Hero, Come Back (Cynster 9.50)

Seven

For all her secret yearnings to discover a bit of passion before she died, Amanda never imagined that she would find it in the arms of, of all people, Jemmy Reyburn.

Was it too selfish and too much to believe that he could care for her as passionately as she did him? Truly, it was too much to hope for.

He hadn’t appeared at dinner that evening, and Lady Finch had kept her busy up until she’d dropped into her bed, dazed and exhausted.

But in the morning there had been a note and a spray of orange blossoms on her nightstand, their sweet, tangy scent enticing her out of her slumbers, while his missive had left a blush on her cheeks.

I would risk a kingdom for your freedom. The gallows for yet another kiss from your lips.—J

She’d pressed the flowers to her nose and inhaled deeply, then glanced around her room and wondered how and when he’d been able to place them there.

That he’d chanced so much, to secure her the flowers and leave a note for her eyes only, told her that he would indeed risk it all for her.

But why? Because he loved her or because he pitied her plight? She didn’t know if she was brave enough to stay and discover the truth.

For most of the day Amanda reminded herself time and time again of all the reasons that she shouldn’t remain at Finch Manor for a single moment longer. Yet each instance when she gathered up her courage to slip away, there was Lady Finch or Esme or Mr. Holmes nearby. Each was a problem, but the most insurmountable obstacle was Jemmy.

Gads, one look at his craggy features, his strong shoulders, the determined line of his lips as he went about making his furtive plans, and her resolve crumbled.

So in her indecision, the day passed, and now it was just a scant half hour before the ball was to begin. Not that she’d have much chance of escaping now, for she was trapped in her room as the dressmaker and Lady Finch fussed over her gown, while a multitude of other servants hovered about, each at the ready to help the next Bramley Hollow bride be matched.

Not that she could fault their efforts to see her wed. One of the maids, who had “a way with hair,” spent the better part of the afternoon fussing over Amanda’s usually wayward strands until the talented girl had created a waterfall of perfectly curled tendrils. Then with a deft hand, she’d tucked Jemmy’s orange blossoms around her head until they made a fairylike crown of white.

Amanda stared into the mirror in awe at the magic the girl had wrought. Dull brown hair that had always made her look mousy now shone with a lustrous glow from the tart lemon juice the maid had used as a rinse.

Then there was her gown, and what a creation it was! Lady Finch’s dressmaker had chosen an emerald-green silk that gave new fire to her eyes, lent a dramatic background to her fair coloring and the Titian tint of her hair.

“Oh, miss,” the maid enthused, “you look like a princess. Wait until your groom sees you.” She giggled. “Whoever he may be.”

A groom? Her heart skipped a beat. She should be on her way to Brighton right this very minute, not standing about being trussed up for this impromptu Marriage Mart.

Yet Esme had been right. Dreams could come true. After all, hadn’t she been able to see Jemmy again? But this ball was pure folly. Her identity could be revealed by any number of the guests, though if she were honest, she wondered if any of the ton would remember her. There was an irony in the fact that her health had started to fail when she’d been told she wasn’t going to be included in their party when the family went to London for her younger sister’s Season. How she’d longed to return to Town just once more, her dreams still holding to the tiniest of hopes that perhaps she might find someone who could love her. But those dreams had been shattered when her father had said that he’d spent the money on one Season for her, and he wasn’t about to waste more “trying to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.”

But look what one silk dress had done—turned her into a princess—like the one in the Bramley Hollow legend. Truly, she barely recognized herself—so she had to believe that no one— possibly not even her family would recognize her.

Yet it was more than just the dress that was different about her. She’d certainly lost a lot of weight over the winter, what with her lack of appetite. Perhaps it was as she’d told Jemmy the other night, that in learning about her imminent death, she’d left all the boring vestiges of herself behind as well.

Having spent her entire life being usurped by her lithesome and blond sisters, she felt as if for the first time she’d been able to set her dreams free. Not that this new gown didn’t help. Her mother had never seen any reason to dress her in anything but hand-me-downs, since it was unlikely that she’d attract an eligible parti worthy of such expense. Her sisters’ ill-fitting gowns, let out to the very edge of their seams, had never felt as this gown did—the emerald silk flowed over her new figure and showed it off like nothing she’d ever worn. And it breathed with life—the color setting off her eyes and hair. Her sister Bethany’s old gowns, all whites and pastels, had done nothing for her coloring, save leave her looking pasty, blending her into the sea of other debutantes. The only exception had been Regina’s blue silk, which Amanda

had taken the day she’d left because she’d always thought the gown might make her look pretty.

Lady Finch stood nearby, rummaging through a jewel case she’d brought in. “Ah, here they are.”

One of the maids gasped as the lady plucked from the velvet confines a spectacular diamond necklace.

“Just as I remember them,” Lady Finch declared. “Fit for a bride.” She held them up to Amanda’s throat.

Never before had Amanda seen such glorious, glittering jewels. “My lady,” she said, her hands going to her mouth to cover it from gaping. “I can’t wear those.”

“Nonsense,” Lady Finch told her, coming behind her and putting the necklace around her neck. The largest stone rested just above where her mother would say her gown became “indecent,” while the other gems, surrounded by intricate gold settings, sparkled their way up and around her neck.

Lady Finch glanced up at Amanda’s reflection and smiled. “This is not just any necklace, but the Finch Diamonds. I received them on my wedding day. They are said to have been a gift from Henry the Eighth to the wife of the eleventh baron, whom the king had an eye toward seducing.” Lady Finch chortled as she did the clasp. “The wily lady managed to retain her virtue, prevent her husband’s head from being separated from his neck, and most importantly, keep the diamonds— without having to visit the king’s bed.”

Even as her trembling fingers trailed over the treasure, Amanda protested again. “My lady, I can’t wear this. What if—”

“Stuff and nonsense!” the lady exclaimed. “They were meant to be worn by someone young and beautiful. And you are both. Besides, they are said to bestow the bearer good fortune, and tonight I wish for you your heart’s desire.”