Elisabeth Fairchild (24 page)

“I have been meaning to ask you, Grace,” Aurora reached up to halt the movement of the young woman’s hand. She sat before the mirror in Grace’s room, studying her painted likeness in the mirror. A beautiful stranger looked back at her.

Grace regarded her with curiosity. “Yes?”

Aurora swallowed hard and forced the question from her lips. It would not do to go on wondering. “Do you mind?”

Grace’s narrowly plucked brows rose over eyes almost as blue as her brothers. “Mind what?”

“About Walsh?” Aurora watched every shade of emotion that passed over Grace’s features. “I know he is one of your suitors.”

Grace was still a moment, perhaps too still. She wielded the hare’s foot again with such relish that Aurora was obligated to close her eyes.

“Not at all,” Grace said too emphatically, her enthusiasm aggressive. She sounded cheerful, but powder flew too freely for Aurora to verify if her expression matched her voice. “I am the type of female who marries for love or not at all. I would, without hesitation, elope to Gretna Green were the right gentleman to ask. I have known Walsh forever. He would not think of requesting such a thing of me, nor would I go with him if he did.” Grace rattled on. “We practically grew up side by side, you know, so of course I am fond of him and wish him every happiness. If he finds that happiness with you, how could I object? I am grown fond of you---and your brother, Miss Ramsay. It is as if we have known one another for ages. We converse so freely, on the most intimate of topics. . .”

For a moment Aurora could not be certain of whom Grace referred. Was it Rupert she conversed freely with, or herself?

“I have begun to think of you in the light of a sister,” Grace said. “I wish you happiness as much as I wish it for Walsh. Only tell me that he will make you blissfully happy and you have my every blessing. My brother--as you know--is grown undeniably fond of you. You may depend upon him to further your cause, if it will secure your happiness. Will Lord Walsh secure your every marital desire, Miss Ramsay? Please tell me it is so, for I could not wish anything but happiness for you.”

Such questio weighed heavy on Aurora’s soul. She could not in good conscience answer in the affirmative. She wished to marry Walsh because it made a sense of economics, not because it made her happy. The two of them would make amiable partners, not passionate ones. She would be lying to this woman if she said otherwise. And yet, Grace expected an answer and deserved one as well. What she said, therefore, was not a lie at all, but as much of the truth as she dared reveal.

“I believe I should be completely lost without him.”

Her voice and manner were light, but she spoke in all seriousness. She did believe herself lost without Walsh. Certainly all hope of retaining her land and livestock was lost without him.

“I am relieved you should say so,” Grace said, her eyes searching Aurora’s. “There, I am done.” With a decisive nod she set aside the pots and powders she had been delving into and aggressively dusted Aurora’s shoulders and lace with a feather duster. “You are splendid,” she breathed, and as her brother had arrived in that moment to escort them downstairs, she turned to him for verification. “Isn’t she splendid, Miles?”

Miles was himself splendid. He was dressed very much as he had been the first time Aurora had seen him--in formal, black cut-away coat, trim black pantaloons and gleaming black patents. His stock was impeccably tied high under his chin with the diminutive knot of the Sentimentale. His waistcoat was white damask, a subtle touch of romance that seemed all the more poignant after their afternoon’s conversation. Sadness troubled his eyes, she thought, a tightness bound his lips, that impressed her far more than what he wore.

When he turned sad blue eyes to gaze at her, she was suddenly shy of her own unfamiliar grandeur. “What do you think?” she asked.

His smile warmed as his gaze traveled over her, but his words chilled her. “No doubt you will attract Walsh’s eye. You are sublime.”

Sublime? Was that not the term Grace claimed Miles had used on first seeing her? Aurora was uncomfortable with praise. That she looked far better than usual she would not argue, but sublime? Never before had such time and care been associated with her preparation for any night’s entertainment. She had been bathed and scented. Her hair had been curled in a thousand tiny ringlets all bunched at the crown of her head, but for kissing curls at temples and brow. A coronet of pearls that Grace had loaned to her and a multitude of narrow ribbons wound their way through the gathered hair.

Aurora glanced once more in the mirror. She looked splendid on the outside, but felt not at all splendid on the inside. There was no splendor in cold-bloodedly planning the snaring of a man she respected but did not love. There was no splendor in being ably assisted in that snaring by the man she had begun to care for, and there was no splendor in his lowered opinion of her for doing so. Her future seemed entirely bereft of splendor. She was being led, she felt, like the mare to a mating.

Miles thought Aurora Ramsay resembled a lovely golden bubble this evening, a fragile, glittering, iridescent bit of perfection that floated away from him in the wind of her own perverse direction--a lovely bubble that would burst and be gone if he reached out to touch her. She delighted him, as much as any child is delighted by a soap bubble dancing in sunlight; she disappointed him too, by her very transience. He was in no mood to further her plan to capture Walsh; he was in no mood to be delighted by her. Yet the love of beauty that was so much a part of him could not be denied any more than the promise he had made to his uncle. He would see her happy, her future secured. Then he would leave all memory of how she took his breath away this evening behind hi

The shades of amber and gold in which he had directed her parchment colored evening gown to be rebodiced and draped did not just suit Aurora, they were her. She was the dawn. Her hair bespoke the promise of sunshine, cascading in a mass of shining curls over one shoulder and bound with amber ribbons and pearls. That hair begged to be touched, as did her shoulders, fashionably bared, unbearably fair but for the gold dust of her freckles. Her breasts too, beckoned brazenly from the lowered bodice. God, he thought had not created anything more amazing in the sun and the moon--she was his desire personified.

She turned before him, skirts belling, seeking his approval and yet not really requiring it. He could tell her own self-confidence buoyed her. Green eyes, when they strayed to the mirror, seemed both pleased and unconvinced by what looked back at her from that glittering surface.

“A masterpiece,” he said softly, and then, the strength of his voice growing, “You are tonight, Aurora Ramsay, a picture of perfection.”

She stopped, chin raised, green eyes almost golden in the light. For a moment the hint of sadness in her gaze made his heart ache, for in their depths, and in her words, there was a sort of farewell and the knowledge that this beauty he beheld was only skin deep. How could she pursue the fate she so boldly sought and still remain beautiful within?

“Framed,” she said, her voice strong. “I am but framed tonight, sir.” She held out her elegantly gloved hand to him. “You said you would set me in silver, like a work of art. You must display me now, for all the world to judge.”

He had no idea that the thought that ran through her head as he gathered up her hand on the one side taking his sister’s on the other, was
like a prize mare to the breeding barn
.

Together they went to the statue gallery, from whence the sound of music came.

Heads turned when the threesome entered the crowd. Conscious of that fact, and conscious too of the reason for so much focused attention, Miles made a point of breaking a path through the crowd, languidly traversing the length of the room with an occasional pause to nod to this one or exchange a few words with another.

Miles felt justifiable pride in the stir they created—chest-swelling pride that shoved aside his disappointment. Pride filled him up and spilled over in a broad smile and a protective hand and eye in guiding both Miss Ramsay and his sister through the press. Miss Ramsay was the primary reason for the wave of whispering that followed their passage.

The fire within her had been stoked to full flame. No one could ignore such golden, glowing heat. It was ablaze tonight. All eyes turned in her direction must recognize the change. Of all the women in the room, Aurora Ramsay shone the most. Heads turned when she passed and tongues wagged. Men who had never given her a second glance now looked after her with hunger painted on their features. Women who had deemed her beneath their notice, had no choice in the matter this evening. Aurora lit the room like a glittering chandelier.

Many would not gaze directly at her brilliance, others were mesmerized by her shine.

Miles basked in Aurora’s glory, the moment all the more poignant because he was aware that this light in his life might soon be carried away by another-- this glowing, candle-flame creature shone for Lord Walsh not he.

Miles led Aurora onto the dance floor.

Distracted by the stares, a crowd of faces all swiveling to follow her passage, Aurora found herself distracted by one face in particular. Lord Walsh’s handsome eyes were as fixed in her direction as anyone else’s, though he had linked arms with Grace Fletcher’s in preparation for the dance. So much focused attention so suddenly, was vastly discomfitting. Aurora was used to people looking at her because of her hair and freckles, but the looks were generally judgmental ones. The looks turned upon her this evening were very different.

There were those who turned to look at her and smiled, admiration plain in their expression. Others mouths dropped open in awe. There were men and women too, who looked at her and as swiftly looked away, as though they would not be caught in the act. Some of the gentlemen stared at her with a penetrating boldness that made her long to slap them. It was not entirely pleasant to be the center of attention. Envy, lust and annoyance reached out to her with unexpected force. She felt self-conscious in a way that had never troubled her before, as if she took center stage in some strange impromptu drama when she followed Miles onto the dance floor. Why were so many eyes turned her way?

“Do they expect to see me fall again?” she enquired of Miles. “Is that why they leer?”

Miles ignored the room. He spared not a single glance for anyone but her. “Relax,” he said softly. “They do but stare at a thing of beauty.”

She could not relax, but his words, his very attitude steadied her. His demeanor, of all those who filled the room, was the same as it had always been. His eyes had always turned to look at her with latent humor and unqualified admiration. They did so now, just as his hands guided her in exactly the manner they had for several days.

Stiffly, she followed his lead.

“Relax,” he reminded her with so gentle a tone she wanted to fall against him, that he might support her entirely. She resisted the temptation, but her movements loosened a little. “Excellent,” he breathed. “You are far more fluid when you relax.”

Aurora did relax, yet it was not the light, undemanding conversation that stilled the turmoil of her thoughts and soothed her fears, nor was it the hypnotic familiarity of the movement of their bodies. Aurora realized that it was, after all, the look in Miles Fletcher’s eyes that filled her with both peace and confidence. Beneath the gentle tone of his voice, deep within the level gaze, lurked the subtle hint of deeper feeling, of an emotional pull to her. The telling warmth, affection and openness steadied steadied her self-confidence and shook her resolve with regard to Lord Walsh.

As if to remind her of that purpose, Miles said gently, “Walsh has not taken his eyes from your face since we began the dance. Might I suggest we join my sister and her partner when the music stops? Walsh will ask you to take the floor with him I’ll be bound.”

Aurora was injured by the question. How could he suggest such a thing if his feelings were what she supposed? How could he look at her so? Perhaps she was wrong. It would be best for all concerned, she thought, were she wrong. And yet, that she might so misread him stung her

“By all means,” she said briskly to hide her pique. “Let us join your sister.”

Miles watched the predicted exchange between Lord Walsh and his protege from the punch bowl where he made a point to remove himself, that events might take their expected course. He watched with pride and misery.

He had worried that Aurora’s head would be turned too far by such attention. His worries were unfounded. True, Aurora held her head high, and part of her radiance came from the glow of self-confidence that suffused her person, but the rudest stares of the room could not penetrate the shield such self-confidence leant her. She floated, it would seem, just a little abovthem all--tethered to the arm of the man she had so long sought. The possessive light in Walsh’s eyes and the grip of his hand on her arm were unmistakable signs of success.

She broke away from him however, just long enough to return to Miles. “Thank you,” she said.

Miles gazed into shining eyes and had no choice but to smile. “What is it you thank me for?” he asked.

She raised both brows with surprise. “For restoring to me my pride,” she said simply. “I never dreamed I would be able to enter this room with equanimity again, much less to meet the reaction you have conjured up.”

He took her hand and kissed it. “My pleasure,” he said. “You will, of course, invite me to the wedding?”

She laughed and bit down on her lip to stop the outburst, eyes sparkling. “I’ve yet to receive a proposal, sir.”

“From Walsh.” He pointedly reminded her of his own proposal.

Her eyes lost a little of their fire. Her mouth grew serious.

He tried to smile as if it did not matter. The smile felt false.

She slid her hand from his. “Of course.” Again, she braved his displeasure with humor. “But, you have yet to return to me my land and relieve my family of the burden of its debts.” The remark was meant to be taken in jest, but there was too much ugly truth in this light-hearted exchange.