“Are you disappointed?” I wondered if she had a stake in the situation or merely felt herself to be a pawn as I sometimes did.
“A bit, perhaps, but not in the way you might think. I believed for so long I’d be a duchess. But I’ve no desire to marry the duke.” She frowned. “He’s grown so cold the last few years, nothing like the carefree man I remember from before.”
“With an accident like his that’s no great surprise.” She was wrong. Halstead was a good many things, but I could never bring myself to think of him as cold. A dangerous tremor of hope began in my belly.
“Here it is,” Ellen sang from the doorway.
The gown was magnificent. The fabric was a deep-blue satin, covered with a layer of matching chiffon with gold stitching, so thin it gave the dress an almost ethereal look.
“And with her hair,” Lady Margaret breathed, “it will be perfect.”
Ellen nodded, as if the matter were decided. “We’re close to the same size, but the bottom hem might need to be taken up a bit. I’ll send up my abigail to make any last-minute alterations.”
I thanked them both, and a few minutes later Lady Margaret and Ellen left, still chattering about the preparations going on downstairs. The minute the door closed, I hurried over and picked up the package I had scooted away from prying eyes. The twine took but a moment to untie, and I pulled back the brown wrapping to reveal some sheet music titled, “The Soldier’s Adieu.”
I hugged it to my chest. It was the song I’d played a few nights before—the one that had brought back such vivid memories of my father. A small note fluttered to the floor, and I reached down and picked it up.
Juliet,
The lilting melody of this song has long been a favorite of mine. I took the liberty of procuring the sheet music and hope I am not wrong in supposing the song may hold some special meaning for you.
—H
My breath hitched. The simple and unexpected gesture was more than I deserved and not one I would soon forget. Halstead seemed to see me, to know me in a way no one else did. The knowledge sent a thrill through my core, pressed itself upon my heart. I ached to thank him. I glanced back at the dark-blue dress laid out on the bed, and a wave of flutters went through me at the thought of seeing him at the ball. A smile pushed up the corners of my mouth, anticipation mounting at the thought of what tonight might bring.
A small corner of my heart twinged as I remembered Robert would be there as well. And in that moment I knew. The pieces fell into place. Halstead had my heart. And Robert, much as I loved him, would never be anything more to me than a dear friend.
Perhaps the time had come to let him know.
I’d spent a good portion of the day with Ellen’s abigail as she reworked the hem and took in the bustline a few centimeters, but that evening when Betsy slipped the dress over my head, the material soft as a feather against my skin, I knew the result had been worth it. Never in my life had I seen, let alone worn, such a fine gown.
Betsy’s brows rose as she took in the sight of me, but her face immediately darkened. “I’m not sure how your aunt will feel about you borrowing a gown,” she warned.
“By the time she sees me, it will be too late.” I was feeling rather careless this evening.
Betsy twisted up my hair in a loose chignon, leaving plenty of my unruly curls cascading over my shoulder. I pulled on a pair of gloves, my hand finally healed enough that the pain was hardly noticeable. When at last she was finished, I stood before the mirror, surprised at how much the blue altered me. For a moment it was almost as though I were looking at my mother. My heart squeezed a little, missing her.
“Come, miss, it’s time to go down.”
Lady Margaret emerged from the opposite corridor, and I joined her at the top of the stairs. She surveyed me from head to toe. “You look magnificent. Mr. Nicholson won’t be able to keep his eyes off you.” She gave me a knowing smile. “Perhaps there will be two announcements tonight after all.”
I was in too good a mood to correct her. Once downstairs I let her lead the way. I’d been given a tour of the ballroom on the afternoon of our arrival, but I couldn’t remember its precise location. I remembered it as a gloomy room; all the drapes had been drawn, and large dark rugs had covered the floor.
We entered the ballroom together, and even she, the daughter of a marquess, was taken aback at the sight before us. With the dark rugs gone, the floor was a light-colored marble, the walls a robin’s-egg blue, and four large chandeliers were lit with hundreds of candles, which shone in the freshly polished gold trimmings that adorned the room. With the drapes of each window pulled back, the flames reflected off their panes, multiplying the light. Enchanting didn’t begin to describe it.
But the sight only depressed me, made me feel out of my depth. I was the daughter of a sailor, and no matter how fancy my borrowed ball gown, I would never belong in a setting like this—in Halstead’s world. The duchess was right; her words pounded against my heart with the force of an anvil, threatening to break the fragile organ.
Lord Aberdeen came forward. “Lady Margaret, the duchess has requested you join her in the receiving line. Lady Ellen is there already, and I know they hope the duke will join them.”
Lady Margaret was welcome there, of course. She was the kind of woman suited to be a duchess. I laid a hand
