A Heart Revealed Read online

  He moved his attention to the headdress Fenton had found so worthy of teasing. It was an arrangement of ribbons, beads, and flowers, which almost looked like a hat, though it was not. While overdone compared to the relatively conservative nature of her dress, it didn’t seem particularly disagreeable. Her hair still shone like dark embers beneath the recently installed gas lights, and her eyes glittered most beautifully when she turned her head enough for Thomas to see her face in profile.

  Thomas forced himself to look away and was glad he had when he saw Miss Ranbury glance toward him and give him a small smile. He smiled back and hoped she hadn’t noted his inspection of Miss Sterlington. Comparing the beauty of the two women was unfair by half, and he had no desire to make Miss Ranbury feel small. Miss Ranbury returned to her game, and Thomas watched her a bit longer, but his eyes were drawn back to Miss Sterlington the next time she spoke. Luckily, he was in better control of his reaction and thoughts. In fact, rather than ponder on his own mind, he found himself wondering at hers.

  She was seated next to Lord Norwin; the very man she had refused Thomas for at Almack’s. The two of them sat very close together, and Thomas realized that Lord Norwin was attempting to teach Miss Sterlington the finer points of loo. Odd, since loo was thought of as a woman’s game, making it appropriate for mixed company and penny bets.

  A quick glance across the room revealed the other Miss Sterlington—Miss Darra—seated at a different table and seeming to handle her game quite sufficiently. She glanced at him but looked away before he had the chance to acknowledge her notice. He wondered if she remembered him from Almack’s and hoped that she did not.

  “So, I want to play the highest spade, my lord?” Miss Sterlington asked her teacher in consternation, her voice an octave higher than usual, more girlish. From Thomas’s position he could not see her face, but he could see her cards over her shoulder. She held the jack of spades, a very good card for a simple pool round when spades were the leading suit.

  “Right you are,” Lord Norwin said. “If you haven’t a spade, you must discard something else.”

  “Oh pooh,” she said with a pout and removed the queen of hearts from her hand—a card she ought to hold on to in case hearts were played in another round. “I’m sure I’ll never learn to play this game,” she said, casually keeping her cards away from Lord Norwin’s gaze even as he leaned toward her in such a way as to invite her to let him see.

  Thomas watched the game progress as again and again Miss Sterlington intentionally set herself at a disadvantage. He could have accused her of cheating except that she was losing. Each time she lost a hand or withdrew—most times without need—she pouted and then revived amid the compliments of the other players on the table—all of whom, Thomas noted, were men quite enraptured by her grievances.

  When one of the men won the round, she laid the compliments on rather thick, remarking on their fine skill and astute play. Considering the moves she’d chosen, it was not difficult to ascertain that Miss Sterlington understood the game; she had to know the rules well in order to play so poorly.

  What a fascinating act she is playing out for them, Thomas thought as he noted how the men’s opinions of themselves seemed to rise with her compliments. With the realization of her manipulation came a sense of relief to know that she was making a different kind of fool of these men than she had with him. What would they say if they knew?

  “Will you join us, Mr. Richards?”

  Thomas looked away from Miss Sterlington’s table to see Lady Ranbury’s eyebrows lifted in invitation. She was an older version of her daughter with a genuine air about her.

  “I would be pleased to join if you’ve an open seat,” Thomas said, moving toward the table.

  An older gentleman rose and made a joke about trading his seat for Thomas’s glass of brandy.

  “You’re welcome to it,” Thomas said, holding out his glass.

  The man laughed. “I was teasing you, my man.”

  “Were you?” Thomas replied as though surprised. “You do not want brandy that’s been adequately warmed by my hand?”

  The man laughed again, as did the rest of the table. “I’ll get myself a double in the next room and return ready to best the lot of you.” He made an exaggerated motion of glaring at the table, and they all laughed at his joke.

  Thomas took the abandoned seat and enjoyed two rounds before the strain of being attentive to his game while listening to Miss Sterlington at the next table began to give him a headache. The gentleman whose seat he’d taken returned to the drawing room, giving Thomas the opportunity to make his good-byes, stealthily avoiding Miss Sterlington’s table. She did not look up at him despite the occupants of the room taking a turn in their farewells, and once Thomas quit the room he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Her laugh followed him out, as did Fenton.

  “You behaved admirably,” Fenton said when they were quite a distance from anyone who might overhear the exchange. “I hope you were able to enjoy yourself despite the discomfort.”

  “I’m grateful for the invitation and even more grateful to have stayed. Thank you for being a man of honor about the situation.”

  “You had a good time, then?”

  It was rare for Thomas to see Fenton in need of reassurance, which proved to him what a good friend Fenton truly was to be so concerned for Thomas’s comfort. “I did, my friend,” he said. “Perhaps we could luncheon tomorrow and you could help me know how best to go about furthering my acquaintance with Miss Ranbury.”

  Fenton’s face broke into a full smile. “I knew you would like her. Shall we say one o’clock at my club?”

  “That would be ideal,” Thomas said with a nod as the footman helped him into his coat and hat. “Until then.”

  Thomas had to walk a few blocks before he could signal a hansom cab, but as he did so he reviewed the evening and allowed himself some modest pride at having endured what could have been a most uncomfortable experience. That he’d gained a different perspective on Miss Sterlington was not the least of his accomplishments, and it set his mind at ease a great deal to know that he could never have been happy with a woman so false. Beauty could never be as important to him as character.

  Chapter 6

  May

  It had been two weeks since Suzanne had first used the stockings in Amber’s hair, and as Amber watched her maid’s face in the mirror she had to fight back tears.

  “It is worse, isn’t it?” she asked in a soft voice, worn-out with the worry and concern that had plagued her day and night since first discovering the blight that had come upon her. She’d been mindful of all the things she’d promised to reverence: sleep, healthy foods, and avoiding late nights. She’d read of a recommendation that an increase of meat in one’s diet could result in thick and shiny hair, and she had more than once made herself sick in her attention to the ham and beef and poultry she’d asked her mother to add to the cook’s menus.

  Given her specific attention to her health, she had come to realize that she felt vital and strong; she was not fatigued or achy, nor was she feeling dull witted. Her body felt as well as ever, but her hair continued to shed every night, including tonight, when she feared she would not be able to leave the house at all.

  Suzanne had used increasing amounts of ribbon, flowers, and all manner of accessories, often spending hours to complete a style that was merely passable. Amber no longer accepted afternoon engagements so that Suzanne could have the extra time for her styling before she dressed for the evening. It did not escape Amber’s notice that the compliments to her hair, once so frequently made, had decreased now that the use of the hidden stockings had become a daily occurrence. The only time she was without them was when she could expect to wear a bonnet for the duration of an event.

  Tonight, Amber was to attend the opera in the Earl of Sunther’s box. He had returned to London three nights ago and sought Amber out at once. Their parents were connected and a match between them would be acc
eptable by all parties. His attention gave her confidence that she had not lost her appeal, and she was relieved that the flamboyant expectations of opera dress could countenance even more elaborate accessories to disguise the increased thinness of her hair. However, it had been nearly two hours since the maid had begun attempting a suitable coiffure only to undo it and start again several times.

  “It is worse,” Amber said again, anxious for her maid to give her assurance that she was mistaken.

  “I cannot hide the stocking completely.” She met Amber’s eyes. “What about a turban, Miss? I’m told they are all the rage.”

  Earlier in the season, Amber would never have considered such a matronly affectation. “Can you conform to a style that will allow some of my hair to show through?”

  “I could create two or three ringlets down the back,” Suzanne suggested as she began removing the pins she had placed and taking out the ribbon. “It would look as though it were a portion of your hair.”

  When her hair was down again, Amber looked at her reflection and blinked back tears. The area on the back of her head that Suzanne had first made her aware of was now larger, and another had formed above her left ear, allowing Amber to see her scalp through the hair that fell over it. The color of her hair looked brighter than it had when there was more of it—but more orange than auburn and not nearly as rich. In a word, she looked wretched, like a decrepit old woman on the edge of death.

  Am I dying? she asked herself as Suzanne brushed the newly-shed hair from her fingers and apron. As had become her habit, she picked the hair from the floor and disposed of it in a linen pillowcase she’d procured for this very purpose—there was too much hair to fit in the box any longer. Suzanne excused herself from the room to retrieve a length of silk that would work for the turban, and by the time the maid returned, Amber was wiping at the tears she’d been unable to hold back.

  “There, there,” Suzanne said, awkwardly patting Amber’s shoulder. “I promise it will look lovely. You’ll be the envy of every girl there, but I cannot remedy a splotchy face and swollen eyes.”

  “I shall not be the envy of anyone.” Amber wiped at her eyes with a handkerchief she had found in the top drawer.

  Perhaps it was time to ask for her mother’s help, but the idea frightened her. Admitting a fault to Lady Marchent filled her with dread. What would her mother say? Would she blame Amber? Was it blame that Amber deserved?

  She thought back to the counsel her mother had given her about tempting fate by drawing out the attentions of eligible men. If only Amber had not delayed her season. Had she come out last year, she would be established already. Had she not been so determined to enjoy herself in London this year, she could have secured a match by now. Already it was May; the season was half over.

  “See there, Miss, it’s lovely. Look at how it draws out the color of your eyes.”

  Amber looked at her reflection, the tears nearly dried though her eyes were still pink around the edges. The silk Suzanne had found was a soft gold, with shimmers of silver throughout. The maid did not build the turban high, but kept it close to Amber’s head. She finished by pushing a white and a green feather into the folds.

  “Where did you find this?” Amber asked as she took note of exactly what Suzanne had said; the color did emphasize her eyes. Perhaps it could work.

  “I feared we might need something of this sort and was able to find this at a shop. I thought it would look right nice with your silver gown.”

  Amber straightened in her chair and felt heat rush up her chest as she more fully understood the implications of this change. “That is a ball gown. I had set aside the blue robe a la Russe for tonight.” It was a beautiful gown of velvet, with cutaway sleeves, beading at the neck, and a ruffled collar in the back. It had come from the dressmaker just last week.

  Suzanne frowned. “The blue won’t match the silk, and the collar would not look right.”

  “Then why did you not procure a silk to match my gown?” Amber said, horrified by the turn of events. “I can’t wear a ball gown to the opera! Certainly not one I’ve been seen in before.”

  “Has the Earl seen the silver gown?” Suzanne asked rather boldly. “Did he not return to town since you last wore it? Perhaps you could borrow Miss Darra’s gold mantle and wear your gold chains to disguise the look of it for those who might remember it.”

  Amber pursed her lips, unhappy with the suggestion even as she realized the hour was too late for her to come up with a better solution. Suzanne had not stopped her work as they’d talked and was now using her fingers with a bit of pomade to shape into ringlets the hair left about Amber’s shoulders. There was no time to use papers to set the curl the way it ought to be, and Amber felt her spirits fall again as she accepted that this result would not look quite right either.

  Her anxiety increasing, she snapped at Suzanne throughout the rest of the preparation and did not acknowledge her when she left the bedchamber some time later.

  Amber went straight to Darra’s room where they argued over the golden mantle until Amber agreed that Darra could have use of the robe a la Russe. They were close enough in size that Darra’s slighter frame would allow the velvet to drape, elongating her figure even as it emphasized Amber’s curves.

  “I don’t know why you are so insistent on wearing that wrap upon your head,” Darra said once she had committed to the trade. “It looks positively old-fashioned.” She narrowed her eyes, blue like their mother’s. “Perhaps you think that if you wear such a stuffy accessory all the other girls will do so as well, then you’ll laugh at the lot of them for following your lead.”

  “Am I so horrible?” Amber said, more hurt than she expected to be by her sister’s accusation. “Do you think all I do is design ways to make myself superior?”

  “Since our arrival in London, it is all I’ve seen from you,” Darra said, her tone as cutting as her words. They held one another’s eyes, and when Darra’s expression fell for a moment, Amber wondered if perhaps her sister sensed Amber’s unspoken hardship. How she longed to pour out her troubles to a compassionate ear and be assured that things were not so frightening as they seemed.

  Instead, Darra lifted her chin, and her expression was at once hard and arrogant. “I shall look far better in your gown than you shall ever look in my mantle.” With that, she quit the room.

  “I expect you are exactly right,” Amber said to the silence as she crossed to Darra’s wardrobe and removed the mantle, not allowing a second wave of tears to release themselves. She had to be at her very best tonight. With her condition growing worse by the day, she lived in fear that after having dismissed so much attention earlier in the season she might end up without a match at all.

  Chapter 7

  It took all of Amber’s energy to keep up the appearance of confidence and security throughout the opera. The Earl was complimentary of her dress and hair—sincerely, she felt—and attentive, which made it easier for her to laugh when she should laugh, pout when she should pout, and flatter him shamelessly. He responded as she hoped he would and asked her to ride out with him through Hyde Park the following afternoon in his barouche. It was the first time he had invited her on an outing.

  “A ride through Hyde Park tomorrow sounds lovely, though I must be returned home by three o’clock,” Amber said to Lord Sunther with a coy grin and a pat of her fan against his arm. “I need sufficient time to ready myself for the evening party at the Whiteacres. Will you be attending, do you think? It promises to be a delightful event with the very highest of company.” She had already procured the morning gossip that confirmed he’d been included on the guest list. Amber had to resist touching the turban or trying to make it more comfortable. It felt odd to have such a confining piece on her head, and it itched terribly.

  “If I know you shall be there, I will make certain to accept the invitation that arrived just tonight,” he said, smiling at her. He was not particularly handsome with too thin a face and ears that could not be disguise
d even with his longish hair combed into a Brutus style. But he was attentive and kind. Was he kind enough to accept her situation if she hid it from him until they married? Would he be the type of man to make the best of it?

  Such thoughts threatened to ruin her resolve to act her part and so Amber set them aside and complimented him on the superior view of the stage afforded them by the rented box. He seemed to take great delight in her compliments, and she determined to consider what other aspects of his person and interests she could expound upon during their carriage ride tomorrow. She could wear a bonnet, which would be a relief to her nerves.

  When the Sterlington party returned to the town house on Park Street near midnight, Amber felt as though she could think freely for the first time all evening. The night had been a success, but the effort to maintain her role of carefree and confident debutante was exhausting. She knew that if the society she worked so hard to impress knew the truth, they would want nothing of her at all. Though she wanted to believe that Lord Sunther would not dismiss her should they marry and then he learn of her secret, he would have to come to terms with her deception as well as her condition eventually. It would be easier if she had no qualms regarding her behavior—such as had been the case when she saw herself as whole and desirable. Now she knew she was offering less than she was leading Lord Sunther to believe, and the realization of how poorly she was using him did not sit well with her.

  Suzanne was waiting in Amber’s bedchamber as she always was, and assisted Amber with the removal of Darra’s mantle, which she draped over the bench at the end of Amber’s bed while asking about the evening.

  “It was bearable but only just,” Amber said tersely, not hesitating to take her mood out on her maid. She settled herself on the stool before her vanity and looked at Suzanne in the mirror. “This silk, as you call it, is as coarse as burlap. It itched the whole evening through.”