"I'll explain it all to you later. For now, let's just find me a suitable gown. I want Remington to see how sophisticated and worldly I am."
"Sophisticated and worldly, m'lady?"
"Yes." Sammy swept across the room and seized one of the books from a towering pile that teetered precariously at the edge of her nightstand. "Just look at this heroine," she demanded, flipping through to a page and pointing. "She's self-assured, charming ... yet enticingly aloof in the presence of all her adoring admirers." She lay the book reverently on the bed. "All heroines possess those traits."
"I see."
"What about this gown?" Tearing through her wardrobe, Sammy spotted a flowing morning dress in a rich, burnished amber color. She yanked it out, holding it up against her before the looking glass. The neckline wasn't adorned with three tiers of lace such as the one worn by her current heroine in Chapter Three. Still, it would have to do.
"It's lovely."
"Good. Then that's settled." As Sammy spoke, her clock chimed two. "We'll have to hurry. Tell me, Millie, how are you at dressing hair?"
"I've never tried," the maid confessed.
"Well, I'm abysmal. So whatever you do will be an improvement. Would you be willing to try?" Sammy swept her hair off her face and looked questioningly at Millie, whose pale skin turned one shade lighter.
"Are you certain, m'lady? I wouldn't want to spoil your beautiful hair, especially given how important this caller of yours is."
"Nonsense. Just use your judgment." Sammy sank down at her dressing table. "Only use it quickly. Remington will be here any moment."
"Well, if you're certain . . ."
"I'm certain. Between the two of us, how horrid can the results be?"
Thirty minutes later Samantha wanted to eat her words, and her mortified lady's maid was in hysterical tears.
"Forgive me, m'lady, I've ruined everything!" Millie wailed into her handkerchief. "Now you'll lose your suitor and I'll lose my job. What will I tell my family?"
Torn between sympathy and dismayed disbelief, Samantha eyed her own tangled disarray, wondering how Millie had managed to transform her from a reasonably attractive young woman into an untrimmed garden vine in so short a time. A garden vine that was now being watered by the maid's melodramatic tears.
"It's all right, Millie. Stop crying," Sammy heard herself soothe. "You're not going to lose your job. Nor do I plan to
lose my suitor." Rapidly, she began to pull out the pins that Millie had haphazardly jabbed into her hair. "Under the circumstances, we'll have to settle for simplicity."
"But I thought you said you had to be sophisticated?" Millie sniffled.
"I did. But even Remington will prefer unadorned tresses to an unchecked weed." Vigorously, Sammy began to brush out her hair. "Would you help me, Millie?"
"I obviously can't." A new round of sobs.
"Yes, you can. Now dry your eyes and locate a ribbon that matches this gown."
"Yes, ma'am." Blowing her nose loudly, Millie proceeded to scurry about the room, at last producing a pale amber ribbon. "Will this do?"
"Perfect! See how efficient you are? Now let's tie my hair back."
In between their task and Millie's hiccups, the sound of an approaching carriage reached their ears.
Sammy rushed to the window. "He's here!" she announced, recognizing the Barrett family crest from far down the street. Leaning against the sill, she watched the vehicle draw to a stop, her heart accelerating to a frantic rate as Remington alit.
With customary impulsiveness, Sammy spun on her heel, gathered her skirts and sprinted toward the door.
"Where are you going, m'lady?" Millie sounded horrified.
In a burst of insight, Sammy suddenly understood why.
Abruptly, she halted.