open, she gestured to the dress. ‘This is the result of hours and hours of work on Christine’s behalf, I am afraid, my lord. Tomorrow I shall be just as I was.’
But for Daniel time seemed to stand still, caught in astonishment and trepidation. Before Amethyst Cameron might have been largely invisible in a society ballroom, but now...now the knives could be out and sharper than they might otherwise have been.
When he glanced across he could see the same sort of astonishment on Lucien’s face that must have been evident upon his own. Christine simply looked as though she might laugh out loud.
God, he wished they did not have to go out at all, society and its expectations bearing down upon them with all its infatuation with beauty and grace. Her father was watching him too, eyes keen and his smile broad, giving Daniel the impression that he had known all along how truly lovely his daughter was.
‘I think we should ask Lady Christine to help again in the preparation for the wedding day, my dear. You have not looked so pretty in an age and I want a full report tomorrow on all the happenings at the ball,’ Robert said.
Only pretty? Daniel swallowed the words back and looked over at Lucien. There was a definite challenge in his green eyes.
‘I am more than certain tonight shall prove a most interesting experience, Mr Cameron.’ Lucien’s drawl was slow and languid.
* * *
‘Lord Montcliffe, Miss Amethyst Cameron, Lord Ross and Lady Christine Howard.’
As their names rang out across the ballroom the conversations filling the generous space quietened and heads turned their way.
This was exactly what Amethyst had been dreading, this exposure coupled with a public knowledge that she was from the lowly echelons of trade. She held in her breath and wondered if she might ever release it.
‘I always pretend there is a field of grass before me at this moment,’ Christine trilled, ‘and that the colourful gowns are flowers. And I never look anyone in the eye.’
Despite her trepidation Amethyst smiled and the awful horror of being so very visible faded into something she was more able to cope with. Daniel did not look even vaguely nonplussed by all the attention. Rather he seemed almost bored, an Earl who had graced countless ballrooms and endless society functions just like this.
His world, Amethyst thought. His heritage. Today he wore a large ring on the first finger of his left hand. She had not noticed him sport any jewellery before and this one was substantial— the crest impaled with a lion in red on one half and a series of white crosses in gold on the other. The family badges of a noble birth passed down from father to son. Just another small token of an exalted lineage and a further example of how unsuitably matched they were.
She had decided in the end not to wear any jewellery at all, letting the golden gown speak for itself with its intricate folds and detailing, but in this room with all the glamour of the ton she wondered if such lack was a mistake. Here, she felt out of place, the lessons from Gaskell Street leaving her totally unprepared for such opulence. She wanted to take Daniel’s hand and hold it close, an anchor in a world that was foreign and a man who could easily overcome any difficulties. But she did not, of course, for he had moved away slightly, making no attempt to claim her.
As they came to the group of people standing at the bottom of the steps she smiled politely and waited for Daniel to speak.
‘When did you get back, Francis?’ he asked one of the men.
‘This afternoon.’
‘And your cousin?’
‘Was long gone and had left no word of her return.’ His eyes flicked towards Amethyst, the startling depths of hazel guarded and questioning. ‘The ton is abuzz with your news, Montcliffe. Rather hasty, I might add, given that when I saw you last week you made no mention of a would-be wife.’
Lucien laughed. ‘The call of rich and beautiful is a strong one, Francis, as I am sure you must appreciate. Were you not on exactly the same mission in Bath?’
The words were both familiar and strange to Amethyst. Lord Ross could hardly think her beautiful, but she was rich. And was this Francis trying to find his own wealthy intended?
Of a sudden the hazel eyes of the stranger softened and he bowed his head towards her.
A mark of war lashed the newcomer’s left cheek in one cruel and unbroken line, leaving her to wonder at the pain that such a wound must have inflicted. If he noticed her looking, he made no reaction to show that he cared.
‘We were all at school together and followed each other to the battlefields,’ Daniel explained. ‘Overfamiliarity sometimes breeds a contempt of manners, but I am certain my friend will remember his soon.’
This time a true smile creased the ruined face. ‘I beg your pardon for my rudeness, Miss Cameron. My name is Lord Francis St Cartmail, Earl of Douglas, and I am more than interested to know if you have sisters?’
‘I have already explored that avenue, Francis,’ Christine quickly informed him. ‘For my brother, you understand. But sadly she is an only child.’
‘Then we still have to find our own fortunes, Luce.’
Laughter ensued, mirth that was neither embarrassed nor apologetic. The sort of laughter that told Amethyst these were friends who were in it for the long haul, thick or thin, good or bad. And it seemed that each warrior before her was also facing financial ruin.
The war, she wondered, or the war wounds? It cannot have been easy for them to come back into the glittering perfection of the ton from the hell of a Peninsular Campaign. Who would understand what they had been through and what they had seen, save for those who had returned with them. Forging bonds, closing the ranks. There was an ease in shared sorrow.
Compared to these three, the other men here looked effeminate and affected. She also saw the interest of many of the ladies in the assembly stray in their direction, some glances hopeful and shy whilst others were more bold and direct. When Daniel’s arm unexpectedly touched hers she looked down, his large fingers encased in a glove, the fabric of his jacket contrasting against her shimmering gown. A connection, amidst all the movement and chatter, the spark of a vibrating energy running into her fingers. Almost burning.
He must have felt it too because he pulled away, the contact lost, but not before she saw shock in his eyes.
A waltz began to be played by a string quartet stationed at the head of the room. A Viennese waltz played quickly. She had danced to this in her room in Mayfair as a practice. Back-two-three. Back-two-three. Her heart raced even faster when Daniel turned and asked her to dance.
* * *
Daniel found it difficult to know exactly what to make of Miss Amethyst Cameron as she came into his arms, her wheat-gold curls piled beneath yellow rosebuds and the gown of a darker hue sending the shade of her eyes to a burnished velvet.
She did not look as if she belonged here amidst the ton and the ballroom and the vacuous pursuits of those with little else save social soirées to occupy their time. She was so much more than that—an interloper who would bide here for a while just to watch it all.
It was the strength in her that made the others look weaker,
