The Virtuous Ward - By Karla Darcy Page 0,24

Max's chest. He should be angry that the girl had made such a hash of things but she looked so woebegone that he did not have the heart to lecture her. Later there would be time for recriminations, now there was work to be done if they were not all to land in the soup. Folding his arms over his chest, Max stared at the gown through narrowed eyes.

"Turn again so I may see the back." He cocked his head to the side then raised his hand to pull at his lower lip. "You. Girl," he said turning to the young abigail who was wringing her hands in her apron. "Come over here."

"Aye, sir," Betta said, her voice shaking with nervousness. She bobbed a curtsy, standing with eyes lowered in front of Lord Kampford.

Max liked the look of the neat little figure. She was of an age with his ward and her plain face and clean appearance was a far cry from the slipshod servants he had seen in other houses. Although reluctant to give full approval to Amity's selection, he was in general pleased with the girl. "Your name?"

"Betta, milord," she said, bobbing another curtsy.

"Can you sew, Betta?" he asked.

"Only the most basic stitches."

"It'll do. For a start, cut off that sash and every one of those ever-so-charming bows."

Then ignoring the girls, he stalked to the wardrobe and threw open the doors. He eyed the contents, extending a hand to finger a material, then shaking his head in rejection. Finally he extracted a dress of soft wool, nodding in approval of the blues and greens of the plaid. He remembered the night Amity had arrived at Edgeworth. She had worn the dress to dinner and he remembered how startled he had been at the transformation of the gawky child into such an exotic creature. He turned to stare at Amity and a small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Dress in hand, he picked up a dainty lilac satin side chair and moved over closer to the girls. Amity's cheeks were flushed and she sent him a wavering smile as he turned the chair around so he could sit with his arms braced across the back. The floor was littered with the bilious pink bows and he winked at his ward as the final one trembled at her shoulder than fluttered down to the carpet.

"Now, mes enfants , I will give you an important piece of advice," Max said, tenting his fingers and pointing at the two startled girls. "Never take half measures. Society loves the outrageous. They are jaded souls prepared to accept the most outlandish of stories."

He outlined his plan for the gown, grinning at the look of amazement on the girls' faces. Once they understood what was required they exchanged glances and then burst into laughter while Max looked on in approval.

"Are ye up to the challenge, me hearties?"

"Aye, sir," Amity answered while Betta nodded in agreement.

"Then I shall up anchor, leaving you to the drudge work."

Without a backwards glance, Max crossed to the door, leaving behind him a flurry of activity. He smiled as he listened to the soft voices, shrill with excitement and shared laughter. He sauntered down the hall to his rooms hoping that the sheer audacity of their project might be rewarded.

"You look quite elegant this evening, cousin," Max said, bowing to cover a grin as Lady Grassmere edged into the main salon.

Cousin Hester was as usual in grey, the dress varying not a whit in style from the others in her wardrobe. The only addition, to indicate the importance of the occasion, was the necklace of diamonds which glittered at her neck. She whispered a greeting then sank onto the settee, folding her hands in her lap.

Max tried not to fidget but was filled with a restlessness as the hour for the guests’ arrival drew near. He had done what he could to salvage the situation and now he must rely on Amity for the rest. His shoulders tensed at the sound of footsteps crossing the marble hall. The doors swung open on well-oiled hinges and his eyes widened as his ward entered the room, stopping just inside the doorway.

Amity resembled the ancient warrior goddess he had pictured the night she arrived at Edgeworth. It was difficult to recall the appalling gown in the face of its transformation. The sleeves were still puffed but the material swathing her arms had been removed, replaced by long white gloves. The stiff pleated