Colin ignored that, setting aside his own goblet of Madeira in disgust.
“Who is she?” Hobbs asked suddenly.
“It doesn’t signify. She has nothing to do with my lack of love for your daughter.”
“Love, hah! You’re a weak man, Greystone—my daughter is well rid of you.”
Hobbs’s stare dared Colin to respond to the insult, but Colin forced himself to ignore him once again. “Please give Priscilla my regards, and my sincere apologies.”
“She’ll be fine. She’ll suffer some loss of face, but she’ll survive. I’ll remind her how little she liked you—and your countrified family, as I believe she called them.”
That should have hurt Colin, but it didn’t. He felt nothing but relief and an overwhelming compulsion to escape.
He stood. “I’ll take my leave, then.”
To Colin’s vast surprise, Hobbs held out a hand. “A pleasure doing business with you, Greystone.”
Colin blinked. “There are no hard feelings, then?”
Hobbs shrugged. “It was all for the better.”
“That it was,” Colin muttered, proffering a halfhearted handshake. He shuddered to think how narrowly he’d escaped becoming this man’s son-in-law. Claiming a favor from Charles and acquiring a monstrous debt were small penalties, indeed, for avoiding the biggest mistake of his life.
Still and all, if he never saw the buzzard’s face again, it would suit him just fine.
SIXTY-TWO
WITH KENDRA in tow, Madame Beaumont bustled into room Number Three and made her way to the window, throwing open the shutters. “Get up, mademoiselle. We must make you ready for the mariage!”
Amy sat up, blinking the sleep from her eyes. She winced as Madame clutched her chin, turning her poor bruised face this way and that to examine it in the early afternoon light.
“Mon Dieu!” Madame exclaimed, shaking her head. “We have a lot of work to do!” She clapped her hands. “Come in!”
Two footmen entered, toting a large wooden box between them. Madame indicated a spot on the floor where she wanted it placed, then shooed them out with an impatient wave of her hand.
Kendra rummaged in the big box. She pulled out a dressing gown made of peach-colored fabric with a lavish lace edging, then helped Amy out of bed and into the garment, tying it at her waist as one would for a small child.
While Kendra sat Amy at the dressing table, Madame took a wooden case from the box. Carrying it by its ornate brass handle, she brought it over and opened its hinged lid with a flourish. The contents were a jumble of brushes and pencils, jars, bottles, pots and boxes filled with mysterious colored powders and pomades, all of which Madame set about the tabletop.
“Now…” she said, lifting a sinister metal tool.
In her jewelry shop, Amy had used something similar to pick up loose gemstones. She flinched as Madame tilted her chin up and leaned over her, the device hovering in the region of her forehead.
“Oooh, charmant,” Madame gushed suddenly. “Perfectly arched. Just look.” As though Amy were nothing more than a doll, Madame swung her head around toward Kendra, then dropped the implement on the table. “No plucking,” she declared.
Amy gaped at Kendra. Plucking, indeed!
Madame set to work, conferring with Kendra from time to time, and Amy relaxed, as no other instruments of torture seemed to be forthcoming. They chatted excitedly about the upcoming wedding and Colin waiting below in the taproom with his brothers, “probably nursing a good stiff drink,” according to Kendra.
Amy bit her lip. “I’ve never worn cosmetics.”
“No?” Using a hare’s foot, Madame powdered Amy’s face.
“No. My father…I mean, he thought…it’s not considered acceptable…”
At their vague smiles, her voice trailed off. Could she ever fit in their world?
She sneaked a wary glance in the mirror, then gasped. “Marry come up! The bruises are gone!” She touched her fingers to her face in wonder. “And the dark circles under my eyes.”
“It’s the Princesses Powder.” Madame brushed away her fingers and applied more to repair the damage.
“Princesses Powder?” Amy clenched her hands in her lap to keep them from shaking. Merchants’ daughters didn’t wear powder made for princesses.
And they didn’t wed earls, either…
“It’s so called because four princesses, whose great beauté is known throughout Europe, have used it with such success that they’ve preserved an air of youth till seventy years of âge.”
“Seventy years?” Kendra touched nonexistent crow’s feet at the corners of her sixteen-year-old eyes. “I must have some.”
Madame turned away to swipe powder on Kendra’s cheeks. “You can procure a supply from Madame Elizabeth Jackson, near Maypole in the Strand, for a price of sixpence per authentic packet.”
Only half-listening, Amy stared at her reflection. Would her father be disappointed if he were here? She was breaking her promises, but he’d loved her …would he really deny her love for Colin?
“A bargain at twice the price.” Kendra’s face appeared behind Amy’s in the mirror. She frowned at her newly powdered complexion, then smiled. “I shall visit Elizabeth Jackson tomorrow. Will you come, Amy?”
Amy shook her head slowly, pressing her lips together to hide the telltale quiver.
“Of course not; how silly of me.” Kendra’s grin grew wider. “You’ll want to be with Colin, won’t you?” She handed Madame a kohl pencil.
With Colin. What a wonderful, magical thought. “Yes, I will,” Amy said, surprised at how clear and sure her voice rang through the room.
Turning Amy from the mirror, Madame rimmed her eyes with kohl and darkened her lashes and brows with the end of a burnt cork. “Oh, did I get some in your eyes?” Concerned, she leaned closer, peering at Amy. “Je regrette. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s all right.” Amy blinked back the tears, embarrassed that she couldn’t seem to control herself. She sneaked another glance in the looking glass. “My eyes look huge,” she worried. “Maybe Colin won’t like me with a painted face.”
“Don’t be a goose,” Kendra said. “I expect I’ll have to wipe the drool off his chin.”
Madame tore a sheet of red Spanish paper out of a tiny booklet and rubbed it lightly on Amy’s
