The Beloved One (38 page)

Lucien smiled to himself.  There had not been a ball at Blackheath since before Charles had left for America, and this one promised to be spectacular — in more ways than one.

The Restoration — what an amusing little play on words, he thought, considering that the other Restoration had also centered around a Charles — was going exactly to plan.  His pointed  choosing of Gareth's or Andrew's assitance over Charles's was rousing Charles's ire, needling him, serving as a constant reminder of the status he had willfully vacated.  Sooner or later, Charles would reach the breaking point and anger would compel him to overcome whatever ridiculous obstacles he'd placed in his own path just to prove Lucien — and himself — wrong.  Lucien had faith that Charles was the same man he'd always been; Charles was the one who needed convincing.  And how well everyone was playing their parts!  They had all contrived to keep Amy and Charles apart so that neither could learn that Lucien was not only subtly manipulating things, but playing matchmaker as well.

Again.

Still smiling, he decided it was a good time to have a look at his creation.

~~~~

She was, at that moment, standing before a full-length mirror in her new shift —
chemise!
Nerissa insisted she call the garment — stockings and garters, trembling with nerves and excitement as Nerissa's maid Hannah, supervised by her mistress and Juliet, helped her into her new corset.

"Now stand still, miss, and let out yer breath so Oi can lace it up the back," she instructed, from just behind her.

Nerissa, was watching the proceedings with an eagle eye.  "Not too tight, Hannah.  Her waist is small enough as it is.  A few rough yanks and I daresay you'll end up breaking her!"

Their charge burst out laughing at the same time Hannah yanked, which ended her guffaw on a choking gasp.  Nerissa, grinning, exchanged furtive glances with Juliet.  Her sister-in-law sat in a chair nearby, her advanced pregnancy politely concealed by a loose gown of rich, pine-green velvet.  She too was in on the secret, and so, of course, was Gareth.

"Do you remember everything I taught you about the proper use of fans, Amy?"

"Oh, yes — I can even flick one open now without accidentally flinging it across the room!"

"And you're comfortable with all the dance steps that you practiced with Gareth?"

"Well, I no longer tread on his feet . . ."

"And you know what to say if someone with whom you're not comfortable asks you for a dance?"

"Yes, but . . . Nerissa, was it
really
necessary that I learn all this simply as training to be a lady's maid?"

"Yes, absolutely.  If you want to go out in the world and make yourself invaluable to your future employer, you have to know how those things work.  After all, you will be your mistress's friend as well as advisor."

"I see," said the young woman, frowning.  "But I still don't know why the duke spent so much money just to make me look nice for tonight . . ."

Nerissa knew, but she certainly wasn't going to confess it.  "It's just as he told you.  You saved Charles's life and now he wants you to have your Cinderella night at the ball.  It's the very least he could do!"

And as Nerissa also knew, it was the very least he had done.  Amy might believe that she was getting a "night at the ball" and a few simple "maid's dresses" to prepare her for her future life at some distant country house, but she had no idea just what the duke had really bought for her when he'd sent her and Nerissa into London last week!

The clothing had already begun to arrive, and what fun Nerissa and Juliet had had going through it!  There were ten new chemises, including this one of soft white linen, its triple tiers of exquisite French lace dripping from the elbow like angel's wings.  There were several new corsets, twenty pairs of silk stockings, ribboned garters and even a rather wicked little night-shift trimmed with scarlet ribbon; a nightcap, three hats, four caps, hooped petticoats, and several underpetticoats, two made of cambric, one of dimity, and, the other, for colder weather, of quilted cotton lined with silk.

And that was just the underwear!

There were also handkerchiefs, slippers, gowns for dress, gowns for undress, shawls, fans, cloaks, several pairs of long, butter-soft gloves, silk aprons, and an ermine muff for her hands.  Nerissa couldn't wait until Lucien's plan came to fruition and he had a legitimate excuse to give Amy these things he intended as a bridal gift . . .

These things that were, for the moment, hidden away.

"How's that, m'lady?" asked Hannah, stepping back and looking to Nerissa for approval.

"Perfect."

"I can't
breathe
!" gasped Amy, putting a hand to her chest, which now swelled to admirable, nearly scandalous proportions above the corset.  "I'm so tightly trussed that my shoulder blades must surely be touching!"

"Good," said Nerissa.

"Good?"

"That's the way a lady of leisure and breeding is supposed to be laced.  But don't look so concerned, Amy.  Why, if you swoon for lack of air, then some gallant gentleman will be obliged to carry you outside to revive you!"

"Yes, perhaps even with a kiss," added Juliet.

Nerissa noted the sudden wistfulness on Amy's face, and knew what she was thinking.  The only gallant gentleman Amy wanted was Charles, though she probably thought she could never have him.

We're going to make
sure
you have him!
, Nerissa thought gleefully.

Moments later, Amy was in her hoops, and Hannah and Nerissa were lifting the shimmering, peacock-colored gown from the bed.

"Raise yer arms, miss," said Hannah, holding the gown up and then letting the magnificent creation whisper down over Amy's slim body in a rippling fall of silk.  Hannah smoothed it over the hooped petticoats and stood back, beaming, while everyone in the room sucked in their breaths in awe.

"Oh,
my
," said Nerissa, when she could speak.

Juliet, smiling, murmured, "Would you just
look
at her."

"I don't think we can
help
but look at her," murmured an urbane voice, and gasping, all three women turned to see Lucien standing in the doorway, arms crossed and his black eyes gleaming in the candlelight.

He lifted his hand.  "Turn around, my dear," he said, giving a negligent little wave.  Her eyes huge, Amy slowly did as he asked, staring down at herself in awe and disbelief.  The gown, an open-robed saque of watered silk, shimmered with every movement, a vibrant purplish-blue in this light, a vivid emerald-green in that.  Its robed bodice open to show a stomacher of bright yellow satin worked with turquoise and green embroidery, it had tight sleeves ending in treble flounces just behind the elbow, which, combined with the chemise's triple tiers of lace, made Amy feel as though she had wings.  She smoothed her palms over the flounced and scalloped petticoats of royal blue silk, and then, with impulsive delight, threw back her head on a little laugh, extended her arms and spun on her toe, making gauzy sleeves, shining hair, and yards upon yards of shimmering fabric float in the air around her.

Hannah, who did not think such behavior was quite appropriate, especially in front of a duke, frowned, but Lucien was trying hard to contain his amusement.  He couldn't remember the last time he'd made anyone so happy, and it touched something deep inside him that he'd long thought dead.  He exchanged a look of furtive triumph with Nerissa.

"Oh!  Is it really
me
?" Amy breathed, reverently touching her sleeve and then raising wide, suddenly misty eyes to her small audience.

"It is really you," Juliet said, smiling.

"Only someone with your coloring could wear such bold shades and make them work for instead of against you," said Nerissa, coming forward to tie a black ribbon around Amy's neck.  "Lud, if I tried to wear those colors, I daresay they would overwhelm me!"

"Speaking of overwhelmed . . ."  Amy turned to face the man who still lounged negligently in the doorway, his fingers trying, quite unsuccessfully, to rub away the little smile that tugged at his mouth.  "Your Grace, I don't know how to thank you," she whispered, dabbing away one tear, then another.  "No one has ever done anything like this for me before and I . . . I feel like a princess."

"My dear girl.  Don't you know?"  His smile deepened and she saw what was almost a cunning gleam come into his enigmatic black eyes.  "You
are
a princess.  Now dry those tears and if you must thank me, do so by enjoying yourself tonight."

"I will, Your Grace."

"Yes," he said, on a note of finality.  "You will."

And then, with a bow, he continued on his way.

Amy's tears finally spilled over.  "I . . . I just don't know what to say," she managed.  "His Grace is the kindest man in England to do this for me . . . to give me this one night of magic, to buy me such a generous gift, to make me feel like Cinderella at the ball.  What my sisters would say if they could see me now!  How happy my Mama, God rest her soul, would be for me . . .   Oh, Nerissa, how can
anyone
think your brother is cunning and devious and manipulative?"

Juliet coughed.

Nerissa flushed and cleared her throat.  "Well, um, yes," she said, turning away.  But her own heart was pounding with glee, for if all went according to plan, Amy would soon know
exactly
how cunning and devious and manipulative Lucien could be.

And, she thought with a grin, his little sister as well.

Chapter 28

The guests began to arrive shortly thereafter.  A long line of elegant carriages stood out in the drive, waiting to discharge their equally elegant passengers.  The king and queen were the last to arrive, and as soon as they had been announced, Lucien, the duke of Blackheath, officially opened the ball.

All across the vast and crowded ballroom, fans were fluttering, people staring, whispers flying.

"Who
is
she?"

"I don't know."

"
I
heard that she's some Indian princess from America with a vast fortune."

"An Indian
princess
?!  Why, where did you hear that?"

"From the duke of Blackheath himself," said the dowager countess of Brookhampton, who was Blackheath's closest neighbor.  She tugged at her sleeve, preening with all the smugness of one privileged to know such information.  "Apparently her people wish to help us defeat the Americans in that silly war, and she's here to speak with the king himself about it."

"You don't say!"

"I hope she's not looking for a husband . . . my Chloe is going to have a difficult enough Season . . ."

Completely satisfied by the rapid spread of the rumor he'd started, Lucien, resplendent in dark velvet and an embroidered waistcoat of Italian silk, moved amongst the guests, making polite conversation here, complimenting a lady on her appearance there, and always keeping a discreet eye on his young charge, who, equally overseen by Nerissa, seemed to be holding her own quite nicely.  He was very pleased with the past that he had fabricated for the girl; when she finally
did
marry Charles, at least she would be accepted as an exotic foreigner and forgiven any little social
faux pas
she might make.  Now, she was being swung through a dance with Perry, Lord Brookhampton, who was the dowager countess's son, Gareth's best friend, and the current leader of the Den of Debauchery.

Good.  Perry was following instructions, too.

Not that he needed any encouragement, given the sensation the girl was causing.  For all the good it was doing!  Charles had disappeared before Amy had made her appearance.

Lucien was quietly furious.  And now the king was approaching him, his face flushed with pleasure.  "Fine show you put on, Blackheath, fine show indeed," he said, saluting his host with a glass of sherry.  "Been far too long since you've had any excitement out here and I'm damned pleased you finally have a good excuse to throw a party, what?  Not every day you get a brother back from the dead!"  He watched the dancers swirling about the ball room.  "Where is the guest of honor, eh?  Haven't seen him since you opened the ball . . ."

Lucien did not know where Charles was, though he had sent two servants to investigate that very question.  He inclined his head.  "I daresay he must be with his brother Andrew, Your Majesty, preparing his flying machine for its impending demonstration."

"Yes, yes, I
am
looking forward to seeing history made tonight, Blackheath!"

But Charles, at that very moment, was roving the house in search of Amy.  He had stayed at the ball only long enough to claim the first dance with his sister; then, when the dancing was in full swing, he'd melted into the crush, strode through the doors leading back to the main part of the castle, and gone looking for Amy.

But she was not in her rooms.  She was not in the dining room, the library, or wandering the halls.  It wasn't until he strode into the Gold Parlor and found Juliet — who would not, of course, be attending the ball in her advanced condition — quietly working on a piece of embroidery, that Charles got the first clue to her whereabouts.

He bowed to his sister-in-law, who looked up at him in some surprise.

"Why, hello, Charles.  What are you doing out here?  You look most annoyed."

"Amy.  I can't find her anywhere, haven't seen her all day and I'm sick to death of everyone monopolizing her time.  You haven't seen her, have you?"

Juliet looked at him peculiarly, then lowered her needlework, a little smile touching her lips.  "Actually, I have.  You might try checking the ballroom."

"She wouldn't be in there."

Juliet's eyes sparkled with mirth.  "Oh, I wouldn't be so sure."

At that moment Gareth, who was dividing his time between his wife and the ball, entered the room, fashionably splendid in raspberry silk, tight breeches, and shoes sporting huge Artois buckles.  In his hand were two glasses, one of sherry, the other of cider, the latter of which he handed to his wife.  He had caught the tail end of the conversation.