Captain Amberton's Inherited Bride (Whitby Weddings 2)

‘It suits you, miss.’ Eliza smiled shyly. ‘Not that it wasn’t nice before, but there was a lot of it. This shows up your cheekbones, too.’

Violet leaned forward, struggling to recognise herself in the mirror. Eliza was right, she did have cheekbones. They were high and sharp, though she’d never noticed them before. Briefly, she wondered what Lance would think of her new style before admonishing herself. What he thought didn’t matter. He wasn’t marrying her for what she looked like and she didn’t care for his opinion anyway. What mattered was what she thought of it—and she loved it.

‘Dinner will be ready soon.’ Eliza brushed a few errant strands from Violet’s shoulders. ‘Begging your pardon, miss, but I noticed that you didn’t bring many dresses. Perhaps you’d like to wear one of the new ones?’

‘What new ones?’ She spun around on her stool in surprise.

‘The ones the master ordered from Newcastle. He had them specially made as a wedding present.’

‘For me?’

‘He’s not marrying anyone else, miss.’ Eliza giggled. ‘Mrs Gargrave says she thought she’d never see the day.’

‘Oh.’ Violet glanced towards the wardrobe. On the one hand, if the gowns were a wedding gift, then she could hardly wear them without implying something about her intentions. On the other hand, she had so few pretty dresses...

‘He must have had them made very quickly.’

‘I suppose so, miss, though I thought there must have been some mistake when they were delivered on account of their size... Oh!’ Eliza put her hand to her mouth quickly. ‘I’m sorry, miss. I didn’t mean anything by it.’

‘That’s all right.’ Violet smiled reassuringly. The maid looked so mortified that it was impossible to be angry. Besides, she’d come to another realisation out in the maze. She was small. That was a fact. There was no point in being offended by the truth so she might as well try to embrace it. And if the dresses had been specially made, then it wasn’t as if they were going to fit anyone else. She might as well take a look at them. Surely there couldn’t be any harm in that?

She opened the wardrobe with a building sense of anticipation. Inside were two new dresses beside her own drab ones, one day gown and one evening gown. The day gown was a sombre dark grey, perfectly suitable for a woman in mourning, but the evening gown...

She let out a gasp. It was a bright azure blue, silken and shoulderless, gathered at the back in the latest fashion, with a trim of delicate, white lace around the sleeves and hem. Her father had never allowed her to wear anything remotely fashionable or luxuriant, let alone silk, and the temptation to try it on was overwhelming.

‘I think the captain must have ordered that for when you came out of mourning, miss.’ Eliza sounded vaguely apologetic. ‘Though it seems a shame for it to just sit there.’

Violet gave a murmur of assent, too busy stroking her hands over the fabric to answer. If she followed the rules of etiquette, then it would be another eleven months before she was out of mourning and allowed to wear it, but today she didn’t want to follow rules or be respectful either. Her father had made her feel colourless for long enough. Eliza was right. It was a waste to hide away something so beautiful. No matter what her wearing it might suggest, Lance could hardly criticise her for wearing something that he’d bought! He could hardly criticise anyone for being rebellious either.

‘I’ll wear it tonight.’ She pulled it out of the wardrobe decisively.

‘But...’ Eliza took one look at her face and bit her tongue. ‘Yes, miss. Would you like a bath before dinner, Mrs Gargrave wanted to know?’

‘Yes, please. And Eliza?’ She called out as the maid headed for the door. ‘I’d be grateful if you didn’t mention my haircut downstairs. I’d like it to be a surprise.’

Chapter Eight

Violet made her way purposefully down the staircase, moving quickly so that she wouldn’t change her mind. Her new gown rustled as she walked, but it fitted perfectly, surprisingly so given that most dressmakers seemed unable to accept the accuracy of her measurements and generally made her dresses a couple of inches too long. Somehow Captain Amberton had managed to order one of exactly the right length. How? Surely he couldn’t have remembered her height from five years ago. She would have assumed that he’d asked someone her size, but who?

‘Good evening.’ She passed Mrs Gargrave in the hallway. ‘Is Captain Amberton in the drawing room?’

‘He’s in the dining room, miss,’ a footman answered as the housekeeper gaped at her speechlessly. ‘Dinner’s ready to be served.’

‘Thank you.’

She gave a polite nod and swept on, hearing a muffled exclamation of outrage in her wake, though she didn’t have time to dwell on it. The door to the dining room was open and she could already see Lance standing inside. He was leaning against the chimney breast, dressed in a pair of form-fitting black trousers, matching leather boots, a crisp white shirt and perfectly tailored jacket. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought him the very model of genteel respectability. He wasn’t even holding a drink.

She paused in the doorway, lifting her chin and pulling her shoulders back before announcing herself. ‘Good evening, Lance.’

‘Violet.’ He glanced up and then did an abrupt double take, his gaze flickering first over her hair and then down to her gown. ‘You look...different.’

‘Oh.’ She couldn’t help feeling disappointed. It wasn’t quite the compliment she’d been hoping for. ‘I wanted a change.’

‘Evidently.’ His gaze travelled back to hers and held, though his expression was unreadable. ‘That colour suits you. I thought that it might.’

‘Eliza said you ordered the gown from Newcastle. Thank you.’

He inclined his head. ‘I thought I ought to get you something as a wedding present.’