A Heart Revealed (9 page)

Half an hour passed before Suzanne laid a thin plait of still-wet hair, tied off at both ends, on the dressing table. Though her hand was bandaged and surely as painful as Amber’s head, Suzanne had offered to do the job herself, which Amber appreciated though she hadn’t said so out loud.

Amber stared at the braid for several seconds, stunned to see the proof of what had been done. Without a word, Suzanne went about trimming up the remaining hair on Amber’s head.

Amber dared not admit, even to herself, the depth of feeling she experienced with each snip of the shears. It still felt as though she were trapped in a nightmare.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Miss?” Suzanne asked when she finished, stepping back and putting the shears in the pocket of her apron.

“No, Suzanne,” Amber said, too spent to remember the superior tone. She glanced at the white bandage wrapped around the maid’s hand. “You may go.”

“Thank you, Miss.” Suzanne had placed a cloth beneath Amber’s stool to catch the cuttings and folded it before leaving. “I’ll tell Nelson that you’re ready to be attended to with Mrs. Yarrow’s salve. My hand is feeling much better since I treated it. Perhaps a hot bath would help you warm yourself?”

Amber nodded, but her eyes went back to the bound hair on the dressing table once the door shut. She reached up and ran her fingers over the woven strands. Her hair was beautiful and looked so strong and vibrant, woven together like that.

“It will grow back,” she told herself in a soft voice another type of mother might have used to console her daughter in a situation such as this. “It will be as beautiful as ever,” she continued in the nurturing tone she had only ever known in her imagination. “Until then, I shall love you no different than ever I did.” The last words were broken by a suppressed sob, and Amber finally lifted her eyes to the reflection she had been avoiding.

Suzanne had cut the remaining hair so it followed the contours of Amber’s head. It looked soft and smooth and very much like a man’s hairstyle—or it might if hair had covered all of her head. The portion afflicted with the ointment was no longer smooth, but ragged and red with blisters.

Gruesome,
Amber thought.
Horrid. Ugly. Vile. Cursed
. For every word of compliment she had ever received, there was now a word of derision and condemnation.
Abominable. Wretched. Disgusting. Repulsive.

When she could think of no other words, despair overcame her.

What will become of me?

“Perhaps someone will want you for your money and connections,” she answered herself out loud, feeling the brittleness of the realization that those were the only things she had left to entice a husband. How ironic that until now those things were all she had wanted from him.

Chapter 9

Amber stood at her bedroom window, looking upon London just beginning to wake. The clear morning promised another sunny day, and Amber could scarcely contain her yearning to be part of it. It was Sunday, just over a week since Lady Marchent and Darra had learned of her circumstance, and she had not left her bedchamber since. Suzanne attended to her throughout the day and her mother looked in, but it had become increasingly clear that the Sterlingtons were going about their lives without her. Dr. Hankins had been told to communicate with the family only in writing. Amber felt it was to prevent her mother from taking blame for the ointment. He had found no solutions but would keep researching. Judging from the reduced amount of notes and flowers she had received these last few days, all of London was going about their lives without her.

She heard the door open and tugged at her cap as she did every time someone entered. Since cutting off the length of her hair there was no need to have anyone see her without the cap. She had even draped a blanket over her looking glass so as not to be caught unawares by her reflection.

“Good morning, Miss.”

Amber turned in time to see Suzanne set the breakfast tray on the small table that had been moved from the corner of the drawing room to Amber’s bedchamber. Amber hadn’t asked for it, and her mother hadn’t explained its appearance; it was simply brought in five days ago by a footman an hour before supper. As though Amber would forever eat her meals in this room.

She looked at the tray Suzanne had set down—toast, tea, eggs, and sausage—then turned to look out the window again while the maid poured the tea. Two women walked arm in arm down the sidewalk and though the time of day was not fashionable for a stroll, she felt a deep longing to be outdoors stir within her.

“I would like to dress today,” Amber said when she turned back to the room, making a decision in an instant; the view from her window still fresh in her mind. It wasn’t fair that everyone else should go about their lives and she could not, but so long as she supported the notion that she could be hidden away it would certainly continue. “I would like to wear the blue morning gown.”

“Yes, Miss,” Suzanne said, unable to hide her surprise. “Ring when you finish your breakfast—”

“I won’t be eating breakfast in my bedchamber today,” Amber said. “Are my mother and sister in the morning room?”

“Yes, Miss,” Suzanne said, even more surprised.

“I would like to be ready in time to join them before they leave for church services.”

Without her hair to arrange, Amber was ready in a short time. She removed the blanket from her mirror and took comfort in the fact that her eyebrows looked balanced and her eyes were bright. She pinched her cheeks and bit her lips to bring out the color while attempting to convince herself that having no hair showing from beneath the cap did not look so unnatural. She turned the ruffled fabric of the cap so that the blue bow was over her right ear. Then she took a breath and exited the room, feeling strangely foreign in the house she had made visits to all her life.

The upper hallway was empty, and she held her head high as she moved to the stairway, down to the main floor, and toward the back of the house where the morning room was located. She lifted her hand to push open the partially closed door, but the sound of voices made her hesitate.

“ . . . get some new slippers and feathers, Mama? The ball at Carlton House is Saturday, and I should love to wear something new.”

“I suppose a few more accessories are in order,” Lady Marchent said amid a chink of silverware against china. “But there’s no time to go to Bond Street tomorrow, not with the visit to the Fergusons and Mrs. Carmichael’s garden party in the afternoon. We’ll have to go shopping on Tuesday.”

“Do we have to go to the Fergusons?” Darra pouted. “Their son looks at me as though I might pull a sword point on him and call him out.”

Lady Marchent laughed, and the sound ran through Amber as though it were the very sword Darra had mentioned. That her mother and sister could talk and laugh as though there was nothing ill in the world was stunning even though Amber had already realized this morning that the lives of the people around her were continuing—only hers had been put aside. Somehow she had assumed that her mother and sister might not be so lightly affected by her absence, and it made her heart ache with a dismissal she felt foolish for not having expected.

The baize door opened at the far end of the hall and rather than explain to a servant why she was standing in the hallway, Amber took a breath and pushed through the doorway of the morning room.

Darra was facing the door and describing the style of hat she would like to arrange when Amber stepped into the room. Darra’s words dropped off, and Lady Marchent turned to see what had drawn Darra’s attention. They were both dressed in their Sunday finest, as though they would be attending church as a family.

In that instant Amber chose her strategy for this meeting: if they were to be unaffected, she would be as well. She pulled her shoulders back, lifted her chin, and arranged a casual smile on her face as though today were any other day and she had not been stashed away in her bedchamber for the past week.

“Amber,” her mother said in a tone that did not hide her surprise. “I thought your maid was bringing a breakfast tray to your room.”

“She brought a tray,” Amber said lightly, moving smoothly to the sideboard where she picked up a plate and began to fill it from the selection of breakfast items laid out. “I see the cook made lemon buns.” She looked over her shoulder and smiled playfully. “I had feared that perhaps I was being denied a full selection, and it appears I was exactly right.” She put a lemon bun on her plate, took an extra-large slab of ham, and moved to take the seat opposite Darra at the table. She smiled sweetly at her sister. “How are you, Darra?”

Darra regarded her for a moment, obviously distrustful of Amber’s mood. Finally, she looked away and set about spreading jam on a piece of toast. “I am well,” she said simply.

“I am
so
glad to hear as much,” Amber said, exaggerating her smile to match her tone. Acting this part was familiar and yet uncomfortable too. Perhaps because she had not played the role for so many days. Or perhaps confronting what could not be acted away left her less impressed with the falseness she could master so easily. “Did I hear you talking of a ball? I’m afraid I did not hear the date.”

“Saturday,” Darra said, glancing up briefly before looking to their mother seated at Amber’s left. The look exchanged between them filled Amber with remarkable jealousy. All the time that Amber had spent in her bedchamber, sick, frightened, lonely, and morose, had allowed her mother and sister to grow closer with one another. She chewed a bite of ham slowly, and then carefully cut another as she processed through this understanding without allowing it to show upon her features.

“Perhaps I shall be able to attend then,” Amber said once she swallowed her bite and speared the next on her fork. “I have some ideas on how I can reenter society. I long to renew the acquaintances I worked so hard to procure.”

“You cannot attend,” Darra said quickly. “Nothing can hide what has been done. Everyone will know.”

Amber shrugged and pinched off a bit of the lemon bun. “Everyone will
not
know, and you shall see that my absence has simply whet the appetite of my admirers so that when they see me they shan’t notice anyone else.” Darra’s face darkened. Amber continued though it was not with enjoyable intent so much as growing fear at her sister’s defensiveness. “And their concern for my having been ill for such a time will have them
pouring
out their sympathies, I am sure. I am the Rage of the Season after all.”

“They have forgotten you,” Darra said, dropping her toast onto her plate. “You are most certainly
not
the Rage of the Season anymore.”

The words sliced through Amber’s façade, and she narrowed her eyes. “And I suppose you flatter yourself into thinking that
you
are the rage now? That you can somehow replace me in the eye of every bachelor in London? Do not get so high in your opinion of yourself as to ignore why you are here at all, Darra. Do not—”

“That is enough,” Lady Marchent said, silencing Amber. “I’ll not have you rail against your sister when she has done naught to deserve it.”

“Naught to deserve it?” Amber said, turning toward her mother. “Do you not see that she is using my ailment for her benefit? That she is primping about as though—”

“I said that is enough.” Her mother fixed her with an icy stare. “If you are going to sit with the family, then you will engage in polite conversation and keep your razor tongue in check. You should thank her for upholding the story of your illness.”

Stunned at her mother’s reprimand, Amber looked down at her plate, adequately chastised. There was no doubt as the breakfast continued that Darra and her mother would have preferred she have remained in her room. The thought left her terribly sad and wishing she’d never come down despite knowing she could not stay in her room forever.

After some time had passed, Lady Marchent touched Amber’s arm, causing her to look up at her mother. Lady Marchent smiled softly. “I am sorry to be so cross,” she said, then flicked her eyes to Darra as though including her in the apology. “We are all trying to make the best decisions we can to move forward. We must be patient.”

Did she mean that Amber should be patient about not attending events? “Mama,” she said when she had adequately organized her thoughts in a way she hoped would make her intentions clear. She placed her knife and fork on either side of her plate and put her hands in her lap. “I would like to attend the season again.”

Lady Marchent removed her hand and took a thoughtful sip of her tea. “I don’t know how that is possible, Amber. You cannot expect that the affections you entreated before won’t have been changed by your absence and situation.”

Amber turned in her chair to face her mother more fully. “My hair is not all I have to recommend me.”

“Certainly not, but its absence is . . . unseemly at best. Were you to attend the events as you did before, it would be an embarrassment to your family as well as the hosts. You cannot ask such a sacrifice of those around you any more than you can expect your situation to be overlooked. I have thought more about you returning to Hampton Grove and feel—”

“I need to secure a match,” Amber interrupted, unable to comprehend being sent away from London. “I cannot give up every expectation I have wished for, and I am unwilling to walk away from my ambitions.”

“You cannot expect a man to look past such a . . . defect,” Lady Marchent said. She glanced quickly at Darra, increasing Amber’s worry that the two of them had spoken of this topic without her present. Lady Marchent took a breath and continued in a sympathetic tone, “It might be best for you to return to Hampton Grove for the remainder of the season, allow yourself sufficient rest. Should your condition repair itself, you can return next season prepared to exist in society again.”

“I am not leaving London,” Amber said, unwilling to consider the suggestion even when it was so kindly delivered. “Not after all the effort I put into making the connections I have made. By next season my dresses will be out of fashion and my prospects irrevocably changed.”