conversation. Clearly, Mr Devere was not going to make it easy for my wish to become reality.
Susan entered my room that evening and I barely recognised her!
Her soft blue gown enhanced her baby blue eyes perfectly. When she wore dark clothes, or white—as we’d been forced to as children—her eyes appeared to have a steely blue shade, but this evening Susan’s eyes sparkled like gemstones. Unlike me, Susan had been blessed with dead straight hair of deepest brown, which shone like silk under light. It framed her face and was rolled under her ears and wound into a bun at the back of her head. Her hair was laced with diamonds and sapphires that matched her tiara. A hint of makeup made her appear older, as did the low-cut neckline of her dress. Her gown, like mine, was long-sleeved, and in accordance with the latest fashion was completed with short white silken gloves.
‘Oh, my lord, I barely recognise you,’ Susan said, before I could speak. ‘You are just beautiful, Ashlee!’ She swung me around to face the mirror.
I had to admit that I barely recognised myself either. The unruly wave of my chestnut hair did not lend itself to the latest hairstyles as Susan’s did, so the front of my hair sat in tight ringlets around my face, and the rest was rolled into a bun at the back. I did have hair jewels that I’d never had the opportunity to wear, but I had passed them over in favour of some spring flowers. I fancied myself as being rather like a wood nymph. The pinky beige of my dress, trimmed with deep brown, lent itself to my little fantasy, and as my eyes were hazel-green the colours suited me well enough.
Something in deep green would have been my first choice, but Nanny was terribly suspicious of anything green, be it fabric, paper or paint. Her father had worked in fabrics and had warned that copper arsenate, an arsenic- copper mix, was used to produce green shades in the silk substitute fabric, tarlatane. Nanny’s father had observed that a terrible illness, and in most cases death, came to those who had had contact with the green fabric or its dyes and tints. Medical science had yet to publish an investigation into the proposed connection but, for the layman, green was fast becoming a taboo colour to work with, or to decorate
‘But do I look older?’ That was my main concern.
‘Infinitely,’ Susan reassured me. ‘So…how did your little outing go?’ She suspected my need of maturity had been triggered this afternoon, as god knew I’d never wished for it before this day.
‘I think I’m in love,’ I replied whimsically.
‘I knew it!’ Susan was thrilled and I along with her. ‘We will be sisters.’
‘You mistake my meaning.’ My excitement was dulled only slightly. ‘It is not Mr Devere who has captured my heart, but Lord Hereford. He’s a widower, you know?’ I winked at her to lighten her mood.
Susan’s jaw dropped. ‘But he’s old enough to be your grandfather!’
‘I don’t see his age,’ I protested. ‘The attraction is his wisdom, his knowledge, his experience!’
Susan stood there, clearly beyond speech as she considered the best response. ‘He would make you a countess, I guess.’ She smiled warmly in encouragement, and took hold of both my hands. ‘So, even if we can’t be sisters, we’ll both be a countess.’ She swung me around and then abruptly came to a standstill. ‘Will we? Both be a countess?’ Susan subtly raised our little agreement of this morning.
‘What do you think?’ I teased her, looking into the mirror to fiddle with my curls.
‘I think that you had better honour our agreement,’ Susan stated, hands on hips and clearly annoyed by my stalling.
‘You’re the one.’ I smiled confidently.
Susan gasped, and then squealed into her cupped hands. ‘And you are absolutely sure about that?’
I served her an injured look. ‘Am I ever wrong?’
‘Oh my.’ She drew in a deep breath to contain her excitement. ‘By the time I am presented at court, I might already be engaged!’
Every young noblewoman’s dream, as only the most eligible and beautiful young women managed to escape the marriage market. ‘Highly likely,’ I commented, nonchalant.
Susan giggled, as my indifference made it all the surer. ‘I am so happy!’ She clasped her hands to her heart and twirled around in her evening dress, like some princess from a mediaeval romance novel—or a character from one of my stories.
‘You and me both,’ I confirmed with a kiss to her cheek, and, due to the clash of makeup, we spent the next quarter of an hour in front of the mirror.
My first official social engagement could not have been more memorable.
There was the minor inconvenience of having Mr Devere seated on my right, but to the best of my recollection he happily exchanged words with Lady Vanessa Cavandish for most of the evening. To my left was Lord Hamilton, by whose conversation I remained transfixed for the four courses of the meal. I was transported to the discovery of a temple complex at Serabit el-Khadim, which dated back to four thousand years before Christ. Lord Hereford theorised that this complex, if excavated, could prove to be the location of Moses’ mount from the Bible.
I was captivated as I listened to Lord Hamilton relate how he and his associates fought to create interest in the project and raise funds for the huge excavation. At every turn the doors of the Establishment, which were closely watched by church interests, had been slammed in their faces. Lord Hamilton sank twenty years of his life into the excavation, and as much money as he was permitted by the claim of primogeniture on his family fortune.
He was aware that he had hardly made a dent in what he suspected was a huge complex. The only reason he was not still there was due to the local authorities deciding to withdraw their permission for foreigners to excavate the site—just as they’d uncovered a chamber door that threatened to lead somewhere interesting. Douglas Hamilton had been locked out of the Holy Land and had not been permitted to return there since.
The viscount retired early, as he’d had a full day of activity. He cursed his age and bade me goodnight. He was growing fond of me, as traces of a rosy pink glow were penetrating a large black cloud encasing his heart centre, which I had been trying to ignore. My understanding was that Lord Hamilton’s heart died along with his wife, and as he had no children to love and no career or project, his heart centre had shut down for want of use. I feared that his physical heart might soon follow suit.
I retired shortly after Lord Hamilton to gaze upon the fire in my room and allow my thoughts to further dwell upon him. As I sat there, trying to imagine that the heat of the fire was a desert sun beating against my face, my
