“Quite the opposite,” Agnus finally said, draping a delicate pearl necklace around her neck. “I think you look beautiful, my lady. Elegant, to be sure. And I dare say, I have seen far older ladies in more revealing dresses than this.” Her voice dropped an octave, and she became bolder still. “Ladies who should have perhaps refrained from such gowns where you should do no such thing.”
What had come over her sturdy, detached maid? Was she ill? She asked as much, too, before she could stop herself.
“I am not ill, my lady.” After Agnus clipped pearl drop earrings on Prudence’s earlobes, she urged her to face the full-length mirror and wrapped a sheer shawl around her shoulders that accented the dress beautifully. “I am merely offering you the truth. Something you tend to prefer if I am not mistaken?”
“Quite right,” she said softly when she saw her reflection. She was so transformed it almost seemed, yet again, that a stranger stared back. While no longer a blossoming young woman dressed for her coming out ball, some might say her equally lovely in a different way. As Agnus had implied, a more elegant version. There was a becoming rosiness to her cheeks she did not recall being there upon her arrival. A sparkle to her eyes that had been missing.
The dress almost seemed hand-tailored for her. Most definitely, her sister’s doing. It flattered her in all the right areas, and while the neckline was a bit lower than she would have liked, it did not seem as tasteless as she originally thought. Rather, it made her feel sumptuous when combined with the shawl. Confident in a way that made little sense.
Moreover, it seemed to remove several more bars from her rhetorical cage.
No doubt, it was one more rung toward the freedom she had started to feel yesterday. One more step away from Mayfair and her late husband. Which led her to wonder, for the first time in longer than she could remember, how men might see her.
More specifically, how the Duke of Argyll might see her.
Would he find her alluring? Did she truly want him to, or was it best to continue hoping for mere friendship? To seek out what she needed above all right now? Companionship. A connection of the mind because she had begun to realize that’s what she needed more and more. Understood it after talking with Jacob. She had never done something like that with a man before and quite liked it. Liked who she was when conversing about subjects she enjoyed.
Even though she felt a moment of reluctance when she eventually headed downstairs, she squared her shoulders and pressed on. She was glad she did, too. Glad she faced this alone rather than with her sister or even a man. Liked the feeling of standing on her own two feet out from under the low-hanging cloud of her late husband. Free of his watchful, disappointed eyes.
Free to enjoy the appreciative gazes of men admiring her as she headed downstairs and crossed the great hall. They were not calculative looks hungry for wealth this time, but genuine admiration. Desire, if she were not mistaken. Looks she could not remember receiving even in her blooming youth. Why would she when her late husband had swooped in so quickly? When she only had eyes for him at the beginning?
Just as, at this very moment, she could only see Jacob when he appeared in front of her. Better still, as her fanciful mind would have it, he could only see her.
Chapter Eight
While Jacob enjoyedthe day’s festivities, he would be lying if he said he had not wished to enjoy them with Prudence by his side. He’d wanted to show her every little thing. Explain his culture, from the design of the cottages to his people’s traditions at festivals.
Instead, he watched her from afar and hoped she enjoyed herself. While she had seemed interested in her surroundings, he could not help but notice she appeared especially taken with the bagpipes. They might be played plenty in England nowadays, but he got the distinct impression she heard them differently in a small Scottish village. Felt them in a way few of her ilk did. He had desired more than ever to be by her side, discussing her thoughts. How everything affected her.
Yet, as the day wore on, she’d kept her distance. Or should he say he kept his distance because he had no choice. At this point, it was up to her to come to him if she desired his company. And he had stuck to that no matter how difficult.
At least until he spied her coming down the stairs that evening.
Until he saw her out of anything resembling mourning clothes and in a dress that seemed handspun by the angels. Saints above, she was a vision, and every hot-blooded man in the room knew it as their gazes turned her way. Her chestnut locks shimmered in the candlelight and her flawless skin appeared luminescent. Moreover, the way her dress hugged her lush curves fueled one’s imagination indeed. To the best of his knowledge, she had decided to remain in her room for the evening. So why the sudden change of heart? Better yet, why such a monumental leap in appearance?
Whatever her reasons, he very much approved. So much so that he drifted her way despite his determination to let her come to him. Drifted until he stood in front of her. If that were not enough, wanting her nowhere but with him, his mouth and actions seemed to have a mind of their own.
“My lady.” He held out his elbow, giving her no choice but to accept his invitation. “Might you join me for dinner?”
He was unsure if her eyes flashed with defiance or relief when she curtsied and slid her arm into his, but he was determined to find out. Discover as much as he possibly could about her before she tried to dart away again. Did she still intend to leave tomorrow? Or might they be able to spend more time together after the night was over?
Prudence said little as chestnut soup was served, followed by mackerel with fennel and mint. He had not expected her to say much, though. Not right away. Not with so many people around in such a lively, talkative mood. She did cast him cordial glances every so often, though. Mayhap, as his hopeful mind would have it, because she was as aware of him as he was of her.
Eventually, diners drifted off in the direction of the music, eager to dance, and he and Prudence were alone. He knew by the way she traced her finger back and forth over the bottom of her glass that her nerves ran high. She struggled to say something to him but seemed unable to find the right words.
“Might we join the others and—”
“Yes,” she said, cutting him off. Her cheeks grew rosy. “What I mean to say is you have my apologies, Your Grace.” Her breathing might be irregular, but she still managed to look him in the eyes. “Not just for interrupting you but for my behavior earlier today. For—” she cleared her throat and folded her ever-so-slightly shaky hands on her lap—“for thinking you would be so uncouth.” Her delicate cheekbones grew even rosier. “For thinking—”
“All is well, Lady Barrington.”
She went perfectly still when he rested his hand over hers and offered a warm, forgiving smile.
“I do not fault your assumptions,” he went on. “Nor do I wish you to feel guilt over what lies in our past, be it recent or distant.”
Her gaze flickered from his hand to his face, and her pupils flared. “That is generous of you, Your Grace.”
“Jacob.”
