A Heart Revealed (6 page)

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.

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 acceptable 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.