The only time Dree felt comfortable these days was when Lord Blanford was around. The earl was good company when he came down off his high horse.
Dree kicked a rock in her path. Who was she fooling? The earl wasn’t a pleasant companion in her chaperoning duties. He was the most fascinating man she’d ever met, or was ever likely to. And he’d be leaving right after the Valentine’s Day ball. He’d most likely come back for the wedding, but for his friend’s sake, not hers. Then Carrie would ride off with her fair Lochinvar—and Dree would have to make some kind of life for herself.
Her future looked as bleak as this midwinter day. She supposed she could take Uncle Augustus’s advice and find a husband. The Widower Allison needed a mother for his three young children. Tom Rush needed help in his butcher shop. Buck Sharfe needed strong sons to help work his farm. Without a dowry, without a Season in London or even Bath, that was the best she could hope for. But Papa needed the money her employment would bring, and Dree had needs of her own. She saw the stars in Carrie’s eyes and wished for a love match, too. Besides, after knowing the Earl of Blanford, a lesser man just wouldn’t do. And they were all lesser men, she feared, every male in the kingdom.
Audrina pulled her red cape closer, trying to warm the chill in her heart. How foolish, she chided herself, wishing for what she didn’t have. What she did have, the saints be praised, was ten pounds, and the chance to attend her very first fancy ball. She turned her steps toward the little dry goods shop in the village. For once in her life Audrina Rowe was going to look like a lady.
There were bound to be strangers at Lady Halbersham’s do, perhaps a gentleman so strange he wouldn’t notice he was partnering an impoverished vicar’s daughter with flyaway red hair and managing ways. Perhaps he wouldn’t mind that Papa’s learning was her only dowry, and that her highborn relatives didn’t acknowledge her. And perhaps, just perhaps, he wouldn’t be a stranger after all.
Velvet as soft as kitten fur, the palest pink of sunset’s reflection, that’s what Audrina chose, and green ribbons for trim, to match her eyes. With the help of Carinne and her maid, she fashioned a simple gown with tiny puffed sleeves and a skirt that fell straight from the high waist just under her bosom. There were no flounces or lace overskirts or intricate embroidery—there was no time. There were brand-new white gloves, though, and silk stockings. And powder covering most of her freckles, and her hair done up in an intricate braid coiled atop her head, with just a few curls allowed to trail down her shoulder. The maid had pulled Dree’s hair so tight, and set in so many hairpins, the arrangement wouldn’t dare come undone.
Dree felt almost pretty, until she saw her cousin. Carinne looked like a princess in her silver sarcenet, with the diamond tiara her father presented her as an engagement present. She seemed even happier with the bouquet of flowers Lord Podell had delivered, and instantly demanded the maid weave them through the headpiece. Dree cut some ferns from the potted plant in the hallway and wove them into a wreath for her own hair, so it might look like someone sent her a posy, too.
There, Dree thought as she gathered her lamentably red cape, she’d done her best. It wouldn’t be good enough for him, of course, who was so proud and proper, elegant and à la mode, but not even the Earl of Blanford could accuse her of looking like the parish brat tonight. That would have to be sufficient. She wasn’t fool enough to hope for the sun and the moon.
Downstairs, however, a package waited for her, a nosegay of white rosebuds. The card read: The supper dance? MB. If not the sun and the moon, maybe she could hope for a few stars. There were certainly stars in her eyes as she dashed back up the stairs to pin the flowers to the neckline of her gown. Perfect! Except…except
Dree kicked a rock in her path. Who was she fooling? The earl wasn’t a pleasant companion in her chaperoning duties. He was the most fascinating man she’d ever met, or was ever likely to. And he’d be leaving right after the Valentine’s Day ball. He’d most likely come back for the wedding, but for his friend’s sake, not hers. Then Carrie would ride off with her fair Lochinvar—and Dree would have to make some kind of life for herself.
Her future looked as bleak as this midwinter day. She supposed she could take Uncle Augustus’s advice and find a husband. The Widower Allison needed a mother for his three young children. Tom Rush needed help in his butcher shop. Buck Sharfe needed strong sons to help work his farm. Without a dowry, without a Season in London or even Bath, that was the best she could hope for. But Papa needed the money her employment would bring, and Dree had needs of her own. She saw the stars in Carrie’s eyes and wished for a love match, too. Besides, after knowing the Earl of Blanford, a lesser man just wouldn’t do. And they were all lesser men, she feared, every male in the kingdom.
Audrina pulled her red cape closer, trying to warm the chill in her heart. How foolish, she chided herself, wishing for what she didn’t have. What she did have, the saints be praised, was ten pounds, and the chance to attend her very first fancy ball. She turned her steps toward the little dry goods shop in the village. For once in her life Audrina Rowe was going to look like a lady.
There were bound to be strangers at Lady Halbersham’s do, perhaps a gentleman so strange he wouldn’t notice he was partnering an impoverished vicar’s daughter with flyaway red hair and managing ways. Perhaps he wouldn’t mind that Papa’s learning was her only dowry, and that her highborn relatives didn’t acknowledge her. And perhaps, just perhaps, he wouldn’t be a stranger after all.
Velvet as soft as kitten fur, the palest pink of sunset’s reflection, that’s what Audrina chose, and green ribbons for trim, to match her eyes. With the help of Carinne and her maid, she fashioned a simple gown with tiny puffed sleeves and a skirt that fell straight from the high waist just under her bosom. There were no flounces or lace overskirts or intricate embroidery—there was no time. There were brand-new white gloves, though, and silk stockings. And powder covering most of her freckles, and her hair done up in an intricate braid coiled atop her head, with just a few curls allowed to trail down her shoulder. The maid had pulled Dree’s hair so tight, and set in so many hairpins, the arrangement wouldn’t dare come undone.
Dree felt almost pretty, until she saw her cousin. Carinne looked like a princess in her silver sarcenet, with the diamond tiara her father presented her as an engagement present. She seemed even happier with the bouquet of flowers Lord Podell had delivered, and instantly demanded the maid weave them through the headpiece. Dree cut some ferns from the potted plant in the hallway and wove them into a wreath for her own hair, so it might look like someone sent her a posy, too.
There, Dree thought as she gathered her lamentably red cape, she’d done her best. It wouldn’t be good enough for him, of course, who was so proud and proper, elegant and à la mode, but not even the Earl of Blanford could accuse her of looking like the parish brat tonight. That would have to be sufficient. She wasn’t fool enough to hope for the sun and the moon.
Downstairs, however, a package waited for her, a nosegay of white rosebuds. The card read: The supper dance? MB. If not the sun and the moon, maybe she could hope for a few stars. There were certainly stars in her eyes as she dashed back up the stairs to pin the flowers to the neckline of her gown. Perfect! Except…except
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