you will be free to pursue whomever you please.”
They continued up the stairs to their rooms, and only after they were gone did Amber come out of her hiding place and continue to her own bedchamber. She rang for Suzanne and then explained the plans for tomorrow as she sat before her dressing table so that Suzanne could remove the pins holding the wig to the binding.
“I must look my very best tomorrow night,” Amber said, watching in the mirror as Suzanne lifted the wig off Amber’s head and moved it to the pedestal set on a table beside Amber’s vanity. She thought of Darra’s long dark hair—her real hair. Who was the “he” she had mentioned?
Suzanne untucked the wrapping, and Amber sighed with relief as it was unwound from her head, leaving an oddly satisfying ache behind it. Though she was glad for the success of the Middleton tea, she was equally grateful that her mother had not obligated her for any events this evening. She felt in need of the time to prepare for tomorrow and felt rather fatigued.
Her reflection took her by surprise and she blinked quickly. Hair stuck out in several directions and the bald portions were still red and scabbed from where the blisters had been. It was truly gruesome, but with the wig it no longer mattered so much. She had successfully attended the Middleton’s tea. She would attend tomorrow’s party at Carlton House—the epicenter of society.
It will work , she told herself, looking away from the horrible reminder of her condition reflected in the mirror as she reached for one of the lace caps Suzanne had purchased for her a few days earlier She put the cap in place and looked back at her reflection. It has to work .
Chapter 11
Fenton introduced Thomas to Waiters on a night when the entertainment was thin and Thomas’s patience with wife-hunting was even thinner. The famous club, known for its gaming, was reserved for only the highest of the ton . Thomas had enjoyed himself more than he’d expected. That he left thirty pounds richer than he’d been upon arrival improved his opinion that much more. After that first evening, Thomas and Fenton had attended a few other times and after an assembly last night, returned again.
Too many glasses of brandy combined with other distractions sent Thomas home with a pounding head and pockets on the verge of empty. It wasn’t until morning, however, that he realized the extent of his carelessness. He had gambled away nearly a hundred pounds in one evening and awoke sick to his stomach for more reasons than one.
He left his rooms in search of sun and wind to clear his head and found himself seated at the back of St. Paul’s Cathedral. He was not the only person to seek refuge in the church on a Saturday morning, but he sat long enough to see everyone who had been there upon his arrival be replaced with another set and still did not feel absolved of his regret.
He reviewed his memories of the evening before, more ill at ease with himself each time he ran through his actions.
Why had he accepted that third glass of brandy? It was not like him to be so free with his drink.
Why had he allowed himself to become so distracted by the conversations going on around him that he was inattentive to the cards in his hand? He was usually such a shrewd player.
Why had he kept playing when he’d lost the twenty pounds he’d promised himself as his limit? He was not a man with a sizable allowance that gave him margins for frivolous spending; he knew better.
He did the equations in his head of how much of this year’s corn harvest would equate to those hundred pounds. How much would he spend on his workers who planted, raised, and harvested it? How many families in Northallerton lived off a hundred pounds for an entire year? How many other families could only dream of that much?
With elbows braced upon his knees, he let his thoughts wander down equally dark roads that had little to do with money and far more to do with the pattern his
They continued up the stairs to their rooms, and only after they were gone did Amber come out of her hiding place and continue to her own bedchamber. She rang for Suzanne and then explained the plans for tomorrow as she sat before her dressing table so that Suzanne could remove the pins holding the wig to the binding.
“I must look my very best tomorrow night,” Amber said, watching in the mirror as Suzanne lifted the wig off Amber’s head and moved it to the pedestal set on a table beside Amber’s vanity. She thought of Darra’s long dark hair—her real hair. Who was the “he” she had mentioned?
Suzanne untucked the wrapping, and Amber sighed with relief as it was unwound from her head, leaving an oddly satisfying ache behind it. Though she was glad for the success of the Middleton tea, she was equally grateful that her mother had not obligated her for any events this evening. She felt in need of the time to prepare for tomorrow and felt rather fatigued.
Her reflection took her by surprise and she blinked quickly. Hair stuck out in several directions and the bald portions were still red and scabbed from where the blisters had been. It was truly gruesome, but with the wig it no longer mattered so much. She had successfully attended the Middleton’s tea. She would attend tomorrow’s party at Carlton House—the epicenter of society.
It will work , she told herself, looking away from the horrible reminder of her condition reflected in the mirror as she reached for one of the lace caps Suzanne had purchased for her a few days earlier She put the cap in place and looked back at her reflection. It has to work .
Chapter 11
Fenton introduced Thomas to Waiters on a night when the entertainment was thin and Thomas’s patience with wife-hunting was even thinner. The famous club, known for its gaming, was reserved for only the highest of the ton . Thomas had enjoyed himself more than he’d expected. That he left thirty pounds richer than he’d been upon arrival improved his opinion that much more. After that first evening, Thomas and Fenton had attended a few other times and after an assembly last night, returned again.
Too many glasses of brandy combined with other distractions sent Thomas home with a pounding head and pockets on the verge of empty. It wasn’t until morning, however, that he realized the extent of his carelessness. He had gambled away nearly a hundred pounds in one evening and awoke sick to his stomach for more reasons than one.
He left his rooms in search of sun and wind to clear his head and found himself seated at the back of St. Paul’s Cathedral. He was not the only person to seek refuge in the church on a Saturday morning, but he sat long enough to see everyone who had been there upon his arrival be replaced with another set and still did not feel absolved of his regret.
He reviewed his memories of the evening before, more ill at ease with himself each time he ran through his actions.
Why had he accepted that third glass of brandy? It was not like him to be so free with his drink.
Why had he allowed himself to become so distracted by the conversations going on around him that he was inattentive to the cards in his hand? He was usually such a shrewd player.
Why had he kept playing when he’d lost the twenty pounds he’d promised himself as his limit? He was not a man with a sizable allowance that gave him margins for frivolous spending; he knew better.
He did the equations in his head of how much of this year’s corn harvest would equate to those hundred pounds. How much would he spend on his workers who planted, raised, and harvested it? How many families in Northallerton lived off a hundred pounds for an entire year? How many other families could only dream of that much?
With elbows braced upon his knees, he let his thoughts wander down equally dark roads that had little to do with money and far more to do with the pattern his
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