Chapter Thirty-Five
I spent most of the day pacing by the window of the morning room, waiting for any sign of the nectar’s arrival. Hugh had made
himself scarce for the whole day, likely—and correctly—assuming I might try to talk him out of whatever bloodied plans he’d
come up with.
Whether Greystone was determined to make us wait or the nectar truly had to travel some great distance across Albion, I was
out of patience by the time Felicity summoned me upstairs to dress for the Midsummer Ball. But my bleak mood burned away at
the first sight of glimmering silk and taffeta.
Rarely in my life had I felt as overcome as I did when Felicity unveiled the gown she had feverishly labored over for the
past day and a half.
“I . . .” I began. I sat heavily on the edge of the bed, my eyes wide. “You . . .”
The gown was a magnificent meeting of Felicity’s romantic imagination and her growing skill with a needle.
“You like it, then?” Felicity asked hopefully. “Mrs. Silver and I had it out over whether to add the rosettes along the neckline,
but I needed something to anchor the layer of gauze.” Felicity stopped, peering at me. “Are you quite all right?”
I finally understood why some ladies swooned. “Do I like it? How in God’s name did you accomplish this in such a short amount of time?”
“Mrs. Silver helped with the hemming and Fleming with the beading. It is your debut,” Felicity said, beaming. “As Miss Mannerly’s says, we must present you in style.”
The deep blushing-pink dress had begun its life as a rather pretty, if simple, satin walking gown. It had been utterly transformed
by the layer of sparkling gauze gathered over the bust and left to trail back over the skirt like fairy mist. All along the
delicate edging, down the front of the original gown, and along its hem were small crystal flowers, each painstakingly layered
and placed to resemble a swirl of roses. The pattern was remarkable, almost devastating in its beauty.
Sweeping up to wreath the shoulders were the rosettes she’d needlessly fretted over.
They ran along the back of the gown—which, bless her, was high enough to cover my scars and fading bruises.
The color of rosettes, in various shades of pink, reminded me of the wild tumult of roses that grew over the doorway of Foxcourt House.
“Thank you,” I told her. “I am so honored to wear this. It is beyond lovely.”
Felicity’s eyes glittered with excitement as she retrieved the leather box she’d set down as she’d come in. “And these were
fetched from the vault for you.”
With obvious relish, Felicity unlatched the box, revealing a glittering mass of stones inside.
I went boneless then, sliding off the bed to the floor as I clutched at my chest. Felicity burst out laughing, placing it
on the carpet between us as she sat beside me.
“Fizzy,” I began, lightheaded, “that’s—”
“A fine parure, hmm?” she said with a wink. “I learned that’s what a set of jewels like this is called from Miss Mannerly’s. I know some might fancy sapphires and emeralds and the like, but there is something lovely about the simplicity of diamonds
and pearls.”
The parure contained a small diadem that had, it seemed, provided the inspiration for the pattern on the dress. It was a halo
of leaves and roses comprised entirely of diamonds, its base lined with creamy, flawless pearls. The roses appeared again
on the earrings, forming a glittering base for the large pearl drops, and on the collar necklace, twining through vines of
pearls and diamond leaves.
“I cannot wear these,” I managed to get out, twisting the ring on my finger. The cost of such pieces—my God. I could barely stand the thought. And if something were to happen to them while I wore them, if I were to lose a stone—
“This is the Foxcourt Rose Parure,” Felicity said. “Of course you can wear them. They’re for your use now.” My expression
fell, and Felicity was quick to clasp my hand between hers. “Yours for however long you wish, title or not. Lady or not. They
were a wedding gift to his lordship’s mother, and they’re his to gift as he pleases . . . And he insisted I tell you that
it pleases him that you have them.”
My heart throbbed so fiercely, I could scarcely breathe. Felicity followed my gaze back to the dress, squeezing my hands.
“Can I really do this?” I whispered.
“Of course you can,” Felicity said. “I only wish I could be there to see their faces as you stride past them looking as fine and unbothered as a queen. And then you’ll come back and tell me everything—about what people were wearing, their jewels, the conversations, the dances, any secret doors you discover in wall panels—everything. ”
“Is there a ball in your novel?” I asked, smiling.
She returned it with one of her own. Of course there was. “Would you like to change now?”
I forced myself to stand, helping Felicity up as well.
A tide of sparkling happiness washed over me as the gown was fastened, molding to my shape flawlessly. It was enough to drive
out the uncertainty that lingered at the pit of my stomach, at least for a little while.
More than arresting, this gown was a symbol. Of the new life I was entering as Rosebourne’s notorious heir. Of the pride and
care the others had taken in helping me. Of the lady my mother had always imagined I’d be.
For as long as I lived, I would never forget the moment I turned and studied myself in the mirror, seeing not the scars of
my past, but the woman I was becoming. Not a stranger, but myself.
After finessing my curls with hot tongs, Felicity had twisted the coils of my hair into an elaborate, loose style fitting
for the event.
The Midsummer Ball at the palace marked the halfway point of the social season, but it had once served as a festival to honor
the ancient goddess Venia’s birth, when men and fairies alike worshipped the old gods.
For the Patricians, however, it was yet another opportunity to delight themselves, this time by wearing costumes. Many dressed
to honor the wild beauty of the goddess and her children, the fairies. It had always been my favorite social event to read
accounts of; the costumes had become increasingly elaborate as time had gone on.
And so, after placing the surprisingly heavy tiara and securing it, Felicity set about weaving a scattering of living roses
through its silver frame, filling my heart with the scent of them. She had only just stepped back to admire her work when
there was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” I called.
Even drawn and pale, Hugh was striking in his evening attire. Leaning a shoulder against the doorjamb, he paused, inhaling deeply as he took in the sight of me. My skin warmed everywhere that assessing gaze touched. I felt more than lovely—I felt like a revelation.
Finally, he forced himself to turn to Felicity. “Might I have a moment alone with the countess?”
“Of course,” Felicity said, clearly enjoying my grimace at the title. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you require anything else.”
Hugh stepped into the room as Felicity hurried out. She turned back at the door, giving me a little wink before gently shutting
it behind her.
I held in a shallow breath as Hugh came toward me, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. His white gloves were tucked into
a pocket, and he fiddled with them as he struggled to find the words he wished to say.
Taking one of the pale roses Felicity hadn’t used, I stood from the vanity stool and approached him slowly, the way one might
a cornered, frightened animal. Breaking off the better portion of the stem, I slid the rose through the buttonhole of his
frock coat.
“There,” I said. “It’s a celebration of Venia, after all.”
The Immortal Rose herself.
He caught my hand before I could pull it away, his gaze lingering on the wedding ring over my gloved finger. His throat worked,
and I felt his struggle—that equal need to hide and be seen that always warred in him.
“You look so beautiful,” he told me earnestly.
“I couldn’t very well disappoint beside the noted society darling, the Earl of Foxcourt,” I teased gently. “Thank you for
the honor of wearing your mother’s jewelry.”
“Thank you for bringing her back to me,” he said softly. His thumb stroked the back of my hand, smoothing the white satin
and setting the skin beneath it ablaze. “There’s a bracelet and a brooch as well, but I haven’t found them yet. Glenmoor broke
up and sold the parure after her death, before Uncle Giles could intervene.”
There was something to those words that felt like the beginning of a tale, not the end of one. I sat slowly beside him, my
fingers curling around his in encouragement.
“My parents were . . . they were a love match,” he began, still staring intently at my hand.
“I didn’t know that,” I said, genuinely surprised.
Love matches were exceedingly rare in a class that married for bloodlines.
Even men and women attracted to partners of the same sex sometimes married the opposite sex simply to produce children and continue titles before it regressed to a marriage in name only.
“My father had married his first wife out of obligation and duty. Their match had been arranged before either of them could
walk. After she died, he was determined to find a home for his heart.”
Hugh’s thumb continued its soothing patterns.
“My mother had been raised by my great-uncle, and he’d had plans for her. He sent her to the Continent for schooling, as she
couldn’t attend university here. She was beautiful, bold, and brilliant, and had never intended to marry.”
I nodded. That sort of woman would only be stifled by matrimony.
“She had been an asset to my uncle, no matter which foreign court he sent her to,” Hugh continued, with clear pride. “By the
time she returned to Albion, she was older than I am now. Well past what society had deemed a marriageable age—to everyone
but my father.”
Hugh swallowed. My heart fluttered anxiously as I waited for him to continue.
“My uncle didn’t understand why she would choose to marry a duke in dire financial straits and live in a moldering estate