He hated that he should have to qualify his choice of bride in monetary value, but it seemed such an explanation was all Janet Montcliffe understood. She looked furious.
‘Amethyst? What sort of name is that?’
‘Hers.’ Daniel was tired of being careful and polite. His mother’s frown deepened.
‘We will be the laughing stock of the ton.’
‘I doubt that sincerely, Mother.’
‘Do you love her, then?’ This question came from his oldest sister Gwen, the sort of light shining in her eyes that could only belong to a naive and unworldly girl.
‘Of course he does not.’ His mother answered for him. ‘The interloper has simply tipped her cap at the title and managed to do what a hundred well-brought-up daughters of society have not been able to. She has brought your brother to heel and he will regret it, mark my words. You are marrying well beneath your station in life, Daniel, but any remorse afterwards will be useless. You will be tied to the upstart for life.’
‘I am taking it that you will not be attending the wedding ceremony then, Mother?’
‘None of us will be. I could not bear to look on Miss Amethyst Cameron’s face and see the gleam of victory within it. The girls should not be allowed anywhere near such...tradespeople either.’ She almost spat the word out. ‘As for your grandfather, he is sick and hasn’t the energy for all this nonsense so you are alone in your foolish choice of bride. I had such high hopes for you, too.’
Daniel stood as the resulting silence lengthened. ‘Then I shall bid you goodnight.’
With that he simply walked to the door and left.
* * *
He found himself lingering in the confines of Grosvenor Square. The Cameron house was dark save for a light on the second floor where the curtains had been drawn. The shadow of a woman caught in candlelight moved in a way that made him frown. His wife-to-be was dancing alone in her room and the outline showed no sign of the shape of her wig. A waltz, he determined by the beat of steps she took, a practice of the dance of love.
The tension he felt began to lessen and lighting a cheroot he leant back and watched. Janet Montcliffe and her bitterness had been a constant in his life, the anger and the rancour almost normal.
Amethyst Cameron, unlike his mother, was a logical and reasonable woman and one who held to the tenet of wording differences of opinion in a sane and sensible way. She did not whine or moan or berate. He liked her smile and her dimples and the low timbre of her voice. Her clothes might be shapeless and ill-formed but when the wind had caught her riding attire and pressed the material against her body he saw that there was a surprisingly shapely form beneath. He was intrigued by the description of her hair. Light and curly. Velvet-brown eyes would complement such a shade admirably.
After the scene at the dinner table tonight he wished he was anywhere but in London town. A different life was one he had been dreaming of for quite a while now. He smiled as the shadow drifted closer to the window and hoped she might pull the curtain back to look down and see him.
He liked talking to her. He liked her blushes and the quiet way she had dealt with the snobbery of Lady Charlotte Mackay. He liked her father.
Breathing out heavily, he wondered what all this meant.
He had always felt homeless, but Amethyst Cameron had had the effect of anchoring him. His father had been a man who was melancholic and weak and as his bitterness grew he had sworn that no offspring from his unhappy marriage would ever see a penny of the family money. An unhappy coupling that had brought out the worst in both of them, Daniel suddenly reasoned, and the thought made him drop his cigar beneath his boot and stomp out the embers. Nigel and he had been caught in the crossfire of their parents’ shortcomings. The spending of great sums of money and long holidays apart had dammed up the resentments for a while, but even that had not altered their basic dislike of each other. When his father had fallen from his horse after a long drinking binge his mother had buried him with a smile on her face.
Daniel did not look back as he strode into Upper Brook Street and hailed a passing cabriolet.
‘No, this is a far better colour on you, Amethyst. See how the gold brings out the shade in your eyes.’ Lady Christine Howard smiled as she wound a darker gold band about the neckline. ‘With just a bit of manoeuvring we can lower the bodice and attach it. If I fashion it carefully, it will fold like this to show off your curves.’
Lord Ross’s sister was like a small whirlwind, her clever fingers pushing the fabric into a shape that was indeed flattering.
‘You do not think it a little daring?’
‘Absolutely not. Compared to some of the other gowns on display you will look like a novice newly released from a French convent.’ Christine laughed loudly and Amethyst joined in. Nowhere at all lingered the depression or sadness that her brother had spoken of, though the large ruby ring she wore on her marriage finger alluded to a lost betrothed.
‘The trick of it is to believe you are the most beautiful woman in the room and act like it.’
Amethyst’s face fell. Such a thing sounded impossibly difficult.
‘Your hair will need to be done differently, of course, to have any hope of pulling it off. The wig must go.’
‘You knew I wore one?’
‘Does not everybody? You could look so much prettier than you do now with it gone and I love the art of dressing hair.’
Like a shop dress form, Amethyst was pulled this way and that and the strangest thing of it all was that she was beginning to actually enjoy the unfamiliar pampering and the rapid conversation.
‘Your husband-to-be has most of the women of the ton panting after him and why would he not, for he is beautiful.’
‘Too beautiful for me.’
The words were out before she realised she had said them, but Christine appeared completely unfazed.
‘You hide what you have, that is the trouble, but it is time to come out from the shadows. More importantly you have a fortune and is that not what all of the men of the ton need these days? I know Lucien does. It is a great pity you do not have a sister for then he could marry her and we would be related and no longer poor. I do hate how money, or rather the lack of it, defines one.’
‘In my circle of acquaintances it doesn’t, really.’
‘That is why you are such a refreshing find, Amethyst, and why I like being here to help you.’
Christine reached into the case she had brought with her for another piece of fabric, this time the lightest shade of red and held it to Amy’s face. ‘Next time you buy a gown, choose this shade. See how it suits your skin? What colour is your real hair, by the way, or do you have none?’
Because there was no artifice or malice in the question Amy undid the pins and lifted the dull brown wig away,
