On My Lady's Honor (All for one, and one for all) (45 page)

Chapter 1

Courtney held her arms up in the air as her maidservant dropped the yellow gown over her head, taking care not to crease the delicate silk as it was lowered gingerly over her body.

She stooped slightly and looked at herself critically in the looking glass that hung from the back of her dresser.

Her corset was tight, but not uncomfortably so.
 
Her dress would barely do up at the back with her corset as loose as this.
 
She could make her waist seem a good half inch thinner were she to try a little harder.
 
“Lace me tighter, Suzanne,” she instructed her maid.

“Yes, miss.”

The maid tugged and tugged at the laces until Courtney was satisfied.
 
That was better - much better.
 
She could scarcely breathe now.
 
Her waist looked as thin as that of a child of seven and her breasts, forced up by the tight corset, made a respectable cleavage.

She tugged at the neck of her dress, pulling it ever so slightly lower to make the most of her small curves.
 
She would never have a cleavage to be particularly proud of, but tightly-laced corsets gave her sufficient bosom not to be ashamed to be seen out in company.

With nimble fingers, the maidservant did up the multitude of buttons that ran the length of Courtney’s back.
 
She turned this way and that in front of the speckled glass.
 
With her corsets tightly laced, the gown fitted her like a glove, the smooth silk sliding over her body like a shimmering waterfall of sunshine.

She shook the lace cuffs down past her elbows with a frisson of triumphant satisfaction.
 
The lace was real Brussels lace which her father had obtained for her at great expense – it had cost as much as an entire new gown just for a few luscious yards.
 
She had loved it the moment she saw it on the counter of her favorite draper’s shop, the delicate white webbing looped and coiled in waves of fine temptation.
 
Her father had proved an easy mark when she went to him a-begging.
 
He loved to see her finely dressed.

Cream satin slippers, heavy with beading and brocade, slid effortlessly on over her thin silk stockings.

She twirled in front of the looking glass.
 
Her dress was every bit as fabulous as she had hoped.
 
Justin Legros, the handsome son of her father’s best friend, would be sure to ask her to dance.
 
She liked Justin well enough, but she liked even more the envious glances of her friends when she was dancing with him.
 
Every young girl she knew in Lyons would give her eyeteeth to catch him as a husband, but he cared little for women and never even bothered to dance with anyone else but her.
 
She would make sure to keep it that way if she could.

She hoped there would be plenty of other good-looking men attending her birthday party.
 
She had made her father promise to ask every eligible young bachelor in the whole of Lyons.
 
She hoped he had been strict in his interpretation of young, but not quite so strict in his interpretation of eligible.
 
On the whole, she preferred the ineligible ones to flirt with.
 
They posed no danger to her – her father would run them off soon enough if they were boring enough to think that her flirting might mean anything serious.
 

She flicked a tiny thread off her sleeve with the tip of one long, manicured fingernail.
 
The time had come for the most important part.
 
Trying to contain the bubbles of excitement that fizzed in the pit of her stomach, she sat down on a low stool in front of the glass and gave Suzanne an anxious nod.
 
“Now for my hair.”

The maidservant stood behind her and began the painstaking job of combing through her waist-length hair until it lay flat and smooth.
 
That task once done, she tipped a few drops of scented oil onto the palms of her hands and ran her fingers through Courtney’s hair until it gleamed.

With the utmost care, she placed a curling paper over a lock of Courtney’s hair and wrapped it in the curling iron she took from the fire.

When she drew the still sizzling hot iron away a moment later, the paper was scorched with the heat, but Courtney’s lock of hair lay in a beautiful curl.

Courtney sighed as she felt the tautness in her neck and shoulders relax with relief.
 
Her first curl was done.
 
The first was always the hardest to get right.
 
The paper had to be just the right thickness and the curling iron had to be just the right heat.
 
Too cold and her hair wouldn’t hold the curl, but too hot and her hair would frizzle into a scorched and evil-smelling mess.

She smiled at her servant.
 
“Good work.”
 
She wanted to look her best tonight - she would not tolerate a single scorched strand.

One by one the maidservant laid curl after perfect curl on her shoulders until every lock of hair was in perfect order.
 
Courtney checked her appearance in the glass once again, tossing her hair gently back and forth, but even her own critical eye could find few flaws.

Her anxiety over her looks soothed, she took a gold coin from her brocade drawstring purse and pressed it into her maidservant’s hands.
 
The servant gave a half-smile and tucked it away safely into her bodice.
 
“Thank you, Mademoiselle.”

Suzanne would get rich serving her, Courtney thought to herself, as she poked absentmindedly through her jewelry, wondering what to wear around her neck.
 
In another year or two, she would let it be known that she would offer the girl a good dowry when she wed – enough for her to set herself up in business as a milliner or a tavern keeper.
 
Suzanne would have no lack of worthy suitors then.

There was a knock at the door.
 
Courtney, torn between a pretty gold filigree cross on a chain and a single strand of pearls, gave a slight wave and Suzanne scurried to open it.
 

Courtney looked up from her dressing table as her father entered her chamber.

He stopped in the doorway and looked at her.
 
“Courtney, my dear, you look beautiful tonight.”
 
She could see his pride in her shining out of his eyes.

She ran to him and gave him a cautious hug – careful not to crease her dress or muss her newly dressed hair.
 
“Thank you, Papa.”

He held her out at arm’s length and gave a small sigh.
 
“Your mother wore yellow the first night I met her.
 
It suits you just as well as it did her.”

She looked up at him from under her eyelashes, wanting to chase away the soft chill of sadness that settled on him whenever he thought of her mama.
 
“I know a girl should never ask a man to dance, but will you do me the honor of opening the dancing with me tonight?”

He grinned at her and chucked her under the chin.
 
“After all the effort I went to inviting all the young blades in Lyons to my daughter’s celebration, and you’d rather dance with your old Papa?”
 
He heaved a mock sigh.
 
“I might as well not have bothered.”

“Only the first dance,” she hastened to reassure him.
 
“After that I shall abandon you mercilessly for every young man in the room.”

“I’m not so sure that I’m ready to be abandoned by my only child.
 
Who will look after me in my old age if you do not?”

“I will always look after you, Papa.”
 
She did not like to think of her father alone and abandoned when his steps became tottery and slow and his hair grayed to silver.
 
He had loved her so dearly and looked after her so well all her life.
 
She owed him more than she could ever repay.

“I suppose it is the way of the world.
 
Every dog must have his day and I’ve had mine.
 
I will have to surrender you sooner or later to some young blade that you’ve set your fancy on.
 
Just remember,” and he wagged his finger at her to give his words an extra fillip, “I’ll only give you up willingly to a young man who is worthy of you, so don’t go falling in love with a rascal.”

She had no intention of falling in love with anyone just yet.
 
Even when she did, she would not abandon her papa.
 
He would always be the first man in her life.
 
“Don’t worry.
 
I won’t.”

He gave a harrumph.
 
“I hope not.
 
But no more of that.
 
I came to wish you a happy birthday, my dear child.”
 
He fished in one pocket and handed her a small silver box tied with a yellow ribbon.
 
“This is for you.”

Her birthday present!
 
Though she was a grownup eighteen years old today, she was still child enough to adore presents.
 
She pulled the ribbon off with an eager hand, and lifted the lid off the box.
 
Nestled inside, on a bed of yellow satin, was a huge sparkling diamond, its cut edges reflecting the sunlight from the windows in a thousand angles.

She lifted it out with a reverent hand, letting it dangle in the sunlight from its intricately woven gold chain.
 
It must have cost her father a small fortune.
 
Generous as he was to her, she had never be given anything so spectacular before.
 
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, in awestruck wonder.

He smiled fondly at her enthusiasm.
 
“Let me put it on for you.”

She handed him the chain and turned her back to him.
 
He lifted her curls with a careful hand and clasped the chain around the back of her neck.
 

The diamond felt unusually heavy as it lay on her breast, as if it carried with it all the weight of her father’s love for her.

Her father’s eyes were shining with unshed tears.
 
“You are as beautiful as your mother was.
 
It is fitting that you should have the diamond I had made for her to celebrate your birth.”

She looked up at him, not knowing what to say.
 
Her mother had been a famous beauty and her father had loved her to distraction.
 
Though she had been dead for eighteen years, he had never thought of marrying again.
 
To tell her that she was as beautiful as her mother was the highest compliment he could pay her.
 
She touched the diamond reverently.
 
She would love it all the more, knowing that it had once been meant for her mother.

He kissed her on the brow and then offered her his arm.
 
“Come on downstairs now, my dear.
 
Our guests will be arriving shortly and I need you by my side to welcome them.”

The great chamber was glittering and sparkling like never before.
 
Clusters of cut glass hung from the ceiling, scattering the rays of sunshine from the windows over the walls in a thousand dancing rainbows.
 
Great wax candles stood in sconces on the walls, waiting for the light outside to fade before they would come into their own.
 
The wooden floor glowed with polish.
 
She had to resist the urge to slide across it in her satin slippers as she had loved to do when she was a child.

She peeked into the chamber set aside for the older guests to play a quiet game of cards.
 
The small square tables were all set up, covered in green baize cloths, with shiny new packs of cards especially ordered for the occasion.
 
She turned them over and took a look through the pack.
 
The Kings all bore the face of their own King – Louis XIV of France – but it was the Queens she was looking for.
 

Ah – there it was.
 
The Queen of Hearts was different from the other stylized faces of the pack – as she had known it would, the Queen of Hearts bore the face of her own mother.