Honor's Players - By Holly Newman Page 0,68

hands, she draped the cloth against Elizabeth.

For a moment, no one said a word. The material shimmered, changing from dull to brilliant gold in the candlelight. It brought out the gold highlights in Elizabeth’s dark hair and reflected the splendor of her guinea-gold eyes. Mme. Vaussard nodded solemnly, St. Ryne leaned against the door frame, grinning, and Elizabeth breathed an awed “Yes!”

“You have sound instincts, my child,” Mme. Vaussard finally said to her assistant. Hannah glowed pink with pleasure. “Now, as to style,” Mme. Vaussard went on, “I think simple with just some gold embroidery and knots of love ribbons. We will dispense with the rouleaux or bouffants. For a headdress, may I suggest a toque—”

“No,” St. Ryne said, straightening. “Not a toque.” Elizabeth looked at St. Ryne in surprise. “But gentle women wear such hats.”

“We didn’t spend all this time choosing material just to have you look like every other blasted female at the ball and join the dowager set. I think an aigrette with some beads or flowers would be appropriate, not some enveloping toque.”

Mme. Vaussard shrugged. “It will do, and mayhap give you your own style. Now, milord, I really must ask you to leave. We are to measure her ladyship and get to work if you wish a gown to be made in two days! Sacre Bleu! What am I about in promising such things?” She shook her head dolefully while she shooed him through the curtain.

Elizabeth looked uncertainly at Mme. Vaussard. “Can you have this dress finished in two days?”

“It will be my pleasure, milady. But you must promise to come see me afterward and tell me all about this ball. Me, I think it will be the affair of the leetle season and keep tongues wagging until spring. Non?”

Elizabeth held out her arms and turned, obedient to the gentle nudges of the little dressmaker. “I hope so, Mme. Vaussard, I sincerely hope so.”

True to her word, Mme. Vaussard finished the ball gown in two days and had it delivered to St. Ryne’s town house the afternoon of the ball. It was with slightly trembling fingers that Elizabeth lifted it out of its nest of tissue and laid it upon the daybed in her dressing room. Her maid cooed with delight and babbled on about how her mistress would be the belle of the ball. Elizabeth scarcely heard her, her own thoughts drifting into dreams filled with anticipation. Absently she requested her maid to draw a bath and scent it with jasmine. The ball might be in her sister’s honor, but to Elizabeth it was her own debut as the Viscountess St. Ryne and the official burial of the Shrew of London.

Since coming to London, she and St. Ryne had become closer, sharing an easy camaraderie and sometimes exchanging touches that bordered on caresses. Their manner toward each other raised eyebrows when they went for a drive in the park or a walk in the metropolis, yet they assiduously refused invitations to parties or group jaunts, preferring each other’s company. Nevertheless, though virtually living in each other’s pocket, there remained a reserve between them, a formal courtesy that precluded more than a chaste kiss. It was as if each was afraid of the other, afraid their feelings would not be matched, and therefore they were denied.

Ruefully, Elizabeth saw this and recognized it for what it was. It was her fervent hope that while this ball was her debut as the Viscountess St. Ryne, it would also mark a new turn in their relationship. Many times at night she’d look across the wide empty bed in which she slept, wistfully desiring to become acquainted with the mysteries of marriage. Her mind conjured up the image of Justin as he stood in his bedchamber without a shirt, her hands remembered the rough texture of the hair on his chest, and a warm blush would suffuse her face.

Of late she had been confident he was not indifferent to her. His solicitude on the day of their shopping excursion, his insistence on the best materials, items, and workmanship, all bespoke a caring husband, but most of all, his manner in regard to her father still amazed her.

St. Ryne had known she would be skittish about seeing her parent again, and from what she had revealed in conversation, he knew she had just reason. He felt it advantageous for both to meet privately at least once prior to a public meeting at the ball, so he invited his father-in-law to