“And you will discover what you are missing. Which I think is part of Mother’s plan. She wants Society to see your future duchess. And she wants you to see why Sarah Ainsworth is your best match. Marriage for us is forever, brother. There is no going back. And preferably no looking back with regrets.”
Matthew sat across from Mark. “What the devil are you talking about?”
“You are as of yet still single. My dear brother, you are about to walk into an entirely different kind of lion’s den.”
Chapter Eight
Wednesday, 27 July 1814
Lady Crewood’s home
Ten in the evening
Sarah stared intothe full-length mirror and shuddered.
“My lady?” Reid frowned at her in the mirror. “Is something wrong with the dress?”
Sarah inhaled deeply and tried to steady her nerves. “No. Oh, Reid, you have worked a miracle!”
The dress the duchess had sent over had been elegant but rather plain. Reid had used parts of an older gown of Sarah’s to completely transform it, combining the colors of half-mourning with a stylish design. A lavender satin slip cascaded down from a snug purple bodice and ended just above her ankles with a hem anchored with a heavy flounce that shimmered with silver beading. A short purple tunic, rounded at the corners with lavender gauze, came together at her waist in front, ornamented with a stomacher of black satin affixed to the slip. The purple and lavender-striped sleeves had puffs at the shoulders and an easy fullness along their lengths, with a silver Vandyke fringe around the wrists. Reid had combed her hair upwards, gathering it at the crown yet allowing short, irregular curls to frame her face and partially hide the scars on her cheek and neck. A wreath of flowers from their small garden circled the crown of her head. Lilac kid slippers, embroidered with silver, purple silk gloves, and a suite of pearls—necklace, earrings, and bracelets—completed the ensemble.
“So you are pleased?”
Sarah turned to her. “It is perfection. It even makes me look taller.”
“Well, now thatisa miracle.”
Both women laughed as a light tap came on the door. Sarah pressed a hand over her stomach, trying to quell the moths that seemed to have taken up residence there. Her fingers still quaked as Reid handed her a black pelisse and Sarah turned toward the door. She followed Harris down the stairs but stopped about halfway down when she spotted Matthew. A black chapeau-bra in one hand, he paced the small foyer.
Harris cleared his throat, Matthew turned. And froze, his eyes locked on her. Those beautiful eyes. He straightened and his lips parted slightly.
Sarah felt equally enthralled. Matthew Rydell was, quite simply, magnificent. His black satin topcoat with its double-breasted cutaway style and tails framed him with an elegant emphasis on his taut hips and well-muscled thighs. His legs, encased in black breeches and stockings, had the shape of a skilled horseman—or soldier. A white cravat and shirt softened the look but underscored the symmetry of his face and contrasted with the dark curls that fringed around the edges of his hairline. A light black cape hung from his shoulders, completing the image of an immeasurably handsome noble.
His gaze trailed over her, wreath to slipper then back to her face. He swallowed hard and his voice held a touch of gravel. “Lady Crewood, you are spectacular.”
Her hand flew to her mouth and tears sprang to her eyes. “Truly?”
He nodded and held out his hand. Sarah squeezed the banister as she finished descending, taking comfort in the solid wood beneath her palm. As she offered her hand to Matthew, he bowed, kissing the back of it with a feathery touch of his lips. As he straightened, he cleared his throat.
“May I help you with your pelisse?”
Sarah nodded and he took it. She turned and he draped it lightly over her shoulders. She slipped her hands through the arms of it, then turned, slipping her hand inside his elbow. Inside the carriage, Sarah tried to relax, but could not quite succeed. Matthew settled in, but suddenly seemed at a loss as to what to do with his hands. Sarah found it odd that this man would be nervous about anything.
“Have you been to Almack’s before?”
He hesitated, then gave a crisp nod. “When I was much younger. Mother became convinced that Mark and I would be the perfect candidates for a season’s vouchers. She succeeded in getting us both a three-set voucher, but it only took Mark one ball to have his reneged. He has been banned ever since.”
Sarah thought about how Mark had been invisible until after the Almack’s patronesses had left, and her eyes widened. “Was he hiding from them yesterday?”
Matthew chuckled. “Of course he was. Those two women can be intolerably rude, and he knows he cannot control his tongue. It is what got him shunned fifteen years ago. Mother had warned him that creating trouble yesterday would be unforgivable.”
“Is that why you dislike Almack’s so?” Matthew fell silent again, and another past conversation came to mind. “Or does it have to do with you falling in love?
He jerked stiff and stared at her. “That is not something I wish to discuss. Ever.”
Ah. So, yes, it does.“Then I will not mention it again.”
Matthew turned and stared out the window at the shadowy streets, his obvious nervousness abated. And a slow understanding slipped over Sarah. His anxiety was not about her, their odd situation, or even delivering her into the heart of theton. It was about Almack’s itself.