A Heart Revealed (11 page)

Darra let out a breath and lowered her voice, causing Amber to lean closer to the gap in the doorway. “He prefers me, Mama, I know he does.”

He?
Amber thought.
He who?

“Then you have nothing to worry about, my dear,” her mother said. “Your sister has any number of suitors to choose from. Once she’s made her match, you will be free to pursue whomever you please.”

They continued up the stairs to their rooms, and only after they were gone did Amber come out of her hiding place and continue to her own bedchamber. She rang for Suzanne and then explained the plans for tomorrow as she sat before her dressing table so that Suzanne could remove the pins holding the wig to the binding.

“I must look my very best tomorrow night,” Amber said, watching in the mirror as Suzanne lifted the wig off Amber’s head and moved it to the pedestal set on a table beside Amber’s vanity. She thought of Darra’s long dark hair—her real hair. Who was the “he” she had mentioned?

Suzanne untucked the wrapping, and Amber sighed with relief as it was unwound from her head, leaving an oddly satisfying ache behind it. Though she was glad for the success of the Middleton tea, she was equally grateful that her mother had not obligated her for any events this evening. She felt in need of the time to prepare for tomorrow and felt rather fatigued.

Her reflection took her by surprise and she blinked quickly. Hair stuck out in several directions and the bald portions were still red and scabbed from where the blisters had been. It was truly gruesome, but with the wig it no longer mattered so much. She had successfully attended the Middleton’s tea. She would attend tomorrow’s party at Carlton House—the epicenter of society.

It will work
, she told herself, looking away from the horrible reminder of her condition reflected in the mirror as she reached for one of the lace caps Suzanne had purchased for her a few days earlier She put the cap in place and looked back at her reflection.
It has to work
.

Chapter 11

Fenton introduced Thomas to Waiters on a night when the entertainment was thin and Thomas’s patience with wife-hunting was even thinner. The famous club, known for its gaming, was reserved for only the highest of the
ton
. Thomas had enjoyed himself more than he’d expected. That he left thirty pounds richer than he’d been upon arrival improved his opinion that much more. After that first evening, Thomas and Fenton had attended a few other times and after an assembly last night, returned again.

Too many glasses of brandy combined with other distractions sent Thomas home with a pounding head and pockets on the verge of empty. It wasn’t until morning, however, that he realized the extent of his carelessness. He had gambled away nearly a hundred pounds in one evening and awoke sick to his stomach for more reasons than one.

He left his rooms in search of sun and wind to clear his head and found himself seated at the back of St. Paul’s Cathedral. He was not the only person to seek refuge in the church on a Saturday morning, but he sat long enough to see everyone who had been there upon his arrival be replaced with another set and still did not feel absolved of his regret.

He reviewed his memories of the evening before, more ill at ease with himself each time he ran through his actions.

Why had he accepted that third glass of brandy? It was not like him to be so free with his drink.

Why had he allowed himself to become so distracted by the conversations going on around him that he was inattentive to the cards in his hand? He was usually such a shrewd player.

Why had he kept playing when he’d lost the twenty pounds he’d promised himself as his limit? He was not a man with a sizable allowance that gave him margins for frivolous spending; he knew better.

He did the equations in his head of how much of this year’s corn harvest would equate to those hundred pounds. How much would he spend on his workers who planted, raised, and harvested it? How many families in Northallerton lived off a hundred pounds for an entire year? How many other families could only dream of that much?

With elbows braced upon his knees, he let his thoughts wander down equally dark roads that had little to do with money and far more to do with the pattern his day-to-day life had taken on. He hated that he spent the majority of his time pursuing pleasure that often was not that pleasurable. He hated the growing covetousness he felt toward friends with seemingly endless funds at their disposal. He hated the late mornings and too-long afternoons that became late evenings, which resulted in a foggy head, only to repeat the unproductive efforts of the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that. He hated weighing out the merits of every woman he met and wondering if his attentions would be welcomed. He hated that he had not felt drawn to a single one of them—except the one he knew would not welcome him.

The thoughts cycled through his mind and surged through his heart, building like a thunderstorm in his head and chest until he found himself pleading in silent prayer for God to help him find direction. He wanted to be working his land. He wanted to find a comfortable wife. He wanted to please his mother. He wanted to be mindful of his finances. He wanted to ride his horse through the countryside again without caring how his cravat was tied. He wanted to secure his future. He wanted . . . he wanted . . . he
needed
to feel at peace with himself. That peace was proving to be fleeting the longer he stayed in this blasted city. The realization brought his thoughts back to the idea that had plagued him increasingly these last weeks: did he belong here?

Which of the women he’d become acquainted with would be satisfied with a husband who sat in the saddle? Would any of them be able to find comfort on his annual income with the rest of his income being dependent on his harvest and management? Would they be comfortable in a country house not yet built rather than an estate with history and distinction?

As the years went by, the smell of the shop, or in his case, the farm, would cling stronger and stronger to Thomas and affect his standing in social circles. His sons would need to pursue careers of their own despite the land they would one day inherit. He did not expect to have adequate fortune to lay about them as they entered maturity. His daughters would have small inheritances but need to marry well to ensure their comfort, likely to a man of trade, which would move them below the society Thomas himself belonged to, if only just. Had Thomas met
any
woman who could find happiness in such a life? Never mind that each woman he met was compared to Amber Sterlington—her beauty, her figure, the effect her voice had on him each time he heard it. One more aggravation to heap upon the others.

As his mind turned to matters of more immediate attention, he became even more morose. Due to his extravagance, he had spent the majority of the finances he’d brought with him to London. Next week he would need to pay another month’s rent of his rooms, which would leave his pockets near empty. He could appeal to his solicitor for an advance on next quarter’s allowance, but Mr. Jefferies would inform Albert, and the idea of his brother knowing what he’d done burned in Thomas’s chest like a blacksmith’s fire. He would have to withstand his brother’s censure for the irresponsible management of his funds.

Or, perhaps Albert would clap him on the back and express his relief to see Thomas become as irresponsible as every other man in London. Albert had been the second son when he’d come to London and unburdened by the responsibility of one day becoming the Baron himself. He had therefore been quite the rake—even more so after Charles had died and Albert faced the expectations of an inheritance he was not eager to fulfill. Albert had often said that Thomas was too straitlaced and should embrace the pleasures afforded the younger sons of the nobility. Thomas had never wished for such dissipation, it was not in his nature, and had endured his brother’s ribbing with tolerance and amusement. Yet now he had started on that same path—a path that had left Albert at odds with their father after Lord Fielding had ordered Albert back to Northallerton and railed him on the level of propriety he expected. The breach never entirely healed before the old Baron passed. Thomas had no desire to create such chaos within the family, which would not be a concern if his behavior was above reproach.

Thomas sat on the back pew for another half an hour, then bowed his head in another supplication to the heavens. He did not have the means or the interest to stay in London much longer, but he hated the feeling of returning home with his tail between his legs.

As much as you deserve
, he scolded himself. He quickly attempted to think beyond his self-judgment.
How do I fix this?

No answer came, and he returned to his rooms, thinking of the upcoming evening’s entertainment—a ball at Carlton House. It was an honor to be attending as Fenton’s guest, but he would have to pretend his way through it to not be a pall on the frivolity. The very idea was wearying. Following the ball, Fenton would likely encourage him to return to the gaming hells and try to win some of his purse back, but the thought was beyond consideration. Thomas would never step inside those halls again, which meant Fenton would likely no longer be Thomas’s escort around town. He could not expect Fenton to avoid such pleasure simply on account of Thomas’s regret. Would Thomas present himself at entertainments alone? Would he be turned away from the higher-level events if he showed without Fenton’s recommendation? Thomas hated how small he felt, how out of place.

Unable to find any other remedy, Thomas penned a letter to his solicitor requesting additional funds. His neck was still hot with embarrassment as he mailed the letter to Yorkshire. That Albert would find it all very diverting did not give Thomas any peace of mind. He did not like the changes this town was making upon him, and as he readied himself for the evening, he questioned again why he was there at all and why he had come to London for a wife he hoped would never want to return to the city.

Chapter 12

Suzanne helped Amber to dress in a crepe evening gown a rather daring shade of green for a debutante. That Amber had not yet worn it increased her excitement regarding the notice she would surely attract. Suzanne added a diamond and pearl necklace that was to become Amber’s upon marriage and four pearl bracelets that added a feeling of refinement to the ensemble.

It was a relief to have Suzanne start on the binding for her head, hiding the gruesome sight from Amber’s view in the looking glass. The wrapping had to be pulled as tightly as possible so as not to be easily displaced over the course of the evening, but Amber asked for a bit more ease tonight. She would be wearing it for hours and did not want a headache as frightful as the one she had after yesterday’s tea. Once the binding was in place, the wig was pinned to it, creating the bond to her head that allowed her to move freely rather than carefully looking this way and that for fear of upsetting the piece.

Suzanne was proficient in how to style and arrange the wig to its best representation, freeing Amber’s thoughts to consider the evening before her. All of Amber’s suitors would be at the ball, and she was committed to make a decision tonight. Lord Sunther was her first choice; he would therefore be the focus of her attention.

Though position itself was no longer her chief objective, she did not want to give up on the possibility of an arrangement with the most eligible bachelor of the season. More, she felt Lord Sunther was the kind of man who could come to love her despite all the complications he would unknowingly be presented with in having her for a wife.

“How is it, Miss?” Suzanne said.

Amber looked up as she turned her head to inspect the arrangement. As tonight’s event was at the Prince Regent’s opulent residence, it was among the most formal events of the season, and Amber had told Suzanne to be additionally attentive.

Suzanne had left one long curl of the dark hair to hang over Amber’s shoulder. The rest of the hair had been braided with ribbon the same color as the gown and then wrapped and pinned to give the appearance of a crown of sorts, into which Suzanne had threaded the white flowers with diamond centers. The only concern Amber had with the style was if showing so much hair might draw attention to the change in color. But surely she could repeat the story of a rinse to those who had not yet heard it.

“It will do,” Amber said, though she continued to inspect the intricacies of the style.
Did it look like a wig?
she wondered. Her concern served to further convince her of the importance of tonight’s ball. She would increase her attention to Lord Sunther and have an official proposal by the end of the week, if not the end of the night. Any one of her other suitors would be overjoyed at such a prospect; surely he would be as well once she convinced him of her interest.

As Suzanne replaced the dressing cape from Amber’s shoulders with a white cashmere shawl draped at her elbows, Amber filled her stores of confidence for the evening ahead. It was imperative that she have absolute assurance—tonight would be a night she would never forget.