“I do.” She liked the dress, too, although she felt painfully self-conscious in the flashy color. “But it doesn’t look like everyone else’s hair.”
Around her, she saw women whose hair was arranged into elaborate ringlets and knots. Hers was almost austere in its simplicity.
“No, and all the better for it. You’ve got a classical beauty. Make the most of it.”
“I don’t think I’ve got any beauty at all,” she muttered under her breath, hoping Sally wouldn’t hear. Over the last bustling week of modistes and milliners and maids poking and prodding at her, she’d learned that Sally had no tolerance for self-doubt. Given self-doubt was Amy’s default position, she was surprised that their friendship survived. Even prospered.
“Of course you do,” Morwenna said, proving she’d been eavesdropping. Last November’s woebegone widow was impossible to recognize in the slender woman in spangled yellow sarsenet, who faced this glittering crowd with unexpected assurance. “You mightn’t see it, but everyone else does, even when you’re wearing faded chintz and farm boots, and you have mud on your face. You just need to believe you’re beautiful.”
“Thank you,” Amy said, still unconvinced. Morwenna didn’t understand what it was like to grow up as the only plain member of a good-looking family. Silas and Robert were both handsome men, and Helena, while unconventional in looks, was nonetheless striking. Whereas Amy had always felt like a cabbage set in the middle of a bouquet of roses. “I’ll say one good thing for cattle and sheep—they don’t care what you look like.”
“You can’t spend your life in a barn, Amy,” Morwenna said. This week, she’d been as bossy as Sally. Amy didn’t mind. It was wonderful to see her venturing back into life again, even if it meant sisterly nagging.
“Yes, I can.”
“Nonsense,” Fenella said, proving she’d been listening while her fine blue eyes scanned the ballroom. “You’re a lovely girl, Amy, and it’s about time you crept out from under your rock and showed the world your mettle.”
Amy went back to plucking at her bodice, until a scowl from Sally made her drop her hand. “But people—men—keep staring. I feel like a fright.”
“They’re staring because you’re a new face—and you look good enough to eat in that dress,” Anthony Townsend, Lord Kenwick, said, proving he, too, lent an ear to Amy’s cowardly havering. “In fact, may I have this dance, Amy? Otherwise, I doubt I’ll have another chance all night.”
“Really?”
“Trust us,” Sally said with a sigh. “As if we’d let you make a fool of yourself.”
“No, I can do that all by myself.”
“Amy,” Morwenna said sternly. “Hold your head up and dance with Anthony. And when gentlemen line up to dance with you, act as if you expected nothing else.”
“Since when have you been such an expert on the ton?”
Morwenna had met Robert in Cornwall, and they’d married after a whirlwind courtship. He’d left for the South Atlantic before he had a chance to introduce his wife to London society. “I’ll have you know that I was the belle of the Truro assemblies. This is just a larger, better dressed version. I can already see you’re going to make a sensation. Enjoy it.”
“I wish I was back talking about drainage with my steward,” she mumbled.
As Sally rolled her eyes, Anthony took her hand. “Courage, lass.”
She lifted her gaze to his and managed a smile. He towered over her. He towered over most people, and he’d never lost the bluff manners of his humble Yorkshire upbringing. But while he might look like a mountain, she’d long ago learned that he had a kind heart and a mind sharp enough to see past her grumbles to the sheer terror possessing her soul.
“Please promise you’ll dance with me again if nobody else does.”
The twitch of his mouth bolstered her failing courage. “I promise. And so will Brandon. Won’t you, my lad?”
Brandon, fair and beautiful like his mother, subjected Amy to a glance of unmistakable admiration. “Rather! Amy, you’re looking tiptop. All the fellows will be knocked for six.”
It was Fenella’s turn to roll her eyes. “Brandon, I despair of your expensive Cambridge education. You used to speak the King’s English.”
Anthony sent his wife a fond glance. “It’s nowt to worry about. He’s just bang up to date, my love.” He turned his attention back to Amy. “And I have to agree with him. You’re as bonny as they come. Now let me show you off.”
Amy let him lead her onto the floor. Fenella’s family really were so kind. She sucked in a breath to calm the nervous gallop of her heart. What did it matter what London thought when she had such loving friends?
As she lined up opposite Anthony, she noticed Brandon and Meg taking the floor together. Seconds later, Fenella, Morwenna and Sally found partners.
She’d spent her life afraid of the ton’s disparaging eye. But when she started to execute the steps—she’d spent the last month practicing dances she hadn’t attempted since adolescence—giddy excitement gripped her. Not strong enough to banish uncertainty, but heady nonetheless.
Here she was at the center of London society. She had beautiful new clothes and friends set on her enjoyment. Who knew what adventures the next few weeks might bring? At the very least, she’d have something to remember when she went back to counting heifers and weighing oats on her estate.
* * *