Goddess of the Hunt (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #1)

The maid jabbed the last hairpin into Lucy’s upswept locks. Lucy stood up and twirled slowly for Sophia’s appraisal.

“You do look lovely,” Sophia said, standing back to judge the effect. “The ivory suits your coloring handsomely. And it fits like a dream. One would hardly know the gown is made over.”

Lucy went to the full-length mirror and surveyed her reflection. Ivory silk clung to her body like a second skin, the bodice scooping to reveal more than a hint of cle**age. The skirt fell from an empire waist, skimming the curve of her hips before draping in a smooth column to the floor. Opals dangled from her ears, and jewels flashed from her fingers. Her hair was heaped and coiled in a classical Grecian style and wound with silk ribbon. The wisps that hung loose were not wayward stragglers, but carefully styled curls designed to lure the eye down the gentle slope of her neck.

“Just think,” Sophia said. “In a few hours, you’ll be a countess.”

Lucy watched her reflection blanch. A countess. Her? The words “Lucy” and “countess” just didn’t seem to belong in the same breath. They scarcely seemed to belong in the same room. Lucy suddenly realized she’d never even met an actual countess. How in the world could she become one? Her heart began to pound against her stays, and she felt the urge to run for her wardrobe and hide.

But she couldn’t hide fromhim there.

She steadied herself and took a deep breath, scrutinizing her reflection anew. The same steady green eyes looked out from a heart-shaped face, framed by sweeping cheekbones below and dark brows above. Her olive skin flushed rosy pink, and when she smiled, her teeth gleamed in a straight row. She was still Lucy after all.

And even in her mother’s earrings and a borrowed gown, she felt, for the first time in her life, as though the beauty belonged to her. She stopped worrying that she might teeter in the heeled slippers or trip on the heavy, satin-lined skirt. Her center of balance had shifted somehow. Her hoyden’s frame was still sturdy beneath the silk, but stronger than yesterday. Shored up with kisses and bolstered by passion. Strong enough to carry the formidable burden of elegance.

It still terrified her, this notion of becoming a countess. But Lucy thought she just might be able to manage it, so long as she washis countess.

“It’s as though that dress were designed for you,” Sophia said.

“I’m fortunate that Marianne’s proportions are so similar to my own.”

“You’re fortunate in general.” Sophia’s voice grew wistful.

Lucy regarded her friend, feeling a slight pang of guilt. All of Waltham Manor had spent the past two days readying itself for this impromptu ceremony. Any celebration of Sophia’s engagement had been lost in the bustle of wedding preparations. And she’d been so absorbed in her own thoughts, Lucy had scarcely spoken with her friend. Their last true conversation had taken place over a bottle of very good claret.

“Aren’t you happy, too?” Lucy asked.

Sophia’s mouth quirked. “I expect I am.”

“You certainly got your moment of passion, didn’t you?” Lucy arched an eyebrow and grabbed Sophia’s wrist playfully. “Bare-chested passion, no less. Even Gervais would be hard-pressed to topthat.”

Sophia bit her lip and smiled. “Oh, yes. A passionate moment, indeed.” She pulled her wrist from Lucy’s grip and hugged her arms across her chest. Her brow creased. “It’s just …”

Lucy paused a long moment before prompting, “What?”

“Toby adores me. Worships me, even. He goes on and on about it.”

“And that’s bad?”

“I know, I know. It seems ridiculous to complain about being the object of such ardent devotion.” She walked to the bed and sat down on the edge. “And I suppose I don’t mind hearing I’m beautiful. But when he starts composing odes to my purity and perfection, I don’t even recognize the woman he’s describing. I’m not at all certain it’s me. If he truly knew what I’m like, inside …” She gave Lucy an ironic smile. “Beauty goes no deeper than a reflection.”

Lucy rose from the dressing table and perched carefully next to Sophia on the bed. Ivory silk settled around her like a cloud. “But that’s the wonder of it, don’t you think? That he sees qualities deep inside you—hidden, beautiful things you didn’t know were there.”

Like passion, she thought. And tenderness. The grace to carry off silk and jewels. And that perfectly wondrous pleasure he’d shown her last night. The one he’d given her three different times, and for which she’d teased from him three different names—one of them even in French. Now those were the sort of vocabulary lessons a girl could enjoy. Perhaps she might make an accomplished lady yet. She sighed languidly.