“No, my lady. Definitely not.” Amber did her best to school her voice and expression to one of deepest contrition. But she couldn’t. She was just too happy.
She was living out one of her favorite daydreams, where she was the poor relation of a lonely woman of means. Where she arrived at the house, brought friendship to the lady, and one day was able to attend a ball where she danced with a handsome man. Some days it was the prince. Other days, he was a king already. And sometimes, he was quite simply the fiercest and most handsome warrior in the land.
“Then why—”
“I did not ask to come here. That was his lordship’s idea. But now that I am here, I find I like you quite well and will be pleased with whatever time I get to share with you.” That was true, although not the whole truth since she was not going to talk about her dream of going to a ball.
Her ladyship frowned for a moment, then lifted her chin. “Will you tell me everything?”
Amber bit her lip. “Perhaps you should ask your brother.”
“I am asking you.”
And here, Amber had a choice. She could confess all, or she could invent another story from her fertile imagination. She could pretend all sorts of nonsense, and she had a large store of fantasies from which to draw. The need to spin a tale burned on her tongue, but Lady Dunnamore deserved better. Why? Because her stepson was the blighter Geoffrey, and so her life could very well be a disaster of his making.
“I am a tradeswoman,” she finally said, feeling her cheeks heat in embarrassment. If Lady Dunnamore wished to humiliate her, this was the best way. “Your brother needs me to fashion a brooch for him made exactly as appears in Lady Morthan’s portrait.”
“And you cannot see it except at the ball?”
Amber shook her head. “We tried, but she refused.”
“And issued an invitation instead?”
“Insisted, my lady.”
Lady Dunnamore blew out a breath. “My brother cannot afford to dismiss her. Her family is quite political.”
“So, I have come to understand.”
Amber waited a long moment as the woman seemed to inspect her from head to toe. She frowned as she did so, as if she were looking at a dirty child. “It won’t serve, Miss Gohar.”
“What?” Amber bristled. She would have said a great deal more, but the lady held up her hand.
“You cannot be the daughter of one of mother’s lost friends. Mother doesn’t have any lost friends. Enemies, perhaps, but she will never admit that she sponsored one of their children. You must be the younger sister of one of mine.” She frowned. “From Berlin, you say?”
She hadn’t said, but her brother had. “Yes, my lady.”
“And we can’t have any of that either. You will call me Diana, and you shall be Amber.”
The very idea that Lady Dunnamore would call her by her given name made her eyes water with gratitude. She was Thisbe to the aristocracy who frequented the Lyon’s Den.Daughterto her father andchildto her grandfather. None but her dead mother had ever called her by her given name. Until now. Until Lady Dunnamore opened up her home and her closet to her. Even knowing that it was done for her brother did not dim the warmth in Amber’s heart. They were to be friends, and the enormity of that made every part of her flush with gratitude.
“You are too kind,” she managed.
“And you had best not be lying.”
“I am not,” she said firmly.
Diana smiled, then threw open her wardrobe. “Then let us see what can be done for tomorrow night.”
The answer was clear. A very great deal could be done. Lady Dunnamore had plenty of gowns and a maid who was a wizard with needle and thread. They barely noticed when her brother sent a message up that he had an errand and would return in a couple hours. Amber was measured as they discussed colors. They enjoyed a late tea while analyzing trends in fashion. In this, Amber had a great deal of knowledge thanks to the women who frequented the ladies’ half of the Lyon’s Den. And then they laughed together as Amber encouraged Diana to reminisce.
The woman was indeed lonely, and she needed little prodding to speak fondly of her childhood and especially her brother’s antics. He had been a lively boy and a late addition to a mother who had produced only girls. They feared, at first, that he would grow up to be timid beneath so many women. Quite the contrary, Elliott had joined forces with the gardener’s sons and the village boys. They became the terror of the county, and if it were not for the stern hand of Diana’s father, he might very well had run roughshod over everyone.
“My father knew just how to encourage a little boyhood wildness without letting it get out of hand. And he instilled in Elliott what it means to be a responsible head of the family.” At this, Diana’s eyes grew misty. “His death was a great blow.”
To everyone, it seemed, because Elliott had spoken briefly about his own grief when his father passed. “My father never recovered from my mother’s death. I miss her terribly.”
A bond was established between her and Diana, one forged in fabrics, fashion, and similar loss. It seemed Diana relished having someone to talk with as much as Amber treasured a friendship with a lonely woman with a fiercely loyal heart. That was something Amber understood. Which made the afternoon fly by until Lord Byrn had the audacity to return.