She felt as though she had just been struck across the face, very hard, and for a paralyzed moment she stood staring at him. She was aware that one of his hands reached out and took hold of her upper arm, as if to steady her. Then she looked beyond him, over his shoulder, out to where his crested coach stood waiting.
“Where is he?” Her lips formed the words, but she heard no sound.
“He’s home. At my house. His wife is here too, you know.”
Swiftly Amber’s eyes came back to his. The dazed almost dreamy look was gone from her face and she looked alert and challenging.
“What does she look like?”
Almsbury answered gently, as if afraid of hurting her. “She’s very beautiful.”
“She can’t be!”
Amber stood staring down at the wood-shavings, the scraps and piled bricks that lay all about them. Her sweeping black brows had drawn together and her face had an expression of almost tragic anxiety.
“She can’t be!” she repeated. Then suddenly she looked back up at him again, almost ashamed of herself. She had never been afraid of any woman on earth. No matter what kind of beauty this Corinna was she had no reason to fear her. “When—” She remembered that Captain Wynne was still there, just beside them, and changed the words she had been about to say. “I’m having a supper tonight. Why don’t you come and bring Lord Carlton with you—and his wife too, if she wants to come?”
“I think they won’t be going abroad for a few days—the voyage was longer than usual and her Ladyship is tired.”
“That’s too bad,” said Amber tartly. “And is his Lordship too tired to stir out of the house too?”
“I don’t think he’d care to go without her.”
“Ye gods!” cried Amber. “I’m sure I never thought Lord Carlton would be the man to fawn over a wife!”
Almsbury did not try to argue the point. “They’re going to Arlington House Thursday night—you’ll be there, won’t you?”
“Of course. But Thursday—” Again she remembered the presence of Captain Wynne. “Did he go down to the wharves today?”
“Yes. But he’s got a great deal of business there. I’d advise you to wait till Thursday—”
Amber gave him a glare that cut off his sentence in the middle. Then, mocking her, he gulped a time or two as if in fright, bowed very formally, and turning walked back to his coach. She watched him go, made a sudden little movement to run after him and apologize—but did not. His coach had no sooner disappeared from sight than Amber lost all interest in her house.
“I’ve got to go now, Captain Wynne,” she said hastily. “We’ll talk about this later. Good-day.” And she half ran to get into her own coach, followed by the nursemaids and the two children. “Drive down Water Lane to the New Key! And hurry!”
But he was not there. Her footman went up and down the wharf inquiring; they saw his ships riding at anchor and were told that he had been there all morning but had left at dinnertime and not returned. She waited for almost an hour, but the children were becoming cross and tired and at last she had to go.
Back at the Palace she immediately wrote him a letter, imploring him to come to her, but she got no reply until the next morning and then it was merely a hasty scratched note: “Business makes it impossible for me to wait on you. If you’re at Arlington House Thursday, may I claim the favour of a dance? Carlton.” Amber tore it into bits and flung herself onto the bed to cry.
But in spite of herself she was forced to take certain practicalities into consideration.
For if it was true that Lady Carlton was a beauty then she must somehow contrive to look more dazzling Thursday night than ever before in her life. They were used to her at Court now and it had been a long while since her appearance at any great or small function had aroused the excitement and envy she had been able to stir up three and a half years ago. If Lady Carlton was even moderately pretty she would be the object of every stare, the subject of every comment, whether it were made in praise or derogation. Unless—unless I can wear something or do something they won’t be able to ignore, no matter how they try.
She spent several hours in a frenzy of worry and indecision and then at last she sent for Madame Rouvière. The only possible solution was a new gown, but a gown different from anything she had ever seen, a gown no one had ever dared to wear.
“I’ve got to have something they can’t
Madame Rouvière laughed. “That would be well enough for an entrance—but after a while they would grow tired and begin to look at the ladies with more on. It must be something
Lady Carlton! Poor creature—what chance would she have?
