t doesn ’ t matter. ” Still, she could not meet her mother ’ s eyes. She stood and wandered toward the wardrobe. “S hall I wear the yellow crepe tonight, or the blue silk? ”
Matters of dress were Lady Ballymere ’ s chief preoccupation. As Cynthia had hoped, her mother ’ s thoughts were instantly diverted. “Y ou wore the blue silk last Wednesday. ”
“I don ’ t mean the dark blue. I mean the new one. ” She lifted the gown from the box where it had been packed. Tissue paper drifted to the floor. Shimmering folds of ice blue silk cascaded over her fingers. “I’ ve never worn it. ”
“N o, no, my dear. That ’ s glacé silk; not suitable for a mere family dinner — even at Oldham Park. We ’ re saving that one. Tsk! Let me repack it; you ’ ll crease the fabric. ” Her mother almost snatched the dress from Cynthia and began deftly folding it, frowning as she did so. “Y ou must not be careless with your clothing, Cynthia . You know perfectly well how limited our resources are. ”
Oh, yes, she knew perfectly well.
The complaining tone in her mother ’ s voice did not escape her, either. She knew it was considered her fault that the family ’ s resources were limited — not that she had done anything to limit them. She was held responsible for doing nothing to replenish them. The fact that her betrothal to Sir James had brought ten thousand pounds into the family ’ s coffers three years ago had not satisfied her parents. On the contrary, it had whetted their appetite for more. And no one but Cynthia saw any unfairness in blaming her for the family ’ s straitened circumstances. True, everyone agreed that it was Lord Ballymere ’ s enthusiasm for fast horseflesh and high living that had run them into debt. But since everyone believed that Cynthia could rectify the situation, if she only would, the family ’ s resentment was aimed squarely at her.
And, lately, she had begun to aim a little of her own resentment right back at them. This phenomenon was so unsettling that Cynthia could scarcely acknowledge it, even to herself. But her resentment was quietly growing, nevertheless.
She donned the shell pink dinner dress her mother chose, deferring, as usual, to her mother ’ s authority. But beneath the surface, Cynthia suffered tiny stirrings of mutiny. She said nothing, of course. She just wished — silently — that she could have worn the ice blue.
She needed to feel herself the Frost Fair tonight. She needed to look the part. She appeared far too inviting in baby-soft pink. It warmed her complexion and softened all the edges she worked so hard to sharpen. The flattering hue made her look lush and winsome and approachable. Tonight she needed to look — she needed to be — as remote and untouchable as the winter moon.
* * *
The drawing room at Oldham Park was cozy. Magnificent, but cozy. The effect was achieved through a wood fire that crackled at one end of it, and a diminution of the room ’ s gigantic proportions through judicious placement of the furniture. When Derek arrived, a footman was just lighting the last of the tapers that brightened the seating area. The duke and duchess had settled near the fire, but both rose courteously to their feet as Derek entered.
“M r. Whittaker, how lovely to see you again, ” murmured the duchess, extending her hand with old-fashioned grace. “W elcome to Oldham Park. ”
Derek bowed over her hand, expressed his appreciation at being allowed to come and keep his sister company, then turned to bow to the duke. The formality of the duke and duchess ’ s manners maintained an illusion of distance, but Derek knew that their hospitality was sincere. Malcolm ’ s parents cherished warm feelings for their children, and, for Malcolm and Natalie ’ s sake, were even prepared to extend those warm feelings to Derek.
The duke invited Derek to sit. He did so, taking a place near the duchess, and she favored him with
Matters of dress were Lady Ballymere ’ s chief preoccupation. As Cynthia had hoped, her mother ’ s thoughts were instantly diverted. “Y ou wore the blue silk last Wednesday. ”
“I don ’ t mean the dark blue. I mean the new one. ” She lifted the gown from the box where it had been packed. Tissue paper drifted to the floor. Shimmering folds of ice blue silk cascaded over her fingers. “I’ ve never worn it. ”
“N o, no, my dear. That ’ s glacé silk; not suitable for a mere family dinner — even at Oldham Park. We ’ re saving that one. Tsk! Let me repack it; you ’ ll crease the fabric. ” Her mother almost snatched the dress from Cynthia and began deftly folding it, frowning as she did so. “Y ou must not be careless with your clothing, Cynthia . You know perfectly well how limited our resources are. ”
Oh, yes, she knew perfectly well.
The complaining tone in her mother ’ s voice did not escape her, either. She knew it was considered her fault that the family ’ s resources were limited — not that she had done anything to limit them. She was held responsible for doing nothing to replenish them. The fact that her betrothal to Sir James had brought ten thousand pounds into the family ’ s coffers three years ago had not satisfied her parents. On the contrary, it had whetted their appetite for more. And no one but Cynthia saw any unfairness in blaming her for the family ’ s straitened circumstances. True, everyone agreed that it was Lord Ballymere ’ s enthusiasm for fast horseflesh and high living that had run them into debt. But since everyone believed that Cynthia could rectify the situation, if she only would, the family ’ s resentment was aimed squarely at her.
And, lately, she had begun to aim a little of her own resentment right back at them. This phenomenon was so unsettling that Cynthia could scarcely acknowledge it, even to herself. But her resentment was quietly growing, nevertheless.
She donned the shell pink dinner dress her mother chose, deferring, as usual, to her mother ’ s authority. But beneath the surface, Cynthia suffered tiny stirrings of mutiny. She said nothing, of course. She just wished — silently — that she could have worn the ice blue.
She needed to feel herself the Frost Fair tonight. She needed to look the part. She appeared far too inviting in baby-soft pink. It warmed her complexion and softened all the edges she worked so hard to sharpen. The flattering hue made her look lush and winsome and approachable. Tonight she needed to look — she needed to be — as remote and untouchable as the winter moon.
* * *
The drawing room at Oldham Park was cozy. Magnificent, but cozy. The effect was achieved through a wood fire that crackled at one end of it, and a diminution of the room ’ s gigantic proportions through judicious placement of the furniture. When Derek arrived, a footman was just lighting the last of the tapers that brightened the seating area. The duke and duchess had settled near the fire, but both rose courteously to their feet as Derek entered.
“M r. Whittaker, how lovely to see you again, ” murmured the duchess, extending her hand with old-fashioned grace. “W elcome to Oldham Park. ”
Derek bowed over her hand, expressed his appreciation at being allowed to come and keep his sister company, then turned to bow to the duke. The formality of the duke and duchess ’ s manners maintained an illusion of distance, but Derek knew that their hospitality was sincere. Malcolm ’ s parents cherished warm feelings for their children, and, for Malcolm and Natalie ’ s sake, were even prepared to extend those warm feelings to Derek.
The duke invited Derek to sit. He did so, taking a place near the duchess, and she favored him with
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