Chapter Thirteen
Violins and music cascaded up to Hattie’s chamber and her stomach flipped…
twice. The night of the ball had arrived, and so had everyone in London, or so it seemed.
She eased over to the east window of her bedroom chamber and peered out.
Carriages lined the long drive, which was illuminated by lighted stakes at regular intervals to guide drivers as they approached Blithe Manor. She pressed a hand over her stomach.
Why had she agreed to this?
A steady flow of guests arrived in gowns, suits and jewels that glistened in the flickering glow of the lanterns as they climbed the steps with grace.
The chamber door of her room squeaked open.
‘Is all of London here?’ she asked Mrs Chisholm, who had gone to retrieve some additional necessity that Hattie couldn’t remember. Her mind was blanking from lack of focus and nerves.
‘Almost,’ Daphne replied with a chuckle and Hattie turned. Her heart soared with gratitude and relief to see her new friend arrive for support.
Lady Buchanan stilled at the sight of Hattie and stared briefly before bringing a hand to her mouth and looking to Mademoiselle Dashiell who was making yet another ‘final adjustment’ to Hattie’s hem.
A blush warmed Hattie’s cheeks and her pulse increased.
‘Is it too much?’ Hattie rushed out. ‘I may have misjudged when I insisted on this shade,’ she continued.
‘I know nothing of the ton or Society and I fear I may ruin His Grace’s plan,’ she continued.
‘It is not too late,’ she added. ‘I can change and pretend we have not done any of this. No one will know,’ she finished.
She struggled to take a breath. She didn’t know if it was from nerves or the exquisite binding of the new undergarments the Mademoiselle and Lady Buchanan said were ‘essential’ to showcase her figure.
Daphne dropped her hand from her mouth and smiled.
‘Mademoiselle,’ she said softly, ‘you have created a masterpiece. Truly. No one will be able to take their eyes from you, Miss Potts.’ Her eyes glistened as if she might cry and Hattie’s throat tightened.
Could it be true? Could she be beautiful enough to fool everyone?
‘Don’t you mean Lady Penelope?’ Mademoiselle quipped and smirked before fluffing out the back of Hattie’s gown and standing. ‘Turn and look in the mirror for yourself, Miss Potts. You are stunning, ma chérie.’
Hattie closed her eyes. ‘I cannot,’ she murmured. Uncertainty swirled and festered in her stomach like a crowd of butterflies desperate to free themselves from their cocoons.
What if she wasn’t enough? What if she was still…lacking…after all they had done for her and they just didn’t want to tell her the truth?
‘Yes, you can,’ Daphne said, grasping her shoulders and gently turning her. ‘Open your eyes,’ she said.
You can do this. She counted down. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.
Then she opened her eyes.
Hattie blinked once and then again. Her lips parted in surprise.
Was this woman looking back in the gilded standing mirror truly her?
Hattie lifted a hand to her stomach—so did the woman in the mirror.
She felt the gentle pressure of her trembling fingers on her hip as she slid her hand to the edge of the embroidered fabric of her gown.
It was her. She had never seen a more glorious dress in all her life and she had never looked as beautiful.
While she knew the modiste was a gifted seamstress, Hattie had never seen or dreamed of anything so exquisite.
She had also never understood how a gown could transform oneself until this moment.
How a fine frock could thrust you into a power you had never known before.
Simply put, it was magic.
She was Cinderella.
‘I cannot believe it. You have made me her. I am no longer Hattie Potts, orphan from Stow, but Lady Penelope Denning, a woman of means, substance and standing.’
‘And great wealth,’ Daphne quipped with a wink. ‘Do not forget you are from a prominent family overseas and have returned after studies at a fine boarding school. You are a hidden treasure revealed.’
‘And that.’ Hattie smiled and the uncertainty of before transformed into excitement.
For a night she could be someone else just like she and Ophelia and Trudy had always dreamed about. For a few hours, she would escape the disappointment of her past and revel in the finery and acceptance of being someone else with influence and means…and beauty.
She turned her head and couldn’t help but smile.
Her dark hair was wrapped in a jewelled bandeau of small crystals and rubies woven with skill through her tresses.
It twinkled when she turned her head and caught the light.
And the jewels! Rubies dangled from her ears and trailed gently along her collarbone from the necklace around her neck.
She ran her fingertips over them, stunned by the petite oval stones and their rich, wine colour that warmed her fair skin.
The three women stared at Hattie’s reflection.
Daphne was the first to speak. ‘I think His Grace will be quite pleased with how compelling and how very believable you look. I dare say you might be more successful than he is prepared for.’
‘Is that good or bad?’ Hattie asked.
‘It is good, ma chérie,’ Mademoiselle offered. ‘It is always good to keep a man of power and influence on his toes, is it not, my lady?’
‘My, yes, it is,’ Daphne murmured. ‘I can hardly wait to see his face.’
The mantel clock chimed as if it, too, agreed with Lady Buchanan’s statement. ‘Is it time?’ Hattie asked.
Daphne cast a glance back at the clock and then walked to the window where she peaked out at the drive. She quirked her lips. ‘We shall give ten more minutes and then present you. I shall go ahead and go down, my dear, and make sure that my cousin has not attempted a hasty escape.’
Hattie froze.
‘Only teasing,’ Daphne began and then paused. ‘Mostly teasing. He would not abandon his own ball…at least I don’t think he would. I’d best go and check on him.’
Before Hattie could utter a word of protest, Daphne, her tether of safety, vanished from her chambers.
‘You will take their breath away, Miss Potts,’ Mademoiselle said, smiling at her.
‘Are you sure?’
‘I believe you may be my finest creation,’ she said, lifting her chin as she smoothed out a turned-up edge on one of Hattie’s small cap sleeves.
Hattie’s shoulders fell and she swallowed hard. If this did not work, she would be failing everyone.
‘What happened to that confident powerful woman I saw emerge when you first glanced upon yourself in that mirror?’ Mademoiselle asked. ‘Bring her back. She was Lady Penelope. She is who you must become. The dress can do much for you, but you must bring the woman to life.’
Hattie looked at herself. Mademoiselle Dashiell’s words were true. Hattie had to not only look like a lady, but act like one. She lifted her chin and harnessed the power and magic she’d felt the first moment she’d gazed upon herself in the mirror once more.
She would become Lady Penelope Denning.
For Millie. For Ophelia. For Trudy. For His Grace.
And if she were honest…for herself.
For once, she wanted to become the woman she had always wished to be.
A woman who was adored, beautiful, wealthy and with a family, even if it was only a pretend one.
Her father could become the man of her imagination’s creation, since she had never known him, and her mother could be the strong, resilient, nurturing spirit she had always longed for rather than the woman who had given up on her life and died from heartbreak when Hattie was a child.
Hattie would be worthy of what she wore and how she was treated this evening.
‘Shoes?’ Mademoiselle asked, smiling at her. She held two options for Hattie and each was beautiful.
‘Which one will I be less likely to fall in?’ she asked.
‘That does not sound like something Lady Penelope would worry over,’ Lady Buchanan stated with a smirk as she closed the chamber door behind her. Hattie had not even heard her return.
‘You are right,’ Hattie replied. She studied each shoe and opted for the one with the higher heel and embellished flowers cascading across the toe.
‘They will swoon for you,’ Daphne stated. ‘William is waiting. I do not believe I have seen him this nervous since his wedding day.’
Hattie’s stomach flipped as she slipped her stocking feet into the satin shoes. They felt so marvellous she almost sighed aloud.
‘Ready?’ Daphne asked.
While her heart screamed she was not at all prepared, Hattie nodded as if she was.
The sooner the charade began, the sooner it would end, and if she could muster up the adequate amount of courage, she might even enjoy herself.
This was her chance to be someone rather than an orphan and governess.
This evening anything was possible, even a great deal of happiness.
But she had to let herself receive it. For it was there for the taking.
Hattie slid her hands into the silky-smooth long gloves the modiste had made of the same wine-coloured material as her dress and stepped forward as the chamber door was opened for her by the maid.
Daphne turned to her and smiled. ‘Follow me, my lady. The ton awaits.’
William felt like an awkward schoolboy as he waited at the threshold behind the curtains at the top of the stairs.
The ballroom below was awash with colourful gowns, glistening jewels and the golden glow of candlelight.
Soft music played in the background as the ton mingled with one another, no doubt whispering about when he, as the Duke and host of the ball to celebrate his succession, would appear.
So much depended on how believable Miss Potts was this evening.
If she was convincing as Lady Penelope Denning, then his family might finally have some sense of normalcy and peace.
If she was not, then the scrutiny around him, his wife’s scandalous past and his family would only intensify.
A wave of loneliness washed over him. How he wished his parents and brother could be here to share this moment, but the irony was if they were here, he wouldn’t be inheriting such a title.
How he would trade it all to have them back.
He longed for their love, support and guidance.
At least he had Daphne. After Cecily’s death, many of his so-called friends had created some distance from him.
For even if the ton did not speak of the indelicacies of his late wife in public, they were whispered about in private.
Everyone had known of Cecily’s proclivities.
He stifled a curse. Tonight had to be successful. It was time for positive gossip to spread like wildfire among the peerage about his family name and legacy. For his sake. For Millie’s sake.
This had to be a new chapter and a fresh step forward.
He closed his eyes and began to will just that.
‘Your Grace?’
Miss Potts.
Her voice was soft yet confident. He smiled, eager to see what Mademoiselle Dashiell had created and why Daphne had been so insistent on him not seeing his pretend betrothed for the evening until this very moment.
He turned.
Everything around him stopped. He could not hear or see anything but her.
He stared. Was this gorgeous creature Miss Potts, his governess?
He gazed at her, taking in every detail of her.
Her gown, the darkest of merlots, flowed along her form, accentuating her fine figure by cinching in and out of all the right places.
A whisper of rubies glittered from an exquisite trail along her neck and teased the light as they twinkled from her delicate earlobes and hair, and her skin radiated like soft cream with her chestnut hair bound in some glorious twist of waves upon her head.
His throat dried. He had never seen so much of her before.
Her shoulders and collarbone and whisper of decolletage thrust his mind and body into places he had not expected.
Lust surged in him and he did his best to tamp it down before his body reacted too strongly.
While he did need to appear attracted to her, as his pretend betrothed, he did need to maintain decorum.
She is Millie’s governess. She is Millie’s governess.
He chanted it over and over in his mind. But she surely did not look like one tonight. He opened and closed one of his gloved hands by his side as he regained his composure. ‘You look breathtaking, Lady Penelope,’ he finally said, his voice low and husky. He cleared his throat.
‘Thank you, Your Grace. I am astonished by what Lady Buchanan and Mademoiselle Dashiell have accomplished. I feel like a princess.’ Miss Potts smiled, wide and full, and her beauty expanded further, threatening to reach out and touch him.
Another surge of lust rushed through his limbs, making his entire body flush with a need he had not allowed himself to feel in… evidently far too long a time: desire.
His mind cast about for something to say to distract himself. ‘I agree. You will be the talk of the ball this evening. Shall we?’ he said, gesturing to the ballroom below.
Her eyes widened. ‘Now?’
He chuckled. There was the Miss Potts he knew. ‘Shall there be a better time?’
She paused, considering his words. ‘I suppose not, Your Grace.’
‘Remember, while you should address me as Your Grace as governess, you should address me as William as my betrothed when we are alone and others listen in.’ He winked. ‘And I will address you as Penelope.’
‘Of course, I forgot…’ She paused and tried out his given name. ‘William,’ she said slowly as if she’d never said the syllables in such a way before. His name from her now-rouged lips sounded sacred and he liked it more than he wished to admit.
He stepped forward and caught the gaze of the head musician to signal a pause, so he could be announced, and he turned back to Miss Potts to explain what was to come.
‘He will announce me. Then I will step out and say a few words of greeting and introduce you to everyone. You will then emerge from behind here, smile, greet the applause with a slight curtsy and accept my arm. I will guide you down the stairs and the swarm of the ton will begin.’
Her eyes widened. ‘And what will I say to everyone?’
‘Tell them who you are the way we practised. They will be so entranced by your beauty they most likely will not remember a word of what you have said. Oh, and be mindful with that fan of yours,’ he teased, glancing down at the matching wine-and-cream-coloured fan dangling from her gloved wrist. He winked at her and she laughed, which put them both at ease as the music came to a stop and a quiet fell over the crowd.