Chapter Twenty-one
The following evening, Sylvie, still floating on air and preoccupied with all things Lord Angus Westland, was near to bursting and practically pounced upon poor Betsy the moment she arrived to help her dress.
“Oh, Betsy! How I have missed you. How was your mother? Did you find her well? Did she enjoy the cake?”
“She did, thank you. It was very kind of you to insist I go… but totally unnecessary.”
“Nonsense. It was your mother’s birthday, of course you had to go. You never take time off.”
“Yes, well… as much as I love my family, they drive me scatty. But never mind that… tell me everything about the ball.”
“Oh, Betsy,” gasped Sylvie. Wide-eyed with excitement, she grasped her maid’s hands and started spinning them around the room. “We danced! We danced the waltz!”
“A waltz?” repeated Betsy in surprise. “With Lord Westland?”
“Yes… and it was wonderful. He is utterly wonderful… Elegant and masterful… he glides across the floor so effortlessly, and he held me so close I thought I might faint with happiness… and he thoroughly enjoyed it.”
“He did?” Betsy’s scepticism was audible.
“Yes!… Yes, he did. He told me so,” cried Sylvie in delight, “and you know he is not one to flatter with empty words or offer hollow compliments.”
“He never offers compliments, period.”
“Exactly! Which is why, when he does, it’s thrilling… utterly romantic.”
“Romantic?”
“Indeed. Far more so than if he constantly whispered sweet-nothings. He may be a man of few words….”
“A few words!” Betsy giggled. “The man barely makes an effort to speak. To anyone. Tis you who does all the talking… and carries the conversations yourself.”
“That’s a bit unfair,” Sylvie laughed. “Lord Westland is just a little reticent in society, tis all. He gets a little overwhelmed with crowds of people, and since I am a chatterbox and use ten words where two would suffice, I happily fill any awkward silences. Lord Westland is simply more economical with his words… more considered. Reserved. But when we are alone, we have wonderful conversations.”
“Right,” Betsy said, smiling at her mistress’s earnestness.
“We do,” squeaked Sylvie, coming to a halt. “We talk of all manner of things.”
Grinning, Betsy shook her head and led her to the dressing table and made her sit. “You talk of all manner of things.”
“I know,” laughed Sylvie, “and it’s wonderful… to be free to be oneself, to have someone who listens and offers advice rather than ridicule. Theodore is becoming a far better pirate now we know how to heave to and trim the sails. And did I mention what a wonderful dancer he is?”
“Yes, several times.”
“Utterly wonderful! And amusing… though he doesn’t realise he is. He does make me laugh, you know.”
“Yes, I know. He makes you laugh, and yes, he’s a wonderful dancer… but has he kissed you yet?” asked Betsy as she brushed her mistress’s hair.
“Mm?” sighed Sylvie dreamily.
Betsy abruptly paused her brushing. “Milady, did… did he kiss you?”
“What? Oh, no, not yet. But he smiles, so delightfully, I believe our level of acquaintance is… improving.”
“Your what?”
“Mm,” she hummed, absentmindedly twirling a curl around her finger.
Betsy instantly batted away the interference and deftly pinned the tendril in place. “But did you try what I suggested?”
“Well… sort of. Well, no, not really.”
“Pray, tell me you didn’t sniff him again,” sighed Betsy, shaking her head.
“No, of course not. And I… I couldn’t do that thing. There were so many people, it was quite a crush. It was very distracting, everyone wishing for his attention…”
“Right then. Let’s get you into your dress. I’ve made a few alterations,” she muttered under her breath, “which might help focus his attention.”
“Pardon? What did you say?”
“Nothing, my little lady, just how lovely you will look tonight in the pastel.”
Once Betsy finished fluffing, Sylvie turned to the full-length looking glass and gasped.
“Betsy… whatever have you done?”
“Why, not much. Just a little alteration, as I said.”
“But… my… my… bosom is… is…”
“Perfect,” Said Betsy firmly.
With a little furrow on her brow, Sylvie leaned closer to the mirror, running her fingertips along the rather daring neckline. “Is… is it not a little low?”
“Trust me — it’s perfect,” said Betsy. Sylvie may write stories brimming with fluttering hearts and chased kisses, but when it came to men, in the real world, she was as innocent as the day she was born.
“Now, I want to hear every detail when you return from the theatre. I hear it’s a super play, and… have a lovely time.”
“And smile a lot, yes, yes…” laughed Sylvie as she floated from the room, caught between excitement and nerves.
* * *
Westland paced impatiently in the entrance hall of Mason House, feeling he was becoming somewhat too familiar with the place.
He knew three pairs of eyes were watching from above, and at the sound of muffled giggles, he turned to see Sylvie descending the stairs, flashing her younger sisters a little scowl.
He stood stock-still and swallowed as his gaze travelled down from her face.
“Good evening, my lord.”
Clearing his throat, realising too late that he had openly stared, he muttered, “Do you have a wrap?”
“Umm, yes,” she said a little curiously, holding up a length of flimsy silk, “but I do not think…”
He snatched it from her and impatiently looped it around her shoulders, turning her like a bobbin, wrapping it once, twice, then flung the end back over her shoulder.
“My lord… whatever are you doing?” she giggled.
“You’ll catch a chill.”
“But it is uncommonly warm this evening, and you have… “
“Hmph. Let us go, or we will miss the first act,” he muttered and ushered her from the house.
* * *
Sylvie, standing at the carriage door, gave him an incredulous look.
“Well,” he said a little impatiently as he held out his hand to assist her into the carriage.
“Well, I would, my lord, if you had not trussed me up tighter than a Christmas Turkey and I could move my arms any further than this,” she said, wriggling her hands, which were poking out from the bottom of the wrap at hip level.
He stared at her for a moment before comprehension dawned. “Right… yes, well.”
“Mayhap you would be kind enough to unravel me?”
“Umm, yes, right.”
The sight of her standing there — swaddled tightly from neck to hip in dusky pink silk, thanks entirely to his own stupidity — made him cough out a laugh.
“A little help? Umm, whenever you are ready?” she said patiently, bobbing her head towards the cause of her predicament.
“Ahem,” he rasped, trying to smother another laugh, but it burst out anyway, and it took him a moment to recover.
Sylvie was staring at him with a mixture of confusion and surprise. He coughed again, cleared his throat and muttered, “Right… yes… my apologies. Umm… where is the end? Ah, here.”
He twirled her in the opposite direction to that in which he had wrapped her minutes before, then clumsily tried to drape as much silk over her chest as possible.
“For goodness’ sake,” she said, batting his hands away, “what on earth has got into you this evening?”
“Tis a little cool, is all. Right, shall we?” and offered his hand once more.
* * *
Sitting rather closer than was comfortable, Angus kept his gaze firmly ahead as they sped through the London Streets.
He dared not look sideways, lest his eyes be assaulted by the expanse of creamy, plump flesh exposed above her rather low-cut neckline.
On any other lady, he doubted he would even have noticed — the cut was still relatively modest by today’s standards — but this was not any other lady, and notice was precisely what he was doing.
“May I say, Lord Westland, you look very nice this evening. No wonder you favour dark green… it brings out the green in your eyes.”
“Hm? Oh, right,” he muttered, then dug into his pocket. “Here, for appearances… at your tea… things.”
She stared at the offering but made no move to take it. Impatient to get rid of the damned thing, he reached for her hand and dropped the little box into her palm. “If you do not like it…”
It rested in her palm for a long moment before she looked up at him, the emotion shining in her eyes disquieting him. Finally, she flipped open the lid and gasped.
“It… it is exquisite, I, I love it. So unusual… so beautiful. So elegant. Will… will you help me, my lord? I fear my hands are shaking too much.”
For a single heartbeat, he felt strangely elated to know he had chosen well — made her happy. Taking the hand she had just freed from her glove, he slid the large oval sapphire, nestled between two sizeable diamonds, onto her delicate finger.
“It matches your eyes,” he murmured unconsciously, before a jolt of alarm made him drop her hand as if it were aflame.
“I… I don’t know what to say,” she whispered, holding out her hand, turning it this way and that so the gems caught the light and sparkled brilliantly.
“In my experience, it is best to say nothing if one does not know what to say,” he offered gruffly, instantly regretting giving her the damn thing at the beginning of their evening. He should have waited until after the theatre, when he was returning her home, to spare himself this awkwardness.
She laughed softly and nudged him with her shoulder. “You are a funny old thing sometimes.”
“Erm… less of the old if you don’t mind.”
Looping her arm through his, she admired the ring again. “Such a romantic husband I am to have. Just look at the beautiful ring he has given me… to match the colour of my eyes. Has it been in your family long?”
He shifted in his seat, feeling an uncomfortable warmth growing beneath his collar. “I had it re-made for you.”
“Oh,” she breathed, dreamily.
“A mere trinket to help with the ruse. If you don’t like it, there are other stones in the vault. You may pick another colour.”
“But you picked this one, my lord. For me. And the setting?”
He sighed irritably. “I drew the design for the jeweller as I did not want anything too fussy or gaudy. Just… simple. Like you.”
“Simple? You think I am a simpleton?” she snorted in dismay.
“What? No! Simple. Beautiful. Not showy. I… ugh…”
“You… you think I am beautiful?”
He closed his eyes, jaw tightening, and forced the words out through gritted teeth. “Yes, Sylvie, you are quite beautiful.”
“I see,” she murmured, more to herself than to him. “How very interesting. And I think you exceedingly handsome.”
Thankfully, she sat gazing at her ring for the remainder of the journey, the only sound from her the occasional little sigh of contentment.