A Heart Revealed Page 4

  Amber looked at her reflection and tried to quell her concerns with the fact that her hair looked the same as always from this perspective. The dark auburn locks, so coveted by every girl with drab blonde or mousy brown hair, hung in large, loose waves halfway down her back. It was full at the crown and shone beneath the candlelight of her room like polished copper. But when Amber gathered it together again she could not deny the difference compared to when she’d last gathered it in her hand at Hampton Grove.

  Her gaze caught sight of the boar’s hair brush that, usually, her maid would use to brush out her hair before plaiting it for the night. With apprehension Amber picked up the brush, pressed the bristles against the crown of her head and pulled it through her tresses. There was far more hair left behind on the brush than should be there. She moved the brush to the other side and pulled it through again. More strands were woven through the stiff bristles to the point where she could hardly make out the bristles at all.

  Stop, she told herself, fearing that with each stroke she was causing further loss. She threw the brush on the vanity as though it were hot to the touch, then reached for it again in order to pull the hair quickly from it. She gathered the strands from the floor as well, resulting in a messy handful she then shoved into the box of hair. She quickly closed the lid, ran to the wardrobe, and hid the box in a back corner before slamming the door shut.

  No one can know of this, she said to herself as she stared at the closed door.

  Suzanne could help Amber keep her appearance while Amber sought out a solution to this tragic turn. But Suzanne claimed to have never encountered something like this. There had to be a reason that her hair was dropping off. Was she ill and unaware of it? Perhaps she was not getting enough rest due to the late hours she kept and the number of engagements she accepted—life in London was very different from the pace of life in Somerset. Maybe she was drinking too much wine at dinner parties—something her parents had never allowed prior to her season. Or perhaps she was not drinking enough—some people swore that wine would improve one’s health. Perhaps her diet was compromised or, maybe, the pressure she felt at being such an unparallel was taking more of her energy than she’d expected. It was not easy to withstand so much scorn from her rivals night after night, no matter how pretty their manners were when she was in their company.

  Amber returned to her place before the mirror and carefully plaited her hair over one shoulder, watching her movements and being mindful not to pull too much against her scalp. She tied the end of the plait with a bit of string Suzanne had left on the dressing table. Looking at her reflection, she could not deny that the thickness was fairly half of the plait she recalled seeing in the mirror at Hampton Grove—that plait had been nearly as thick as her wrist.

  Feeling dizzy, Amber blew out the candle before making her way to her bed, where she burrowed under the covers and stared at the darkened walls for quite some time before sleep overtook her.

  The last conscious thought she remembered before falling asleep, and the first thought she had when she awakened the next morning, was the one she’d already admitted—no one could know. She would behave as she always did, flirting and complimenting and drawing the eyes of the men of the ton. There would be no change in her behavior, therefore no one would suspect anything amiss. One’s reputation was determined by perfect execution of behavior, appearance, and manners. Amber could not let anyone know she was anything less than exactly what she ought to be.

  Chapter 5

  Thomas checked the watch pinned to his waistcoat as the hansom cab he’d hired for the ride across town slowed to a stop in front of the Earl of Chariton’s London house. It was not quite eleven o’clock, and he hoped the lateness of his arrival for the card party would not offend his hosts, Lord and Lady Chariton—Lord Fenton’s parents.

  Thomas had meant to arrive earlier but had gone to a ball, which had not been well attended. He’d stayed later than he’d planned so as to dance with as many women as possible and attempt to preserve the evening for the hosts, the Thorntons. He was acquainted with them from Lancashire and therefore knew that their son had recently died following an accident in Scotland. The mourning period had prevented the Thorntons from coming to London until now, leaving them in the unenviable position of trying to find their footing amid people who had been making the rounds for weeks.

  As this was their first daughter to be presented, they did not come with many connections to recommend them. The social climate of London during the season could be temperamental at best and prejudicial more often than not, as Thomas had been reminded by Amber Sterlington nearly a fortnight ago. Even with so much distance from the event at Almack’s, his neck flushed hot at the reminder of the set down.

  He had skipped the Almack’s Wednesday night ball last week and decided not to appeal to the patronesses for a May voucher. The embarrassing situation had encouraged him to accept invitations to events with smaller crowds which better suited his personality. He had not missed Almack’s for a moment and, in accepting such invitations, had managed to avoid Miss Sterlington almost completely.

  Once he stepped down from the carriage, Thomas paid the driver and then straightened his black-and-violet striped silk waistcoat. Fenton’s encouragement to purchase a few nicer pieces of clothing had the happy effect of helping Thomas feel more on the level.

  “Does no good to look the part of a rustic amid roses, Richards,” Fenton had said one afternoon after the two had enjoyed lunch at Brooks. “You don’t have to be a dandy to give some attention to fashion.” Thomas would have to find a way to thank Fenton for the encouragement without inviting his friend to tease him for it. It could be a tricky business affecting that balance with someone who was as watchful for a joke as Fenton.

  Thomas had been to the Earl of Chariton’s London house on holiday forays when he and Fenton were attending Oxford, and it appeared much the same: a fenced-in flower garden out front, a wide porch, and two stories above ground. Thomas let himself through the gate and heard the sound of laughter and voices as he made his way up the steps. A footman opened the door to his knock and took Thomas’s greatcoat—with only two capes, much to Fenton’s dismay—before directing Thomas into the yellow and blue drawing room located at the front of the house and set with four card tables for the evening. Thomas could hear additional voices from down the hall, indicating that Lord Chariton’s study must have been opened for the night’s entertainment as well.

  “Richards!” Fenton said, crossing to him from the fireplace where he stood in conference with Sir Barney Crosby, a man with whom Thomas was newly acquainted. “’Pon my soul I thought you’d snubbed us.”

  Thomas took Fenton’s outstretched hand and gave it a hearty shake. “You have my most sincere apologies, Fenton. I’m afraid I landed at an event slender on gentlemen.”

  “Ah, had to dance with a bunch of country cousins, eh?”

  “Lovely young ladies,” Thomas corrected him, then paused as he thought back to some of the women he’d stood up with. “Well, mostly lovely young ladies.”

  Fenton laughed loudly and took a sip of brandy from the glass he held. “Let me introduce you to the room,” he said, putting a hand on Thomas’s back and starting the introductions at the table nearest the door. Many of the guests were familiar and extended him warm welcomes, furthering Thomas’s confidence that he would feel at ease amid this group. At the last table was a girl Thomas had seen before but had not been introduced to.

  “And this is Miss Laurel Ranbury,” Fenton said after introducing the other guests at the table, including the woman’s mother, Lady Ranbury. “Sir Ranbury and his family are from Sheffield—isn’t that near the jungle you hail from, Thomas?” He raised his eyebrows mockingly, and Thomas shook his head as he turned his attention to the girl at the table who lifted her hand, allowing him to bow over it.

  “Lord Fenton is certain that anything north of Nottingham could not possibly be civilized,” Thomas explained as he released her hand.
“I’m afraid my jungles are even further north than yours. I hail from Northallerton.”

  “My father’s cousin lives in Northallerton,” the girl said with amiable confidence. “Mr. Clarence Gordy—do you know him?”

  “I do know Mr. Gordy,” Thomas said, smiling a bit wider. “He was an associate of my father’s, though I’m afraid I haven’t seen Mr. Gordy since my father’s passing three summers ago.”

  “I’m sorry to hear of your father,” Miss Ranbury said with a frown. “I’m afraid it’s been some time since I’ve seen my uncle as well. Next time I do, I shall ask after your family . . .”

  Thomas picked up the unspoken question once she trailed off. “My father was Walter Richards,” he supplied. “Former Lord Fielding, a title now held by my eldest brother, Albert.”

  He was glad to see that her expression didn’t falter at his admittance of not having a title of his own. He would ask Fenton about Miss Ranbury’s family at another time to see if their positions matched. Not because he feared her to be below him, but to make certain that she was not of such a high esteem that his interest would be unwelcome. He was particularly sensitive to such a thing after his attempt to dance with Amber Sterlington.

  “It is nice to meet a northern gentleman,” Miss Ranbury said with a smile.

  “Laurel,” Lady Ranbury said from across the table, “either take your turn or find someone to play your hand rather than keep us waiting while you flirt the night away.”

  “Mama!” Miss Ranbury said, color rising to her cheeks as she looked wide-eyed at her mother. “You are beyond the pale this evening. Lord Fenton, do not give my mother any more to drink. The wine has quite gone to her head and dreadfully affected her manners.”

  “I shall willingly refuse her pleas for refreshment and drink anything she requests myself to make doubly sure she is denied it,” Fenton said, with a sharp bend at the waist. “Pray, excuse us as I continue introductions in the next room. But do come find us when you finish your round, Miss Ranbury. I haven’t seen Mr. Richards so engaged in conversation in some time.”

  The table laughed. Thomas smiled but once they’d exited into the hall on their way to the study, he punched Fenton lightly on the shoulder. “Must you embarrass me in front of everyone?” Thomas said quietly. “It was hard enough to keep my confidence amid new introductions without being thrown to the wolves.”

  “Oh, don’t think of it,” Fenton said, waving the glass in his hand and nearly spilling his drink in the process. “I can only get away with such shameless behavior if I embarrass everyone equally, and I only invite people of the best humor to my parties. You should have heard what I said about Miss Sterlington’s hair upon her arrival. I daresay I may have taken that one too far.” He laughed at the recollection even as Thomas came to a stop and took hold of Fenton’s arm. He pulled Fenton past the yellow and blue drawing room to the small parlor at the front of the house which was lit but unoccupied.

  “Amber Sterlington is here?” Thomas asked, glad the alarm didn’t show in his voice, though he feared his actions communicated the intensity of his feelings without him having to display it in the tone of his words.

  “Most certainly,” Fenton said with a wide grin. “I find her vastly enjoyable to look upon, and if you can ignore the headdress she chose for reasons only the angels of heaven can know, she is quite fetching tonight. Green will always be her color, but pink does wonders for her complexion.”

  Thomas kept his expression stolid, at least he hoped he did, as he took a breath. “Fenton, I have no desire to be acquainted with her. Will you mind ever so much if I leave?”

  Fenton’s eyebrows leaped up his forehead. “The devil you say! I thought Miss Sterlington was vastly enjoyable for you to look upon as well?”

  Thomas had not told Fenton what happened at Almack’s but expected his friend to know about it all the same. It had been such an embarrassment that he had assumed it was interesting enough on-dit that those in view of the situation had spread the tale far and wide. But perhaps the younger son of a Baron being set down by the Darling of the Season was not impressive enough to be whispered about. Thomas hated that he was a bit disappointed by the realization, but then relayed what had happened. Fenton’s face showed sincere regret as Thomas concluded his report.

  “I surely would not have invited both of you if I had known,” Fenton said in the sincere voice Thomas preferred to the dandy tones. “I have no desire to put you in an awkward position, but I’m sure you see that I have managed to put myself in the suds due to my ignorance. I had hoped you would like Miss Ranbury who, though I know she is no great beauty, is a very personable young woman and someone I felt might be just the match for you. Her family does not have airs and are well accepted here in town. For you to leave just after having made her acquaintance would be very bad ton for the both of us.”

  What a muck-pen, Thomas thought to himself. He considered the truth of Fenton’s statement and searched his mind for a remedy. “Perhaps you could spare me the introduction to the second room then, and I shall simply give Miss Sterlington distance on my own as best I can.”

  Fenton frowned. “I’m afraid my home will not provide the kind of distance you would prefer. I am sincerely sorry. Perhaps another introduction could repair it. There are so many people at Almack’s and—”

  “I want no further introduction,” Thomas said with an adamant shake of his head. “And I am quite happy to take responsibility to avoid her if I can but have your blessing to forgo the convention of your introduction to the other guests in the study.”

  “Of course,” Fenton said. He raised one eyebrow while shaking his head, marking for Thomas the transformation back into the façade he employed amid society. Fenton downed the last of the drink in his hand and smacked his lips, eyeing the now empty glass. “I believe I am in need of Lady Ranbury’s allotted drink. My nerves are raw with all this complication.” He waved his hand through the air and made his way to the study where the food and drinks must be laid out while Thomas returned to the drawing room.

  When the set at one of the tables finished, Thomas joined the next round. The company could not be more pleasant, and he enjoyed himself almost enough to forget about a certain lady in the other room until he noticed Mr. Pembroke and Sir Crosby straighten in their chairs at the same moment Miss Ranbury lifted her chin. He did not need to turn toward the door to see the cause of the change as the honeyed voice of Amber Sterlington soon washed over him. Much to his dismay, his heart rate increased and the temperature in the room went up by degrees as he pulled his shoulders back and adjusted his position in the chair so he would not appear to be slouching. Blast that abominable woman!

  Thomas studied the cards he held. “Sir Crosby, I should like to trade for the miss,” he said, even though his hand was adequate.

  Miss Sterlington took a seat at the table behind him—far too close for him to attempt to be unaware of her.

  “Certainly,” Sir Crosby said as all eyes returned to the game. Thomas’s table continued through the round though he performed very poorly and then he excused himself from the next set, claiming to be in need of refreshment. He did not look at Miss Sterlington as he left the room to fortify himself with a glass of brandy and conversation with guests in the study.

  “Where are your parents this evening?” Thomas asked Fenton some time later, realizing that neither Lord nor Lady Chariton were in the study as he had expected. Fenton did not live in the London house, of course, instead staying in a very nice set of rooms far enough away to give him privacy. It was odd that he had been put in the position to host a party at his parents’ home when they were not even in attendance.

  Fenton rolled his eyes. “My father stayed for an hour before excusing himself for another engagement. Mother was not feeling well but stayed on until just before you came. I think London does not go well with her.” He frowned, reflecting the close affection he shared with his mother and his obvious concern for her health.

  Thomas
shared his best wishes for her recovery while not commenting on Lord Chariton’s absence. It was ill-mannered for him to have left, but though Thomas found the man personable enough, Fenton made no attempt to show his father any tolerance, and therefore Thomas knew better than to make Lord Chariton the focus of the conversation. Instead, he changed the subject, asking after a visit to Tattersalls that Fenton had mentioned the previous week.

  Once enough time had passed for Thomas to regain his composure, the need to see Miss Sterlington took him back to the drawing room where he stood in the doorway, sipping his brandy while attempting a casual survey of the room. His eyes could not help but land on Miss Sterlington each time she spoke or laughed. Her voice drew him in like a net, further irritating him each time it did so.

  She had shown her character so poorly when she’d dismissed him that he had hoped his reaction to her would have adjusted accordingly. Obviously it was not enough to know she was highbrow, rude, and unpleasant. He stood behind her, out of her sight unless she looked to the doorway, but in full view of the back of her head and the graceful curve of her neck and shoulders. He was close enough to hear her voice and, perhaps, smell her perfume, though he couldn’t be sure it was hers.

  Her gown was quite lovely, just as Fenton had said. It was a muted shade of pink fitted high with fine lace along the collar and puffed sleeves. Pearls defined the bodice, which accentuated her womanly figure that drew far too much interest from the men in the room. She wore more daring necklines than most debutantes, and yet received no judgment for it, which was both interesting and irritating. Certainly the males of the species would not be so attentive to her if she dressed with a bit more modesty. Yet even as he attempted to place the blame on her, he knew he was the one in keeping of his own thoughts and ought not to blame her manner of dress for his own weakness.