Amethyst (43 page)

Kendra rummaged in the big box. She pulled out a dressing gown made of peach-colored fabric with a lavish lace edging. An amused smile played around her lips as she helped Amy out of bed and into the garment, tying it at her waist as one would for a small child.

While Kendra sat Amy at the dressing table, Madame took a wooden case from the box. Carrying it by its ornate brass handle, she brought it over and opened its hinged lid with a flourish. The contents were a jumble of brushes and pencils, jars, bottles, pots and boxes filled with mysterious colored powders and pomades, all of which Madame set about the tabletop.

"Now…" she said, lifting a sinister metal tool.

In her jewelry shop, Amy had used something similar to pick up loose gemstones. She flinched as Madame tilted her chin up and leaned over her, the device hovering in the region of her forehead.

"Oooh,
charmant
," Madame gushed suddenly. "Perfectly arched. Just look." As though Amy were nothing more than a doll, Madame swung her head around toward Kendra, then dropped the implement on the table. "No plucking," she declared.

Amy gaped at Kendra. Plucking, indeed!

Madame set to work, conferring with Kendra from time to time, and Amy relaxed, as no other instruments of torture seemed to be forthcoming. They chatted excitedly about the upcoming wedding and Colin waiting below in the taproom, "probably drinking himself into a stupor," according to Kendra.

Amy bit her lip. "I've never worn cosmetics."

"No?" Using a hare's foot, Madame powdered Amy's face.

"No. My father…I mean, for merchants…it's not considered acceptable…"

At their vague smiles, her voice trailed off. Could she ever fit in their world?

She sneaked a wary glance in the mirror, then gasped. "Marry come up! The bruises are gone!" She touched her fingers to her face in wonder. "And the dark circles under my eyes."

"It's the Princesses Powder." Madame brushed away her fingers and applied more to repair the damage.

"Princesses Powder?" Amy clenched her hands in her lap to keep them from shaking. Merchants' daughters didn't wear powder made for princesses.

And they didn't wed earls, either…

"It's so called because four princesses, whose great
beauté
is known throughout Europe, have used it with such success that they've preserved an air of youth till seventy years of
âge
."

"Seventy years?" Kendra touched nonexistent crow's feet at the corners of her eyes. "I
must
have some."

Madame turned away to swipe powder on Kendra's cheeks. "You can procure a supply from Madame Elizabeth Jackson, near Maypole in the Strand, for a price of sixpence per authentic packet."

Amy stared at her reflection. Would her father be disappointed if he were here? She was breaking her promises, but he'd loved her …would he really deny her love for Colin?

"A bargain at twice the price." Kendra's face appeared behind Amy's in the mirror. She frowned at her newly powdered complexion, then smiled. "I shall visit Elizabeth Jackson tomorrow. Will you come, Amy?"

Amy shook her head slowly, pressing her lips together to hide the telltale quiver.

"Of course not; how silly of me." Kendra's grin grew wider. "You'll want to be with Colin, won't you?" She handed Madame a kohl pencil.

With Colin.
What a wonderful, magical thought. "Yes, I will," Amy said, surprised at how clear and sure her voice rang through the room.

Turning Amy from the mirror, Madame rimmed her eyes with kohl and darkened her lashes and brows with the end of a burnt cork. "Oh, did I get some in your eyes?" Concerned, she leaned closer, peering at Amy. "
Je regrette.
I'm so sorry."

"It's all right." Amy blinked back the tears, chagrined that she couldn't seem to control herself. She sneaked another glance in the looking glass. "My eyes look huge," she worried. "Maybe Colin won't like me with a painted face."

"Don't be a goose," Kendra said. "I expect I'll have to wipe the drool off his chin."

Madame tore a sheet of red Spanish paper out of a tiny booklet and rubbed it lightly on Amy's cheeks.

"Did Colin talk to Priscilla?" Amy hesitantly asked Kendra.

"No, he talked to her father."

"And?" Amy watched as Madame took up a small pot. "What happened?"

"Shh," Madame interjected, applying pomade to Amy's lips.

Kendra shrugged. "I don't know exactly, but all is well. Don't ask him about it. He's rather furious. Still muttering about the buzzard or some such."

Amy was about to ask another question, but Madame took her by the shoulders and swung her around to fully face the mirror.

She stared, her eyes sparkling. "I-I'm beautiful," she breathed, watching in wonder as the words came from between her glossy lips.

"No," Kendra corrected. "You're magnificent. You've always been beautiful." She bent to wrap Amy in a hug. "My lovely sister—can you credit it?" Sniffing, she wiped her eyes, and Amy wiped her own, too. "Oh, we're both going to ruin our faces! Let's get you dressed."

As Madame fetched her clothing from the box, Amy stood in a daze, trembling from head to toe, plagued by second thoughts, yet excited at the unbelievable miracle of wedding Colin. Madame and Kendra didn't seem to notice as they slid off the dressing gown and pulled a new chemise over her head, taking care not to disturb her carefully applied face. Next came the sapphire and cream gown Amy had despaired of ever having the occasion to wear.

The minute they smoothed the satin skirts over her hips, her doubts scattered. It was going to happen. God in heaven, she would be a countess before the day was out.

"Mine. I hope they fit." Interrupting her thoughts, Kendra held out stockings and a pair of fashionable Louis-heeled shoes.

With a distracted smile, Amy drew on the stockings and stepped into the shoes, teetering on the high heels while Madame twisted a sleeve here and tweaked the waistline there until she was satisfied. She led Amy back to the dressing table and tucked a kerchief into her low decolletage, to protect the exquisite pearl-studded lace while she powdered Amy's neck and cleavage to match her face.

A curling iron was set to heat at the edge of the fire, and Madame set to work on Amy's hair. "You really should cut this if you wish to be
à la mode
." With the edge of her hand against Amy's neck, the seamstress indicated the preferred length, just below ear level.

Remembering the feel of Colin's hands caressing her hair, Amy blanched and gathered her long tresses into both fists. Madame chuckled. "Perhaps not today."

"Colin wouldn't like it," Amy stated flatly, and that was that. Madame's deft hands twisted, plaited, and curled, and before long Amy's hair was arranged in a semblance of fashionable style—long ringlets at the sides and a bun plaited together with sapphire ribbons in the back.

"No wires." Madame patted Amy's thick mass of curls.

"No fair." Kendra pouted. "I need wires and false ringlets besides."

"Now
you're
being the goose," Amy said. "What I wouldn't give for that rich red color. And have you any idea how long it takes to dry this?"

"
Mon Dieu
, mesdemoiselles," Madame clucked. "We all have to work with what God gives us, and you're both lovely." She rummaged with a fingertip through a tiny box of black beauty patches. "Hearts, stars, flowers…which do you think?"

"Hearts," Kendra decided. "It's for a wedding, after all."

"No patches. I'm painted enough as it is. Colin will scarcely recognize me."

Kendra snorted. "It's not as though you're painted like an actress. One patch?"

"This is not a negotiation." Amy laughed. "No patches."

"Madame?"

Madame took Amy by one elbow, stood her up, and guided her to the center of the chamber. Amy stood stiff as a poker while Madame walked all the way around her, looking her up and down. The seamstress backed across the room, her eyes narrowing as she contemplated her creation.

"Her complexion is flawless," she said to Kendra.

"What difference does that make?" Kendra wondered. "Patches are all the rage; they're not just to hide pimples and smallpox scars anymore."

"She's a perfect bride,
n'est-ce pas
?" Madame led Amy to the pier glass. "Look."

Amy gazed in the mirror, transfixed. All evidence of her mistreatment was hidden. Veiled by the cosmetics, her face, neck and shoulders appeared creamy and unblemished. Vanilla lace spilled from her sleeves and over her wrists, concealing the unsightly abrasions.

The glossy sapphire satin shimmered; the pearls on her collar and underskirt gleamed. Fat, springy corkscrew curls spilled artistically over her shoulders, and suddenly the ebony color seemed to suit her perfectly. To her vast relief, she didn't look overpainted—to the contrary, owing to Madame's skill, she looked very much like herself, only enhanced.

Her eyes met Kendra's in the glass, and they shared a smile.

Amy had never felt so beautiful.

She would have stared at herself forever, but Madame gave them both a little push. "The groom is waiting.
Allez-y!
" With a graceful wave of her hand, she dismissed them.

THE CHASE BROTHERS'
conversation had long since turned to discussing the interminable length of time women always took to get ready.

Colin popped the cork on yet another bottle of sack. "I vow, they must have food in there."

"Food?"

"Food. They never eat much in front of us, yet they always complain about how full they are after a few bites. My theory is they sneak food into their dressing chambers." Colin paused for a swallow of wine from the green bottle. "While we're out here, waiting and starving, they're dining and laughing at us."

Ford chuckled. "Just how long do you hypothesize this has been going on?"

"Since the dawn of time, at the very least."

Jason stroked his mustache. "And they've kept this a secret over the centuries?"

"It's a vast conspiracy—every female is sworn to secrecy from birth." Colin spoke solemnly, but the glitter in his eyes betrayed his amusement. He lowered his voice and leaned into the center of the table. "We've always teased Kendra because she eats her dessert first. Well, that's because she already—"

An apparition coming down the stairs claimed Colin's attention, effectively cutting off his words. A vision in sapphire and cream, Amy glided toward him. His breath caught as he wondered how he'd ever considered letting her go.

The gown's bodice fit like a second skin, emphasizing her slim waist. The skirts flared over her hips, reminding him of the lush curves underneath. Dressed in satin and lace, ribbons and pearls, she lacked only some of her exquisite jewelry to look every inch the countess she was about to become.

Not that it mattered, of course.

She could be wearing a burlap sack, and he would marry her.

AS SHE CAME DOWN
the inn's staircase with Kendra, Amy saw Jason jiggle Colin's elbow. Colin slowly rose to his feet.

"Dear God in heaven," she whispered to no one in particular. He was quite simply the most magnificent male she'd ever seen. Once, months ago in her shop, she'd been overwhelmed by his good looks, but that initial impression had long since been replaced by a sense of the complex mix of heart and intellect that, to her, was Colin.

Now, seeing him dressed for his wedding—
their
wedding—the awe came rushing back.

The handsome planes of his face were clean shaven, and his freshly washed hair hung in dark waves to his shoulders. But it was his formal clothing that transformed him in Amy's eyes—a black velvet suit that reminded her of the one she'd found in the chest at the foot of his bed at Greystone.

Given Colin's simple tastes, the suit was a passable nod to fashion, the breeches fuller than he preferred, though not the divided skirts called "petticoat breeches" that were in vogue. Where a dandy's apparel would be dripping in looped ribbons—cuffs, waist, and epaulettes—Colin's was finished with gold braid. His full, snow-white shirt was trimmed with lace at the gathered cuffs. Matching lace adorned the cravat that flowed over the collar of his short doublet, Amy's gold-edged cameo pinning it in place. The signet ring she'd made for him was his only other jewelry.