Amethyst (31 page)

"Of course. You're my brother."

"I'm glad you see it that way." His jaw set, Colin turned to the door.

"But we all love her," Jason muttered under his breath.

Colin was seized with such an unreasoning fury, a hazy red mist exploded across his vision. Swiveling back, he glared straight into his brother's eyes. "Well, I
don't
." His voice was low and dangerous. "Since you all love her so much, why don't you all take care of her? Just see that she gets to France this time, will you? I'd prefer not to deal with her again." He backed into the chamber. "Do me a favor, and let Priscilla know I returned to Greystone. I have work to do."

He slammed the door and kicked it, then hopped around clutching at his aching bare toes. Bloody hell, what was happening to him? He'd never been such a hothead before, banging doors and kicking things. And though his family had always been loud and argumentative, of late his exchanges with them were less good natured and more acrimonious.

And now, in a moment of unthinking anger, he'd thrown away his last three nights with Amy.

Damn
.

He had to leave or risk looking like even more of a fool than he was. And he couldn't so much as tell her good-bye. One look at her face and he knew his heart would break, as well as his resolve.

He threw on his clothes and left, cursing himself a hundred times for the hothead, fool, and coward he'd become.

No woman had ever had such an effect on him before, and he intended to make certain no woman ever did again.

KENDRA STOOD BACK,
casting a discerning eye as Amy twirled around in the sapphire and cream gown. "It's gorgeous!"

Nothing like the day dresses Amy had planned to order, the shimmering satin gown's scooped neckline was set off with a wide vanilla lace collar, enriched with lustrous pearls. Matching lace spilled to her wrists from beneath tight three-quarter length sleeves. The full cream overskirt was split and gathered to the back to show off a pearl-embroidered sapphire petticoat.

"It makes me feel pretty," Amy admitted, "though I still cannot believe I let you talk me into it. I haven't a clue where I'll wear it."

"Colin will take you to a ball—"

"No, he won't." Though her initial reaction to Colin's disappearance had been anger and hurt, in the past two weeks Amy had resigned herself to the facts. "Colin wants nothing to do with me; he's made that perfectly clear. And most certainly not in public."

"He'll come around. Trust me. I know my brother. He's stubborn, but he's not addlepated."

Amy's finger traced a row of embroidered pearls on her skirt. "Colin and I don't belong together, and we both know it, Kendra. I'm destined to be a jeweler in France. It's not only what I want, it's what I have to do." She smoothed the slick satin, then turned to the seamstress with a rustling swish. "Unlace me, please, Madame Beaumont."

Amy had been distraught to find Mrs. Cholmley's shop burned to the ground, and the seamstress herself nowhere to be found. Owing to the king's passion for everything French, French dressmakers were all the rage. Kendra had insisted Amy order her wardrobe from Madame Beaumont, London's most sought-after
modiste
.

The seamstress's deft fingers loosened the gown, and Amy wiggled out of it. "The hem is fine." She stepped into the butter-yellow gown she'd borrowed from Kendra and pulled it up. "Will it be ready Monday?

"
Certainement
. Along with everything else." Madame Beaumont turned her around to lace her up in back.

"Thank you." Amy looked pointedly at Kendra. "Do you know if Jason is free Tuesday to take me to Dover?"

"I haven't the faintest idea, but it doesn't matter anyway."

Amy peered into the looking glass, rearranging her long, untamed curls. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You still have to buy stockings, gloves, and ribbons, not to mention shoes for all these gowns," Kendra declared gaily. "Then I want help with my Christmas shopping. You won't be ready to leave for weeks yet—perhaps not until after Christmas."

"Oh, no." Amy shook her head, remembering Colin's original plan to secure her wardrobe within a day or two. Madame Beaumont had taken a full twelve days to create her gowns, and that was after considerable begging and extra payments.

"Oh, yes. You had nothing whatsoever to wear; it takes time to outfit yourself properly. Besides, I'm having too much fun to send you on your way. Why, it's almost like having a sister."

"Colin would be furious."

"A pox on Colin! If he weren't so damned obstinate—"

"Marry come up, Kendra! Let's not start that again."

"Only if you agree to stop talking about leaving so soon."

"Well…I did forget about stockings and shoes…maybe I'll stay an extra week." Amy stopped fussing with her hair and turned from the mirror to look Kendra in the eye. "But that's all. Colin and I will never happen. I mean it."

"Of course you do," Kendra agreed a little too pleasantly.

A tinkling bell on the door announced another customer. Amy and Kendra prepared to leave as Madame Beaumont rushed out to greet the newcomer. Her melodious voice drifted back to the fitting salon. "
Bonjour
, Lady Priscilla."

"No, it cannot be…" Kendra muttered under her breath.

"Your gown is ready for your final fitting." Madame's accented words grew louder as she made her way to the curtained salon. "I'll fetch it from the back room. The salon will be vacant in a moment." The curtain parted, and Madame slipped inside. "Mesdemoiselles? Is there aught else I can do for you?"

"We were just leaving," Amy assured her.

The dressmaker stuck her head back into the shop. "
Une minute
, Lady Priscilla,
s'il vous plaît
." She hurried through the salon and into the back, murmuring "
Merci
, mesdemoiselles" as she went.

"Please let it be another Priscilla," Kendra whispered, her hand on the curtain's opening.

"What are you talking about?" Amy whispered back.

Kendra froze and stared at her. "Lady Priscilla."

"Lady Priscilla?"

"
Colin's
Lady Priscilla."

"Oh…"

Amy wasn't at all sure she wanted to meet the illustrious Priscilla, but she hadn't much of a choice, as Kendra grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into the shop.

"Lady Priscilla." Amy had never heard Kendra sound so sickly sweet, nor seen such a false smile plastered on her face. "It's a pleasure to see you."

"Lady Kendra." Priscilla's voice was cultured and emotionless, as though she ran into acquaintances everywhere and nothing ever surprised her. She leaned over and pecked Kendra on the cheek; a casual kiss between ladies was
de rigueur
upon meeting. "I didn't know you were in town. Is Colin back as well?"

"Oh, no. You know how he feels about the City," Kendra said significantly.

"Yes, but he was here barely a day last month."

"He's very busy at Greystone. Perhaps you should visit him there." Kendra's suggestion sounded sincere, although she'd told Amy that Priscilla loathed Colin's rustic home. "I'm sure he'd be glad to see you."

"Goodness, not in the state that place is in. Although I'd consider an invitation to Cainewood." Priscilla's cool gray gaze moved to Amy. "Who do we have here?"

"Forgive me for failing to introduce you," Kendra said smoothly. "This is Mrs. Amethyst Goldsmith. Amy, meet Lady Priscilla Hobbs."

Amy watched Priscilla look her over and instantly dismiss her as untitled and insignificant. "I'm glad of your acquaintance," Priscilla said with a small bored bow.

Amy opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. The very sight of Priscilla had rendered her speechless. God in heaven, if Priscilla were Colin's idea of the perfect woman…

Titles aside, she was Amy's complete antithesis. Priscilla was tall where Amy was diminutive, fair where she was rosy, straight where she was curvy, and cool where she was emotional. Priscilla's hair was blond, short, and styled, while Amy's was dark, long, and unruly.

And those were just the obvious differences.

Amy hadn't known it was possible to hate a virtual stranger. She felt like a sorry example of a human being, but she couldn't seem to help herself. If she believed in witchcraft, she'd surely be casting a spell forthwith.

Kendra nudged her with a discreet elbow. "I-I'm glad of your acquaintance," Amy managed to return.

Priscilla's pretty arched brows drew together in puzzlement. "Mrs. Goldsmith is a friend of yours?" She looked directly at Kendra, as though Amy weren't there, which Amy wished were the case.

"She's been staying with us since the fire. She lost her family and their jewelry shop."

"Their shop?" Priscilla's expression showed just what she thought of the Chases befriending a merchant, but the look also radiated annoyed indulgence—as though the Chases were known to be rather eccentric.

"We've known Amy for some time," Kendra stated defensively. As her fingers moved to the center of her neckline, where she'd pinned the bow-shaped jeweled galant that was her gift from Amy, a glint came into her eyes. "Our family has acquired much jewelry from hers. Colin especially."

"Colin?" Priscilla frowned. "Colin has never given me any jewelry."

Though Amy knew her friend was deliberately misleading Priscilla—Kendra must know Colin had bought only her locket and the ring for himself—she decided to play along. "I can assure you that Colin has often purchased jewelry, since he always asks for my assistance."

"Well then, perhaps
Lord Greystone
is waiting until after we are wed to gift me with it," Priscilla said with a sniff.

"Perhaps."

The single word was a challenge, but apparently Priscilla chose not to see it that way, since she looked straight past Amy to where the seamstress waited between the parted curtains. "Madame Beaumont, you are ready?"

"
Certainement
, my lady."

"It was a pleasure seeing you, Kendra," Priscilla said on her way into the fitting salon.

No such pleasantries were directed at Amy, who evidently was beneath common courtesy.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Lady Priscilla," she called out pointedly, if insincerely. But the curtain closed before Priscilla could reply, assuming such was her intention.

Somehow, Amy thought not.

"What a rude woman," she whispered to Kendra. "
That
is your brother's intended?"

"In all her glory." Kendra took Amy's arm as they headed into the street.

"I suppose this has been a bad day for her," Amy suggested, searching for a possible excuse for Priscilla's behavior.

"I doubt it. I call her Priscilla Snobs, you know." They shared a companionable smile before Kendra continued, "It makes Colin furious."

"Whatever does he see in her, I wonder?"

"You're not the only one."

Seeing their approach, Jason's coachman rushed to open the door. "We'd like to visit the New Exchange now," Kendra informed him before climbing into her brother's wood and leather carriage.

The coachman took her by the elbow to help her in. "As you wish, my lady."

Amy followed slowly, still thinking about Priscilla. She hadn't known what to expect, but Priscilla had turned out to be so perfectly upper class that any lingering unrealistic dreams Amy had harbored were swept away. No amount of heart-pounding attraction could entice Colin Chase to trade such an aristocratic paragon for plain Amy Goldsmith.

Even though she couldn't wed Colin whether he wanted her or not, it was a depressing thought. As she ruminated on it, she almost missed the voice that called from down the street. The shocked, all-too-familiar voice.

"Amy? Amy! Can that be you?"

"I wish they'd hurry and rebuild the Royal Exchange," Kendra lamented from inside the carriage. "It was so much better than the New Exchange."

Amy hesitated but a moment before rushing inside to join her. She pulled the door shut before the startled coachman had a chance to close it.

"What's happening, Amy?"

"Shh! Don't say my name out loud." She tugged the curtains over the windows, cursing the heavy traffic that perpetually clogged London's streets. "Oh, why can't we get going?"

The carriage gave a small lurch as it started into the center of the busy street, but it was too late.
Bang! Bang!
A fist hit the door, and the driver reined in the horses.

"Amy! I know you're in there!"

"Hey!" The driver jumped to the street with an audible
thump
. "Keep your hands off Lord Cainewood's carriage!"

Through a slit in the curtains, Amy glimpsed carrot-colored hair, but she needed no confirmation. Having worked with him for five years, she would have recognized Robert Stanley's voice anywhere.

"I don't give a damn whose carriage this is!" she heard him yell. "Amethyst Goldsmith is inside, and I must speak with her."

Amy bit her lip. The door opened and the driver asked, "Mrs. Goldsmith, do you know this gentleman?"

She decided to pretend she was surprised. "Robert!" She jumped out and wrapped her arms around the freckled man in a hug that was halfhearted at best, but she hoped would be convincing since she'd never been overly affectionate with him. "'I'm so glad to see you're well—I've been wondering about you," she gushed.