Chapter Three
Sara jolted awake as the carriage rumbled to a stop. A hand shook her shoulder roughly, and she opened her eyes groggily to peer out the carriage window.
"We have arrived," announced her aunt, slicing through Sara's somnolent fog and jerking her abruptly into the present reality. It wasn't just a nightmare. This was really happening, and it frightened her out of her mind.
She quickly moved to the carriage door and took the hand of the footman to step down. Her first glance at her aunt’s townhome gave her pause as she disembarked the carriage. It was located on a row of extravagant mansions, and still it stood out as breathtaking in its magnificence. Just how wealthy was her distant aunt?
As if she heard her thoughts, Aunt Tilda suddenly turned. “Don’t gawk, girl. It isn’t becoming of a lady. Now hurry along inside. Drake will show you to your chambers. I’m sure you will wish to freshen up before the modiste arrives.”
Sara stared at her blankly, a modiste? She would get dresses? Just how many dresses would she have? Her insides turned to jelly in the realization of how completely out of place she really was.
“Oh, and Sara?” Sara turned as she stepped over the threshold of the magnificent house.
“Yes, Aunt?”
“Do remember to refer to me as Lady Fenton. We’re in London after all. Addressing me in such a familiar way is frowned upon.”
“As you wish,” Sara said. Venturing further into the house, the first thing she noticed was the sheer beauty of the place. The walls were adorned with expensive paintings and moldings of Greek mythological creatures. The floor was engraved marble and shined to perfection. Even the servants were better attired than she.
She should have felt self-conscious, but she spent her life being stared at and told she was ugly, so why would she feel any different in this situation? The servants working in the great hall bowed to acknowledge her as Drake led her to the stairs where a petite lady’s maid about the same age as Sara offered a brief curtsy.
“Miss Ames, this is your maid. She will direct you to your room,” the old butler instructed her.
“This way, my lady.”
Sara had never been addressed as anything but her Christian name; it was odd being showed a sort of honor, as though she really was a lady and above the station she actually possessed. She silently followed the young girl up the stairs and gasped as her eyes rose to the huge chandelier hanging above the middle of the stairway. It appeared to be plated in gold and reflected light from the outside windows. The stairs seemed to extend indefinitely, until they finally reached the hallway, and Sara was led all the way to the back corner room.
“This room is yours, my lady. I will return later to help you get settled, but for now you will want to prepare for the great Madame Francois. The bath has been drawn for you.” She curtsied and turned to leave.
“Pardon me? Who is Madame Francois?” Sara asked hesitantly.
The girl’s eyes widened in surprise, she cleared her throat and answered. “You don’t know? She is the most sought after modiste in the country, Miss.”
“Oh,” was all Sara could manage in reply before she was rendered otherwise speechless upon entering her room. She froze. It was blanketed in purple velvet. The luxurious bed sat nearly as high as her waist, something she had never seen before. The windows were large and opened onto a balcony overlooking a beautifully maintained garden. An ornate gold mirror faced the bed as if to taunt her. She stepped up to it hesitantly and sighed. God had not performed a miracle. She was still…unique, or as some people described her, wicked-looking. Though she didn’t know what was so wicked about black hair, except that it wasn’t considered as comely as golden tresses.
Her skin was dark, but she thought it complimented her hair quite nicely. She opened her mouth to examine her teeth as her aunt had done. They were white and straight, something out of the ordinary for anyone in London, especially young girls.
At least I have my teeth, she thought.
She pulled off her dusty morning dress and eased herself into the bath that Davina had prepared. The stress of the day seemed to melt away. Grabbing the soap, she washed her body slowly, methodically, and then allowed her eyes to close in relaxation. It wasn’t until she heard voices down the hall that she knew she had fallen asleep for the second time that day.
Sara put on the nearest robe when a tall French woman burst into the room. Her face was wrinkly like paper but her eyes had the brilliance of crystal blue water.
“Let us have a look then,” Madame Francois said in a thick French accent. “Oui, oui, I understand.” She pulled Sara’s shoulders back as she pushed her toward the mirror. “We shall cut here, and here.” She motioned at Sara’s hair then toward the bottom of her hem. “She will look, how do you say, foreign?”
She said it more as a question; it was then Sara realized she was speaking to her aunt. Her aunt sighed heavily. “Do you think it will help?”
“Bah!” Madame yelled. “Help? Who am I? Am I not Madame Fran?ois? She shall be exquisite, the talk of the ton.”
Aunt Tilda seemed unimpressed. “Well, get on with it then.”
“As you wish,” came the clipped answer.
Nausea swept over Sara, and she was ready to lose whatever measly food she had eaten that day. How could they cut her hair? Her long black hair? How could that possibly help?
Madame Fran?ois leaned in behind her in the mirror. “Your face is too thin to hold such weight. You need to be free.” And with that she took scissors to Sara’s hair and cut. Sara covered her gasps with a fist and cringed as she watched her once waist-length hair topple to the ground. What was left now hit just below her shoulders in dark waves.
“C’est magnifique,” Madame mused. “Some natural curl—the men will go wild, no?”
Sara closed her eyes sorrowfully as Madame continued to measure her. “How many gowns?”
Her aunt named an outrageous number, as well as a riding habit and some walking dresses. “That should be enough,” she finished with a nonchalant wave of her hand. Madame Fran?ois made some notes on the measurements, then kissed Sara’s aunt on both cheeks and left the room with a curt nod to Sara in the mirror. Sara watched the retreat of Madame’s reflection, then her gaze fell upon the bed behind her.
A dress with stockings, a chemise, and a beautiful ribbon lay there.
“Madame happened to have a few dresses she could spare until she finishes with yours. Your first ball is tonight. I need to assess your behavior and how much work must be done. You may as well know, I plan to ask a distant cousin of mine to undertake your training for presentation to the ton. He is the best, after all. I just hope he’s willing to take you on.”
Sara swallowed a sob. Of course he wouldn’t be willing. She was ugly, and who would willingly spend time with her?
“Oh, stop feeling sorry for yourself, gel. You are not that ugly.” The pause in her voice sounded almost tender for a moment, but Aunt Tilda quickly recovered. “Listen—this distant cousin is, well, he used to be somewhat of a rake, but now he is reformed and sworn a life of celibacy. It’s like pulling teeth even to get him to speak to a woman, let alone teach her how to dance.”
“To dance?” Sara squeaked.
“How else are we to find you a suitable husband?” Her aunt snorted. “Obviously, they won’t be falling at your beautiful feet because of your face—surely you know the truth by now. But if I teach you grace and poise, and put you in a somewhat compromising situation, well …you’ll be perfect.”
Her aunt smiled wickedly, revealing teeth like a predator. “Get dressed!” She commanded as she excused herself from Sara’s chambers.
Sara didn’t like the sound of a ‘compromising situation’ and feared she would not escape the season without a black mark on her reputation. Perhaps she would even be ruined—not that her mother would care, as long as she married well.
Turning to the task at hand, she put on the beautiful clothes and looked in the mirror once again. What was so ugly about her? What made people despise her so? Her own family couldn’t look at her; her sisters mocked her behind her back; and her own father thought her worthless. Nothing could be done about that now. Resolutely, she put on a brave face and walked gracefully out of her room and down the stairs to take tea and explore the house. After all, this was supposed to be an adventure—that mindset would be the only way she could live through what she had to do tonight. Attend her very first ball.
***
The cool spring breeze stung Sara’s nose as the footman helped her out of the carriage. The mansion in front of her was like nothing she had seen before. Laughing couples entered through the main doors toward the bewitching music inside.
The people of the ton were going to eat her alive.
“Wipe that outrageous look off your face! You have a mask!” Lady Fenton elbowed her hard in the ribs then handed her a black domino. Sara donned the mask and followed her aunt into the hall.
“Whom may I announce?” the man at the door asked.
Lady Fenton leaned in and whispered something to the man. With a quick glance at Sara then back at Lady Fenton, he gave a curt nod and announced them.
“Lady Fenton and her niece Lady Sai Ames.”
The unexpected announcement of the position coupled with the surprising new name caused Sara to inhale sharply. Her aunt, sensing Sara’s tension, tilted her head toward Sara and whispered. “It makes you seem more foreign. Trust me on this. And you are every inch the lady. You have only to act like one, and they will believe it. You never know, perhaps you have some distant aristocratic blood of which you are unaware.”
Sara doubted that, but she followed her aunt pressing on through the crowd. The people around her seemed only mildly curious. For that she was thankful.
***
Nicholas felt like getting absolutely foxed. Three women had tried to seduce him in the past hour. Three!
Gone were the days of men leading unsuspecting women into the courtyards or gardens to look at the stars. These were the days in which women, seeing exactly what they wanted, brazenly manipulated and lied in order to elicit a marriage proposal.
The sweat on his brow was proof that one of the three almost succeeded, when he led her back into the ballroom after a tumble down the stairs. She had been whispering incentives into his ear as her breasts purposefully brushed up against his arm.
Women.
Now he was hiding in the hallway like some criminal waiting for the opportune moment to leave without causing a scandal. Apparently, the bet was going to be harder than he had imagined.
He waited ten minutes, then slowly came out of the shadows, taking every precaution to glance behind him for another lady lying in wait.
His arm bumped something irritatingly soft. Abruptly he turned and came face to face with the greenest eyes he had ever seen. Two perfectly cut emeralds stared right back at him. He began mentally preparing his rejection speech when the girl, hands trembling, stuttered an apology and tried to run away. From him.
Not the other way around.
Odd, that he would miss being stalked. He stepped in front of her before she could make her hasty retreat. “It’s quite alright, Miss. May I assist you with something?” His words sounded almost believable, yet his eyes were too accustomed to his rakish habits and appreciatively scanned her delectable form from head to toe.
She paused then and smiled, nearly knocking the wind out of him. It was criminal for a girl to have such straight white teeth. “I just. . .” she began, then put her hands on her hips, drawing his attention back to the line of her body. “I just wanted to get away …You see, I’m new to all of this, and I felt. . .”
“Overwhelmed? Objectified? Bored? Judged? Really take your pick of any of the above. I assure you, one of those words has to match what you’re feeling just about now.” The girl offered another blinding smile and leaned closer.
If she leaned any closer, he was going to have to do something about it. Old habits died hard.
“Thank you,” she said, eyelashes fluttering.
“Of course. Is there anywhere I may escort you?”
The bedroom perhaps? He shook his head to get rid of the sinful thought.
She looked nervously down at her feet, and then shrugged. “I don’t really know if that is the best idea. I’ve been told I should be careful with whom I associate.”
“Ah yes, the ruined reputation rumors rear their ugly heads.” He knew it was a valid concern for any young debutante, but surely this woman wasn’t launching into society. She had to be somebody’s mistress. Yes, that was it. He took another look at her hair and dress. Confound it! How had he not seen it before? Of course she was someone’s mistress. She was foreign! Nobody in the ton had a complexion that dark.
“Where is your protector, sweet?” he drawled, not at all embarrassed of the husky tone his voice had suddenly taken. Surely a woman of this type was accustomed to this sort of attention.
“My protector?”
“Yes, the man who… Well, the gentleman who pays for your protection and other things.” He waved his hand in her direction, waiting for her coy response.
“Sir, I do not know what you mean.” Her eyes took on a fiery glint. “I assure you I’m here with my aunt.”
“Oh?”
“Yes!” The mask on her face shook as her face fell into a tight nod. “Furthermore, it’s entirely improper for me to be discussing such things.”
“Because you’re a lady?”
“Exactly.” The innocence of her answer made his knees go weak. If she didn’t belong to anyone, and she truly was accompanied by her aunt, then he was flirting with danger. Yet he couldn’t curb the impulse to reach out and touch her smooth skin. As his fingers reached the delicate curve of her neck, she stiffened.
Yet he continued, determined to feel. The air seemed to still between them as his fingers gently caressed the delectable area. Her sigh was all he needed to press further. Allowing his body to close the distance between them, he brought his other hand to her shoulder and pulled her closer.
“I should be going,” she whispered, but her eyes never left his. The invitation was easy to read. She was as entranced as he was.
Praying someone would stop him before he thoroughly ruined the girl, he paused, then without any further thought, he brushed his lips against hers. The response he received was undeniably innocent, weakening his grasp on reality. He pulled loose a few tendrils of hair, rubbing them between his fingers. It was like spun silk. And his mind swam with the mere thought that all he need do was compromise the poor thing, and he could spend the rest of his days and nights running his fingers through her hair.
His nagging conscience was the only thing keeping him from pushing further, for the poor girl seemed to be melting in his grasp. And then her back stiffened.
He recoiled, expecting a slap. Instead she gasped, throwing her hand over her mouth and let out a whimper so pitiful he wanted to be shot on the spot. Really, somebody should have held a gun to his head for taking such advantage.
She looked blankly at him then shuddered, “I don’t know what came over me. I apologize, my lord.”
Perfect. Now she was apologizing for being attacked. He was an absolute cad.
“I must go, I’m—” She turned away breathlessly, then glanced back. “I’m terribly sorry, I—” Her hand rested on her heaving chest making his knees go weak all over again. “—must be going. I apologize. Please don’t tell my aunt. Please don’t tell anyone.”
And before he had a chance to speak, she was running down the hall into the ballroom, and Sir Belverd was bellowing toward him like a prize bull. “Who was that delicious creature, Renwick? You wouldn’t happen to be…cavorting around with the girl?”
A blinding anger burned though Nicholas unlike he’d ever experienced. How dare anyone try to ruin the poor girl’s reputation!
Apparently you just tried, nagged his inner voice. He shook out the thought and slapped Belverd on the back. “Imagining things again, old man? I’m celibate, remember? And, need I add, extremely competitive?”
Belverd chuckled and followed him into the ballroom. Though he searched, Nicholas never found the girl again, and that night she plagued his dreams. He had to get out of London before he went crazy. A trip to the country was just what he needed.
***
He awoke the next morning with a blinding headache, thanks in part to the beautiful siren who played in his dreams all night long. Whiskey would have been a good breakfast, except Lady Fenton, his distant cousin, was apparently already waiting for him in his study. What she could possibly want, after all these years, was beyond him.
Nicholas bounded down the stairs as loudly as possible, disregarding his own cranial pain, because Lady Fenton was the second loudest person he had ever known. He always took great personal pleasure in making her eardrums ring as badly as his own did whenever she addressed him.
“Ah, my dear boy. How are you?” Lady Fenton greeted him with a fa?ade of kindness and kissed him on the cheek as if they had been in constant association since the incident.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, cousin?”
“Straight to the point, I see.” She twisted an innocent handkerchief in her skinny hands. The unfortunate object of her frustration would be lucky to make it out of his study in one piece. “I need your help.”
Had he been drinking, he would have spit out the liquid in a coughing fit. Help? She needed help? Since when did Lady Fenton need anything? It was always he who had needed her, until that dreadful day when they had chosen to discontinue their association outside of ton events. “How may I be of service, my lady?”
“A favor.”
“Fine.” Trying to keep his voice calm, he went to sit at his desk. “What would you like me to do?”
“My niece is in town for a while, and I’m to launch her into society. After last night, I realize she is in dire straits to acquire etiquette and an ability to interact with the people of the ton. Frankly my dear, without your help she’ll more than likely follow some young man down a long hallway and ruin herself. She’s quite innocent, you understand, and has spent the whole of her life in the country.”
A smirk played on Nicholas’s lips. How odd that a similar occurrence happened last night to a young lady at the masquerade. It would be good to keep those two away from each other considering they were both so trusting.
There was an uncomfortable silence, and the room seemed tense with unspoken sentiment. Things which had been hidden in the chasm between the two of them for years threatened to explode into the silence. He couldn’t very well deny his cousin after all she had done for him. “I sense this is not so much a request as instructions for when to arrive at your residence?”
“I would never force you to do anything against your will, Nicholas, but I would be most grateful if you would agree to my request.” Her demeanor expressed an uncharacteristic solemnity which spoke volumes to him. It was important to her and within his power to grant. How could he say no?
“Shall we say this afternoon?” he questioned.
With that, Lady Fenton pushed out of her seat and clapped her hands together. “Thank you, Nicholas! Thank you!”
Ordinarily, no one dared to utter his Christian name. Lady Fenton was the only exception, but she hadn’t resorted to using his name in years. It pained him to hear it flow so easily from her lips now, when in the past it had been uttered as a curse.
“I will have her ready. Oh, and Nicholas?” she added as she walked toward the door.
He lifted his head in feigned annoyance.
“Do try not to fall in love with her.”
His bitter laugh should have been answer enough, but the strange look in her eyes gave him pause. So he added, “Believe me, marriage is the last thing I want from anyone.” Of course she would know that. She knew everything. How long would the sins of his past haunt him?
Sadness seemed to wash over her face, and she nodded numbly. “This afternoon then, Nicholas. I’ll see myself out.”
Nicholas went straight to his liquor cabinet and poured a brandy. Unfortunately the familiar sting of alcohol did nothing to squelch his churning stomach. How could he have been so stupid?
He had kissed the girl!
In a darkened hallway.
Without a chaperone.
Blast! He slammed his empty cup onto the table, and for a moment, contemplated allowing his head to follow suit.
After all he had been through—would he never learn? Weren’t his past mistakes enough to keep him from pursuing any type of woman? Let alone one who reminded him so much of his mistakes. The same innocent kisses, the same captivating laughter—all the things which led him down the path of destruction. The path which forever changed his life.
At least his tutelage of Lady Fenton’s niece would be a welcome distraction. Hopefully now he wouldn’t be spending his nights in sensual torture thinking about what he could have, or would have done had he found that beautiful creature the night before.
No, he was better off alone. The sooner he moved on with life, the better. Plus, who was to say the chit his cousin had taken under her wing wasn’t going to be at least mildly amusing? One could only hope.