. “I have not told them the truth regarding my hair. Should they know of it, I fear they would reject me again. By saying nothing I have led them to believe I am healing.”
Suzanne glanced at Amber’s head, covered in three knit caps. Amber no longer bothered with the lace caps, but needed the knit ones to stay as warm as possible. She had lost all of her hair, including that fine layer that covered her body. She did not even have eyelashes any more.
The few times she dared look at her reflection she noted how deformed she looked without the familiar facial landmarks of lashes, brows, and hairline. Her forehead was enormous, and her eyes looked wide and stark against her face. She supposed there was some artistic merit to the curves of her face and the shape of her head, but not enough to lift her in anyone’s opinion she was sure.
“When last they saw me, I could hide my condition with a cap, but I can do that no longer. Without brows and lashes, I am unable to even pretend to look as a woman should, which makes me wonder if I ought to attend the wedding at all.”
“Could you not use paints for your eyebrows?” Suzanne asked.
“The only women I know of who paint their faces are of dubious character.”
“But you are not.”
“If I paint my face, I shall be assumed to be.”
Suzanne paused before she spoke. “I am not sure you need to make such attempts. This is your family. Perhaps they deserve another chance to accept you as you are.”
Amber shook her head at the suggestion of presenting herself as she was. The idea filled her with fear and dread and doubt. “They shall accept me only in as much as I can play the part assigned to me. I know you cannot understand it, but it is the truth. My only chance to attend the wedding is to look as normal as I can—perhaps with another wig, perhaps with paints as you suggested, if I could make them look right. To go as I truly am is not an option.”
“But, Miss—”
“I shall make the bread later,” Amber cut in. “I feel in need of a rest, as I am sure you do after your journey.”
She did not look back as she hurried from the kitchen, up the stairs, and to her room. She lit the fire she had laid tha
t morning and curled up in the willow chair beside the hearth with a quilt. She attempted to compose in her head a letter for her mother that would entreat her consideration without revealing the fullness of Amber’s condition. She did not like that she might have to trick her mother in order to get her support, but was she willing to tell the truth and risk spending the rest of her life in this stone house?
The cottage was comfortable and she felt secure within its walls, but if Suzanne made a match with Mr. Larsen, Amber would be alone. At least at Hampton Grove she would have . . . what would she have? She did not expect acceptance from her parents, nor did she expect to renew childhood acquaintances or pursue a marriage. Amber was a pariah, an embarrassment, a complication, and should she return to her family they would be forced to endure it. She wanted to be loved, not endured.
For the first time since arriving at Step Cottage, Amber wondered if perhaps she would find more comfort and happiness here than anywhere else. Perhaps it was best for everyone if she did not return. Could she live the rest of her life in isolation? Without Suzanne for company, she felt sure she would go quite mad.
There was a light knock on the door. “Come in.”
“There was something else I wanted to speak to you about,” Suzanne said as she came into the room.
“Of course,” Amber said, forcing a smile to hide her discouragement.
“While I was in town, I purchased some fabric and wondered if you might sew me a gown for the Winter Ball in two weeks’ time.”
Amber blinked. “Sew you a gown?”
“You are an excellent seamstress, Miss, and—”
“I embroider well, is what you mean,” Amber said.
“And make aprons and shifts and caps, to say nothing of the dress you picked out and redid with side panels,” Suzanne said. “I should very much like a nice gown for the dance. Would you please help me?”
Amber leaned back in the chair. “I have never sewn clothing except for a few shirts for my brothers. I cannot imagine you would be happy with the result. Could we not contact the woman in town who outfitted us for winter?”
“I have seen the care you take with other things you’ve created, and I feel sure you will do right by this,” Suzanne assured her. “I cannot think to pay someone else when I am sure you will do well.”
“I could ask Mr. Peters if he might extend the funds to—”
“I do not want you to ask Mr. Peters,” Suzanne said with directness. “I am asking you to sew me a gown. You have an eye for fashion and drape that I feel will do my figure as much credit as I can expect at my age. Please say yes.”
Amber felt backed into a corner by the request; she could not refuse Suzanne anything. “If you are certain,” she said, oddly humbled by the request while also invigorated by the challenge. “I should be most happy to give it my very best effort.”
Chapter 33
“Are you ready?” Suzanne asked from the doorway of the library.
“I don’t know that I shall ever be ready,” Amber said, her hands over her eyes. “But there is no point in delaying it.”
She heard Suzanne’s footsteps and could scarcely breathe as she waited.
“All right, then,” Suzanne said.
Rather than move her hands, Amber spread her fingers so she could look between them. Seeing that the dress was not atrocious, she lowered her hands. If she’d had eyebrows they would have risen as she looked upon Suzanne, who put out her arms and turned around slowly enough for Amber to inspect the rose-colored dress she had spent the last two weeks creating. After Suzanne completed her turn, Amber smiled. “You look beautiful,” she said in a breathy voice.
“The dress looks beautiful,” Suzanne corrected, looking at the skirt as she swished the fabric back and forth.
“You look beautiful in the beautiful dress,” Amber further amended. She stood up from the settee and came closer. “I had so feared the bodice would be puckered there in front where I did not get the gather quite right.”
“It is exactly as I had known it would turn out,” Suzanne said, fairly beaming. “And look—” She twirled, causing the skirt to bell out with perfect symmetry. “It is just the right length for dancing but will not drag upon the floor when I walk.” She demonstrated by taking a few steps toward the door—while a train was fashionable in London, it was impractical in the country.
“The color is perfect for your features,” Amber noted. In London it had never occurred to her to consider whether or not Suzanne was a handsome woman, but she had taken note of Suzanne’s solid beauty here in Yorkshire. She had dark hair, always gathered into a braided knot at the back of her head, and wide brown eyes that danced when she was in a good humor. Her teeth were well set, and her complexion was quite smooth for a woman of thirty-two years. The rose color enhanced every good thing about her.
Amber inspected the dress again, amazed at how lovely it looked. She had used one of her own dresses as a pattern, adjusting it for Suzanne’s larger frame and the formality of the event by adding puff sleeves and a sweetheart neckline. Certainly she knew it was not nearly as fine as one an actual dressmaker could create, but she felt proud of the result. She had feared it would be hideous.
Every cut of the shears and stitch of the needle had filled Amber with dread, but having been fitted for dresses all her life, and learning the “accomplishment” of embroidery considered suitable for women of the ton had created more ability than she had expected.
Suzanne had tried on the different pieces a dozen times as Amber attempted to fit them to her just right, but tonight was the first time Suzanne had put on the completed dress.
“I have something else for you,” Amber said, then hurried behind one of the heavy bookshelves and returned with a reticule and a hat, both sewn from scraps of the fabric. She’d taken the Swedish lace from one of her morning dresses unsuitable for cottage life and made an edge on the hat that set it off to even further distinction. Amber had embroidered an elaborate design on the bag, working late at night in her room so as to hide it from Suzanne’s notice.
Suzanne’s eyes went wide as she took the items and turned them in her hand. “They are beautiful.” She smiled like a schoolgirl and ran upstairs to look at her reflection in the looking glass. “I shall be the belle of the ball in this,” Suzanne called from the top of the stairs, quite improperly.
It felt good to make something useful, but even better, Amber felt as though she had in some way begun to repay a debt to her friend. She wondered how Mr. Larsen would react to Suzanne in that dress and smiled at the expectation that he would be well pleased with it. For an instant she imagined that she were wearing such a dress and attending a ball. Perhaps Mr. Richards would ask her to dance. She entertained the idea for only a moment before brushing it away. Dances and balls were a lifetime ago. Mr. Richards was simply a kind man—one of the few she’d met since relocating to Step Cottage—and his kindness had given him the status of the hero in all her girlish fantasies.
“I shall serve supper while you change,” Amber called. It was only four o’clock, but as they tended to rise with the sun and sleep by the moon, it was sensible to prepare dinner when it was still full light outside. Today was storming, however, and they had been forced to burn candles during the day.
Suzanne returned a few minutes later, dressed in a gray working dress that further emphasized the advantage the rose-colored dress gave to her. “I folded the dress and packed it along with the reticule, stays, and hat in the small trunk. You’re sure you don’t mind my taking it with me?”
“What use have I for it?” Amber said without feeling the level of regret she once had. The finer things in her possession were quite useless in her present circumstance, and she was glad they would benefit Suzanne. She glanced to the window, streaked with rain. “I do hope the storm lifts before tomorrow, though. Even the hood of the gig won’t protect you from such elements as this.”
“I shall go rain or shine,” Suzanne said and smiled again, which, as
always, made Amber smile too. For two women so opposed to their situation in the beginning, they had come to find a level of joy that surprised them both.
Amber served roasted potatoes with a bit of mustard powder and dried thyme, some ham from the smokehouse, and yesterday’s leftover soda bread. In the beginning, Amber had been unable to entertain the idea of a meal without meat, and they had gone through their winter stores faster than they should have. She was now accustomed to vegetable stews and meatless pies, but as Suzanne was going to town, Amber wanted to serve a fancier meal than usual. Mrs. Haribow had only come three times since November due to the condition of the roads. They missed her cooking, but it had challenged Amber to better hone her own skills.
All things considered, life had become quite comfortable at Step Cottage. Amber was less inclined to pine for the life she had had; in fact it seemed like a story in a book when she thought back to it. Had she truly stayed out until three or four o’clock in the morning simply to gossip and flirt? In Yorkshire she never went outside after dark and, according to the clock in the library, no longer stayed up past ten o’clock.
Had she worn very fine dresses only once before refusing to be seen in them again? At Step Cottage she had three dresses for winter—all of them plain, comfortable, and practical—that she interchanged from day to day. No one saw her in them but Suzanne.
Had she sat at her dressing table for hours in order to have her long, thick hair perfectly arranged? That was perhaps the memory that felt most like fantasy. Her head was so smooth she could scarcely remember what it looked like before. She’d moved the looking glass from her room to Suzanne’s and in its absence she become all but unaware of her appearance. Quite a change from the girl she had been before.
A Heart Revealed Page 21