A Heart Revealed (3 page)

Now, however, he felt sure he would never forget the look on Amber Sterlington’s face that had said, clear as church bells, that while he might consider himself an equal, she did not. Perhaps that would be enough to rescue him from the reaction he had each time he saw her. Regardless, he vowed never to put himself within reach of her opinion again.

Chapter 2

Amber Sterlington turned the page of the most recent edition of
The Ladies’ Monthly Museum
and spoke without looking up. “Make Darra attend, Mama,” she said, reviewing the renderings of the new fashion plates and finding them near enough the designs from the last periodical that they were barely worth her notice. “You know I don’t like to attend events alone.”

“You won’t be attending alone,” her mother, Elsinore Sterlington, Viscountess of Marchent, said from the seat in front of her mirror as her lady’s maid, Nelson, put the finishing touches on the perfectly afforded chignon that set Lady Marchent’s auburn hair—a faded version of Amber’s own—to perfection. “I’ll be in attendance,” her mother said. “And you are never lacking for company.”

“It would not countenance for me to have my mother hanging about me, and you shall want to visit with the other matrons.” Amber kept to herself that other than her younger sister, Darra, she did not have female acquaintances to shore up her confidence like so many young women found in each other. It was to be expected that the debutante who drew most of the attention would be at odds with her competitors, and having her sister at her side kept Amber from noticing how the other girls talked and laughed together so easily. “Darra gives me companionship, Mama, make her attend.”

“As I’ve said, she is not feeling well. You would have me force her to go?”

“Yes, I would,” Amber said without hesitation, though she did not meet her mother’s eyes in the mirror and felt a sting of conscience at the insistence. She turned another page and reviewed an array of half boots that looked like every other half boot she’d seen since coming to London nearly six weeks ago. “She is not
ill
, Mama. She is pouting over the obvious preference the gentlemen have of my company.”

Lady Marchent didn’t comment, but turned her head side to side, inspecting herself in the mirror. “You may go, Nelson,” she said to her maid. “Mind you prepare my lavender morning dress as I will be receiving tomorrow.”

“Yes, your ladyship.” Nelson bobbed a quick curtsey then gathered up the linens left over from having helped Lady Marchent dress for the evening before she left the room as silently as she’d come.

Lady Marchent’s expression was critical as she observed her reflection and patted the underside of her chin that was becoming fleshy as she approached her fortieth year. “Age is an odious taskmaster,” she said, frowning as she stood. The skirts of her gown rustled as she shook them out and then fixed Amber with a pointed look. “You would do well to remember that and procure yourself a husband before you tempt the fates by waiting any longer than you already have.”

Amber put the periodical down on the empty portion of the cushioned bench and returned her mother’s look with a precocious one of her own. “I am barely nineteen, Mama. Hardly in need of such dire warnings.”

Men of title and fortune—or both—had taken considerable note of her these past weeks, and once she clarified her choice of whichever gentleman she decided upon, she had no doubt an arrangement would be made. Once she married, the level of affection she enjoyed from numerous suitors would come to an end, and she would be left with only the regard of her husband, which would surely be far less exciting.

She was not a romantic in pursuit of a love match—such an arrangement always seemed to involve one party settling below his or her station. Instead, she focused her ambitions on choosing a husband who would secure her a similar position in society that she’d always known and give her the foundation she needed to make a name for herself alongside him as her mother had done in her own marriage. To factor love, beyond a future potential of their match, into her consideration could obscure her goals.

“I shall never understand why you chose to wait until now to have your season,” Lady Marchent continued, looking through the contents of her reticule she would take with her this evening. “I should not have allowed it.”

“You truly do not know my motivation?” Amber asked, unwilling to believe her mother’s claims to ignorance. “It is your very example I have been following.”

Her mother looked at her with an irritated expression, and Amber continued.

“You were married at seventeen to a
Viscount,
Mama,” Amber reminded her. Though the Viscount of Marchent was her father, he rarely interacted with his daughters, reserving his attention for her younger brothers, his numerous estates, and his interest in parliament. He did not hold a seat himself but followed closely the enactments of the government and shared his opinions with his friends who had representation. “And, pray remember, Father was already in his title at the time of your arrangement. You know as well as I do that there are very few prospects already in possession of their title attending this season, and there were even fewer last season, which is why I chose to wait.”

“There a handful of apparents who have made their affections for you known.”

“Yes, but Daniel Greenley’s father is in his prime, and I shan’t be surprised if he doesn’t keep his seat for another score,” Amber said, singling out her most ardent suitor. He’d proposed to her half a dozen times at least and would post the banns by morning should she accept him. “David Harrington won’t inherit until his uncle passes and should his uncle marry and procure an heir of his own—I have seen the ridiculous man at any number of events around town eyeing the widows—Mr. Harrington has no recommendation at all. Mr. Morrison is nearly your own age, Mama, and I would be settling for only three thousand pounds—never mind that his estate is in
Leeds
. Lord Fenton is a shameless flirt whose intentions are unreliable at best, Bertram Welshire is in need of a fortune to repair the damage his younger brothers have made on the family coffers, and Lord Norwin is simply a bore—though he might be my best prospect as his father did not return to parliament this year due to an illness that has not yet been disclosed through the gossip lines. It’s rumored he has nearly ten thousand a year settled upon him, however, and his family
is
well connected.”

While Amber did not have female friends, there were plenty of girls who would associate with her for connection, and Amber made use of them by procuring whatever
on-dit
they possessed. Amber never shared what she learned with anyone else but simply filed it away for her own purposes.

Seeing the surprise on Lady Marchent’s face turn to admiration of her eldest daughter’s shrewdness, Amber finished her commentary. “I have heard, however, that the Earl of Sunther may be returning to London within a fortnight. With the title so new upon his shoulders, he’s most certainly mindful of the need to secure himself a wife and an heir.” Amber looked at her mother with a smile. “Do not think me a simpleton in my pursuits only because I have not shared with you the workings of my mind. I am the eldest daughter, Mama. I plan to make you and Father proud and ensure that my children are raised with the same level of distinction I have known.”

“I regret to have doubted you,” her mother said with a complimentary smile. “I fear that with so many events demanding my attention I had forgotten to consider what a wise girl you are.” She crossed the space between them and took Amber’s hands in a rare display of affection. “I shan’t let my concerns interfere with my confidence in you.” She leaned in and pressed her cheek ever so quickly against her daughter’s.

Amber inhaled the scent of her mother’s perfume and closed her eyes. Her mind turned to the times of her childhood when she’d so often pined for her mother’s return to Hampton Grove, the estate where Amber and her siblings—her younger sister, Darra, and her three brothers, two of whom were now at school—had spent their childhood. It seemed as though Mama was always away, and Amber had not yet lost the ache of wanting her mother’s attentions.

Amber clearly remembered the day Mama had come home from a stay in Bath and looked upon her eldest daughter in surprise. “Why, you are becoming a woman,” she’d said to Amber, who was barely fifteen. “And a lovely one at that. We must attend to your education in the graces that will secure you the future a beauty such as you deserves. A woman gets one chance to secure herself any power in this life, you know, and we shall make certain you do your family credit.”

For the first time Amber had a place in her mother’s life and had from then on kept a sharp eye toward the world in general in hopes of becoming everything her mother wished her to be. Tonight, Amber felt the validation of her efforts. She ignored the stirring within her that wished it had not taken so much accomplishment to earn Mama’s attention.

Lady Marchent pulled back from the near-embrace and smiled. “I shall talk to Darra about tonight’s attendance,” she said. “I don’t want you to be out of sorts for the night’s assemblies. I shall also be sure to ask after Lord Norwin’s father at the dinner party. Mrs. Heyworth is sure to know the circumstance.”

Amber nodded her approval. She’d known Mama would comply with her, and she enjoyed the internal victory she felt at having been correct in that expectation.

Lady Marchent released Amber’s hands which were left cold from her withdrawal. “We leave in just over an hour, and I am sure your new abigail awaits you quite anxiously.”

“Then perhaps she will be eager about my presentation,” Amber said, frowning at the memory of the difficulties she’d had with her prior maid, Helen, these last weeks.

Amber quit her mother’s rooms and returned to her own bedchamber where the new maid was waiting with Mrs. Nitsweller, the housekeeper. Just as Lady Marchent had supposed, both women seemed anxious about the time left to prepare Amber for the dinner party.

“Miss Sterlington,” Mrs. Nitsweller said. “Might I introduce to you Suzanne Miller, your new maid.”

Amber kept her gaze unaffected as she looked at the woman who bobbed a curtsy before her. “It is an honor to have been requested to assist you, and I thank you for the position,” the woman said.

The new maid had surprisingly high tones, not the Cockney accent Helen had retained. Suzanne was also older than any other maid Amber had had, likely in her thirties. Amber hoped that her age communicated experience.

“I am to call you Miller, then?” Amber asked. She’d never had an actual lady’s maid, who would traditionally be addressed by their surname. Amber turned her attention to Mrs. Nitsweller when the answer was not immediate.

“She is more of an abigail than a lady’s maid as she has served multiple women in a household before now,” Mrs. Nitsweller said, causing Amber to purse her lips in disapproval. “But she is very skilled and well recommended. She even reads some. In a few years’ time, I’m sure she will arise to that station.”

“So I shall call you Suzanne,” Amber said coldly so that both women would know of her irritation that she’d been told this woman was a lady’s maid when she was not one.

Suzanne nodded and kept her eyes on the floor.

“Might I leave you to your toilet?” Mrs. Nitsweller asked, her introduction complete.

Amber nodded and waited for the housekeeper to leave before she explained her expectations to the new maid. She always dressed before the rest of her toilet, with a cape to shield her clothes. She preferred at least a portion of her hair to be worn about her shoulders in order to show off the color and curl. She did not fancy tightly curled fringe at the sides of her forehead though she would tolerate long ringlets so far as they reached her chin at least.

Beads, flowers, ribbon, and feathers were appropriate so long as they did not distract from her natural beauty. She was partial to gold, white, and green accessories as they brought out the color of her eyes and hair.

She had a diamond tiara she wore on occasion but not often as it was such a memorable piece. It was kept in her father’s safe and only Lord or Lady Marchent could retrieve it. Her other jewelry was stored in her mother’s room; Suzanne would need to coordinate with Nelson to procure whatever items best fit the event’s dress. The only piece she kept in her own room was the amber pendant she wore whenever an occasion warranted the unique and personal item.

“Very well, Miss,” Suzanne said when Amber finished. “I shall do my best to meet your expectations.”

“Be aware that if you do not, you shall not last a fortnight in this household,” Amber warned. There was no reason to be less than honest with the underling. “I was far too indulging of my former maid’s inadequacies, and I will not be so generous again.”

“Yes, Miss,” Suzanne said again, bowing slightly in response.

Convinced she’d made her point, Amber turned her back to the woman so Suzanne could help her out of her day dress and into the silver crepe evening gown she’d chosen for the night’s events. They would be attending two assemblies tonight: an evening party and a coming-out ball, though Amber felt it ridiculous that the girl’s parents were holding it so late in the season. She’d seen the girl at two different events and found it very bad
ton
to have a ball touted as a debut when the girl had already made appearances. Still, there promised to be a good turnout, several of Amber’s admirers would be in attendance, and Amber’s parents were well acquainted with the family.

There was always a goal to be achieved regardless of the event, and she was prepared to make the most of it.

Chapter 3

At ten minutes past the hour at which they were supposed to leave, Amber hurried into the closed carriage that had been waiting for far too long.

“You have made all of us late,” her mother reprimanded as the footman closed the door.

Amber put a hand to her chest. The high stays, pulled tight to accentuate her small waist and large bosom, made it particularly difficult for her to regain her breath. “It is not my fault,” she said between tight breaths. “The new abigail is hardly worthy of the recommendation she received.” The carriage lurched forward, and Amber reached out to brace herself against the side until the carriage had gained a rhythm on the cobblestones. Once she could draw a full breath, she continued her complaint. “It took her three attempts to arrange my hair in a style I am still only half pleased with.”