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They immediately vacated the kitchen and hurried down the hall to what Betsy pointed out was the storage room. Amelia could feel the excitement building as they opened a large wooden wardrobe and began pulling out gowns.
There were seven or eight garments of various colors. Most of them in more subdued shades. Although Amelia had always imagined her first ball dressed in something white, or a pale color, befitting a young, unmarried miss, she was more than happy to consider any one of these gowns.
She particularly liked a deep green satin gown. She held it up and looked in the mirror attached to the wardrobe door.
“That looks lovely on you, miss,” Margie said. “You will be turning young men’s heads all night.”
Amelia doubted that very much. Although she hadn’t spent time at fancy events, she knew the women who would attend the ball the following week would wear the height of fashion, in vivid colors, with jewels draping their necks, wrists and ears. Most likely purchased by their protectors.
But then again, her primary reason to attend the ball was to have fun. To finally experience what she’d dreamed about as a girl. To dance and possibly flirt, at least once before she left London to start her new life somewhere else.
“Here, Amelia, this mask appears to match that gown.” Mrs. Bannon handed her a half face mask—quite similar to the one she wore each night—but in a color matching the gown.
“Yes, I believe you’re right.” Amelia held the mask up to her face.
“Are you taking that one, then?” Betsy asked.
Amelia moved back and forth in front of the mirror, holding the gown against her body. “Yes. I believe so.” She looked at the other women. “Unless one of you wanted this one?”
Mrs. Bannon laughed—her larger size denying any intention she would have had regarding that gown. The other two women shook their heads. “I wore that one last year,” Margie stated.
“’Tis not my color,” Betsy added as she pulled out a bright yellow gown with feathers and lace at the neckline. Amelia tried very hard not to cringe.
She had some time before she needed to dress for the night and help with setting up the club, so she hurried with the gown flung over her arm to her room to try it on.
Once she was out of her plain day dress, she held up the gown and smiled. She could use a much sturdier corset. The one she wore when working was softer since she had to wear it for hours while standing on her feet. And it would be truly lovely to indulge in silk stockings.
She pulled the gown on anyway, just to see if it fit without the correct corset. After stepping into it and pulling it up to her shoulders, there was a slight knock on her door.
Holding the front of the gown against her chest with the entire back open, she walked to the door, noting the hem on the gown needed to be shortened. “Yes?”
“Amelia, it’s Driscoll.”
She opened the door to see him leaning his arm against the doorjamb. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t know you were dressing.” His eyes were fixated on the neckline of the gown, much lower than the ones she wore while dealing each night. Then he followed the line of the dress down to her toes. “It’s too long.” His voice was gravelly, and he swallowed a few times.
Amelia stepped back, her face flushing at the look in his eyes. “It’s one of the gowns from the wardrobe in storage.” She fumbled, trying to keep the dress from falling to the ground. “I had hoped to wear it to the ball next week.”
Driscoll seemed to have lost his train of thought. He just stood there and gaped at her.
Amelia cleared her throat, the tension between them growing. “Do you need to talk to me?” She felt stupid. Of course, he needed to speak with her, why else would he be standing in her doorway?
“Um, yes.” He raised his eyes to hers. The heat in his eyes frightened her, while at the same time feelings of warmth and an unnamed need filled her entire body, taking away her breath.
He shook himself and stepped back. “I will wait for you in the dining room, for when you are—” He waved in her direction, continued to back up until he hit the wall behind him, then quickly made his way down the corridor.
* * *
Driscoll collapsed into the chair in the dining room and banged his fist on the table. What a complete arse he’d made of himself. Just because Amelia was standing there half-undressed with her hair down around her shoulders looking as if she just stepped from a well-used bed was no reason to behave like a green youth with his first woman.
He was an adult and had enough affairs under his belt to qualify as experienced. Yet something about Miss Amelia Pence reduced him to
practically a blathering idiot.
He had finally worked up the nerve to confront her with the—assumed—missing money. He had no intention of accusing her, merely having a conversation about how she conducted her table, how she stored her money while dealing and filling out the receipt slip and placing it with all the money in the bag to give to John.
She’d been employed by The Rose Room for more than four weeks. The strong returns at the beginning had dwindled the last couple of weeks. No matter how hard he tried to deny it, he had to face the fact that money was missing. Without saying why to either man, he’d had one of the security guards and an assistant manager watching her table.
The reason he’d given them for the scrutiny was he wanted to avoid any harassment of the young lady. They had reported back to him all was well, she was doing a fine job, even in handling drunk men who made improper comments.
