Madame’s laugh tinkled through the room. “You’ll be the most modest lady at court, just you wait and see.”
With luck, the brazen display would draw attention away from her unfashionable high waistline. But Amy felt daring and embarrassed at the same time. She hoped Madame was right.
“Voilà.” Madame tied the last ribbon in Amy’s hair.
While Amy watched in the dressing table’s looking glass, Lydia clasped the amethyst necklace around her throat. Aching to make something like it again, Amy’s fingers moved to touch the twenty-carat gem that dangled at the bottom. She gazed at its flashing brilliance in the mirror.
“Milady?” Lydia held out the matching earrings. “Shall I put these on for you?”
“Heavens, no.” Amy took a deep breath and blew it out, then fastened the earrings on her lobes. Shaking her head to set them swinging from their clustered diamond tops, she smiled.
“That’s more like it.” Lydia slipped a simple amethyst and diamond bracelet onto Amy’s left wrist, where it would complement her heart-shaped amethyst wedding ring. The maid stood back and grinned. “Cuds bobs, if you don’t look the perfect lady. I’ll just go tell the lord you’re ready to leave.”
“Come, see if your Lydia wasn’t telling the bare truth.” Taking her hand, Madame helped Amy rise from the chair and led her to the pier glass.
The rich purple silk gown shimmered as Amy approached the mirror, beaming at her reflection. The seamstress had worked her magic yet again. A gold tissue overskirt looped up, held on each side with golden bows, while matching gold bows marched down her full sleeves. The purple underskirt sparkled with hundreds of golden stars.
A low whistle of appreciation came from behind her. She turned to see Colin leaning against the doorjamb, his gaze fastened to her scooped neckline. She melted a little at the sight of him, even after nearly eight months of marriage.
He was devastating. Would she ever get used to it? She thought not. Not in eight months, or eight years, or eighty years, even.
“You’ll be the most beautiful lady at Whitehall,” he said softly.
“And you, the most beautiful gentleman.”
Colin laughed. He was dressed, predictably, in the same black velvet suit he’d worn for their wedding, identical down to her cameo pinned in the lavish lace of his cravat. His crisp, dark hair was loose and fell in waves to his shoulders.
Amy felt a lump of emotion swell in her throat. She was so lucky to have him. Their marriage was beyond wonderful, and she had no cause to dwell on melancholy thoughts, especially on a day like today.
She moved to him and looped her arms around his neck, threading her fingers in the hair at his nape. She heard Madame bustling about, putting away cosmetics, but the sounds seemed to fade as Colin brought his lips to hers.
He kissed her gently, and she tried to pull him closer, but he tugged away and grinned.
“Later, love. We wouldn’t want to spoil Madame Beaumont’s accomplished artwork.”
Amy’s face flamed, and she stole a glance at Madame. But the seamstress was studiously looking elsewhere.
“Shall we?” Colin curled an arm around Amy’s waist and drew her from the room.
Was she really on her way to Whitehall Palace, to be presented to England’s king and queen? She, Amy Goldsmith, merchant’s daughter?
It didn’t seem possible.
“Why so quiet, love?” Colin interrupted her thoughts. “You’re not worried about tonight, are you?”
“A little, maybe. But…”
Her chest ached with the need to tell someone, and she shot him an appraising glance. But then she heard the old words again, You cannot have everything, and heaven help her, she couldn’t tell if it were her father’s voice or Colin’s.
“It’s nothing.”
“But what?” The fingers of one hand drummed against his thigh.
“My goodness, Colin.” Forcing a smile, she pulled him toward the front door before he could question her further. “You know how moody breeding ladies are!”
SEVENTY-TWO
AMY TREMBLED as she stood in line outside the Presence Chamber, a mixture of anticipation and sheer terror shuddering through her. Colin clasped her hand tighter and looked down at her sympathetically. “They’re only people, love,” he whispered.
Oh, but what magnificent people they were! Before her stood a lady in a satin gown of deep magenta studded with pearls, with an ermine-trimmed train so long that Amy was forced to stand ten feet behind her. She turned to peek at a lady wearing a splendid gown of rich turquoise with a silver lace overlay, then spun back and clapped a hand to her open mouth. Why, the woman’s bosom was all but falling out of her low neckline, which made Amy’s neckline look demure!
Beside her, Colin chuckled. He raised her hand and pressed his warm lips to the back in a soft kiss.
Amy looked up at him, offering a shaky smile. She was surrounded by men in long, elaborate crimped periwigs. Their satin and velvet clothing dripped with ribbons and lace in such profusion as to rival the ladies. Their fingers were bedecked with garish gemstones, their necks adorned with ropes of huge, costly pearls. Still, she was certain that Colin was the most stunning male specimen within twenty miles of Whitehall.
They advanced slowly, until suddenly it was their turn to be announced. The usher puffed out his chest and took a deep breath. “The Earl of Greystone! The Countess of Greystone!”
As they entered the Presence Chamber, the throng of spectators in the gallery above leaned forward en masse. Heads turned to ogle the new arrivals. Amy heard a distinct murmur from the lords and ladies lining the walkway.
Gliding down the endless aisle on Colin’s arm, she stared straight ahead. “What are they all saying?” she asked low, trying to keep her lips from moving.
With an easy smile, Colin inclined his head toward hers. “They’re saying, ‘Ah…the rumors are true. Lord Greystone jilted Lady Priscilla for an uncommon beauty.’”
“Shh!” Amy blushed and giggled. “They’re all looking at us.”
“Of course
