Miss Sterlington looked away first, breaking the spell, though not completely, as she attended to her own cup of tea. He watched every movement of her fingers and expression as she lifted the cup, blew across the surface, and took a small sip before returning the cup and saucer to her lap, which she had not covered with a rug today.

There was silence for a few moments before Amber found a topic to provide rescue. "Suzanne tells me your family is very generous to those of us situated so far from town. She says you often deliver boxes of goods to outlying settlements when the snow is too deep."

Thomas ducked his chin in modest acceptance. "Living in a place such as this inspires the community to work together. Fortunately we have been spared the worst of the season this year. So far at least."

"It is certainly generous for you to be so charitable."

"Traditionally one of the purposes behind a t.i.tle was that the bearer would care for those within his stewardship, and while those boundaries are not quite so set as once they were, my family has always taken its position as a place of responsibility." He hoped it did not sound pompous, as it was not how he meant it. However, he was proud of his family's tradition of genuine charity.

Miss Sterlington c.o.c.ked her head to the side. "I suppose I had not thought of t.i.tles in such a way. I fear most men graced with them do not feel such responsibility."

"I beg your pardon but I am sure most of them do," Thomas said with a confirming nod. "They may have bailiffs that do the watching, but the men of my acquaintance bound by position seem to understand that they are in a place of benefit for those that work their lands. Though there are a fair amount who spend their time hunting or gaming or some such endeavor, I should hope they are in the minority."

"That is an optimistic position," Miss Sterlington said. "I'm afraid as a female I am kept apart from such considerations."

"And does this bother you, Madam? Do you wish not to be apart?"

Miss Sterlington lifted her shoulders, which drew attention to the line of her neck and collarbone. He was careful to keep his attentions on her face, however, to prevent too much distraction. "I have not lost much time in regret over my s.e.x," she said. "I have known a great many powerful women in my life, and while their place within society might be different, I have always felt they are equally positioned to have influence if they choose." She looked up at him. "If we might tie this conversation into Shakespeare, for instance, do you not find that many of his female heroines possess a great many strengths of quality reflective of Queen Elizabeth's own turning of traditional roles for men and women?"

Thomas was mesmerized by the workings of her mind and could not hold back a smile. "Indeed. I do not feel the Bard was subtle in his positioning of his women characters. I had a professor in Oxford quite enamored of this topic. I can't help but wonder what turned your head toward it."

She gave him a smile he knew to be far more dazzling than she expected it to be, otherwise she would never have shared such a bold gesture. It fairly made his fingers tingle with the desire to touch her fine lips, preferably with his own. "I suspect that any woman left to read the entirety of Shakespeare's work over the course of a winter would be hard-pressed not to find such patterns within his stories."

"You would be wrong in such suspicions," Thomas said with a.s.surance. "Forgive me for sounding critical, but I have discussed Shakespeare with any number of women and the best I can expect from them is a pa.s.sing understanding of his more memorable characters. You would be hard-pressed to find a single one with the barest familiarity with any of his histories, for example. Rather they shall sigh over Romeo and perhaps laugh with Petruchio, but they will see Lady Macbeth as rigid and mad rather than regal and powerful until her guilt overtakes her. They only reference Kate when attempting to contrast their own good nature against what they see as her failings."

It was brave indeed to introduce Kate-a woman of such similar likeness to the woman sitting across from him-into the conversation. Kate was a veritable Shrew, as the t.i.tle of her story proclaimed her, but she was intelligent and sought for equality amid men who were of no mind to give it to her. Perhaps Thomas was making too many comparisons in his mind, but he saw many of Kate's qualities reflected in Miss Sterlington.

"Do you not feel that Kate has great failings, sir?" she asked.

"I do not," Thomas said, causing her to lift her too-dark brows that looked odd, though perhaps it was only the lighting that made them so. "I find Kate to be one of Shakespeare's most fascinating heroines. She is proud and intelligent, but chooses to soften her character in order to find equanimity within a position she initially refuses. It is my belief that through the courting process-the taming, if you will-she comes to realize the strength of a solid marriage, that it helps her to share in the position of her husband as no other arrangement can give her. I do not see that she gives up her strengths, rather she hones them into a more useful position and finds herself triumphant."

"Perhaps such matters of her character are neither good nor bad, then," Miss Sterlington said in a thoughtful tone as though forming the ideas even as she spoke them. "Rather it is how they are utilized that determine their nature."

"Precisely," Thomas said, even more invigorated by the depth of the discussion. "She chooses to use her strengths alongside a husband who allows her to do so rather than to fight against him, which would be a battle she would surely lose. You will remember that at the end of Taming of the Shrew, Kate and Petruchio retire to their marital bed, while Hortensio and Lucentio are left to worry about their own marriages. It seems obvious to me which couple found greater joy within their union. Petruchio could have dominated any number of women into the role of his wife, but he chose a woman of strength who then complemented him far more than Bianca or the widow did their husbands."

"That is a very interesting observation," Miss Sterlington said after a few moments of contemplation.

"It is very much in line with your observation regarding women finding position in society if they have a mind to do so. My mother is part of a woman's society here in Yorkshire that studies matters of politics and history; they meet together to discuss a new topic each month. My sister-in-law, Lady Fielding, has headed an effort to send supplies to an orphanage in Ireland quite depleted in resources. Neither of them were afforded a critical education and both were dependent first upon their fathers and then their husbands-yet they have both flourished within their spheres, just as, I believe, Kate did."

Miss Sterlington leaned forward slightly as he spoke, as though unwilling to miss a single word. When he stopped, she remained silent for several seconds and he could only a.s.sume she was pondering his bold words. She seemed to realize herself and sat back against the settee, repairing her thoughtful expression with one of a bit more ease.

"I wonder if I could ask you to read me that final speech of Kate's. I have read it myself but have never seen beyond the seeming servitude of her thoughts. I have learned before now that your skills at oration can give new meaning to such things." She smiled and Thomas's heart flipped within his chest. He had not seen such a radiant smile from her since London, and yet there had been a falseness to the expression back then-a calculation. This smile, here in North Riding, was perhaps the truest he had ever seen upon her face.

"I would be most pleased to read that pa.s.sage," Thomas said once he recovered himself, flattered and quite validated by the request. He had known she was listening when he read from Richard II and was as pleased to have her admit it as he was to see her comfortable in their company. "If you shall direct me where to find the volume?"

"I shall retrieve it, sir," she said, setting her saucer on the table before rising and crossing to the bookshelves that filled the interior wall of the library.

Thomas rose when she did and observed her movements as the fire within him, already kindled by her intellect and smile, began to grow. She bent to position a small stool beneath the shelf, and he did not hesitate to cross the room in order to be of a.s.sistance; he ached to be near her even if only to retrieve a book she could not comfortably reach.

"Allow me," he said, coming up behind her and reaching the topmost shelf for the book-a collection of several plays bound together in one volume. He was close enough to smell the scent of lavender and closed his eyes as he inhaled the warmth of her. He was only fractionally aware of her turning to face him until he opened his eyes-quite caught in his moment of sensory attention-and found her looking up at him with eyes that reflected the same awareness of their closeness that had him rooted in place.

He could scarcely breathe as he looked into those eyes that were far more the vulnerable girl at Carlton House than the haughty woman at Almack's. The way the air between them increased in temperature seemed proof that she was not opposed to his nearness.

Rather than remove the book, he braced his hand against the bookshelf and waited to see if fear appeared in her eyes. Instead he saw reflected in her gaze a willingness and welcomeness that fairly caused his chest to burn through with rising heat.

Miss Sterlington lifted a hand to his chest but rather than push him away, she grasped the lapel of his coat. It was more invitation than he could refuse, and he lowered his mouth to hers, pulled by a force he could not define until his lips touched her soft and willing ones. The sensation that filled him was of a magnitude far greater than that when their hands touched over the tea tray. The hand gripping his coat pulled him closer and he did not resist as perhaps a better gentleman might have.

Instead he deepened the kiss and placed one hand alongside her jaw while placing his other hand over hers, flattening her palm against his chest so that she could feel the way his heart raced in response to her. She slid her hand up his chest to the back of his neck, pulling him even closer until he felt sure the very room would soon catch fire.

It was only when he felt sure he was about to lose control completely that he pulled back and allowed them both the chance to breathe. He searched her face, afraid he might see regret within her expression. Her eyes fluttered open and she smiled, putting his fears to rest. He smiled back and leaned in once more to kiss her cheek, allowing his lips to linger as he gained further control of himself. He moved his mouth toward her ear and whispered, "Upon thy cheek lay I this zealous kiss, as seal to this indenture of my love."

He felt her intake of breath and knew that despite how much he wanted to stay, it was time to take his leave. He had moved far faster today than he had antic.i.p.ated, and things had not occurred in the proper order-she still had not revealed her true self to him.

Likewise he needed time to plan his response when next they saw one another. He had made his attraction quite clear and needed to align himself in order to declare his full intentions. He took a step back and bowed over her hand, kissing the back of it with a lingering press of his lips to her skin.

"I think it best that I take my leave, Madam, but might I request an audience come Tuesday?"

"O-of course, sir," she said breathlessly enough to bring another smile to his face and another flip of his heart. To know she was as affected as he was left him steeped in warmth and invigoration.

He released her hand and tapped his finger on the tip of her perfect nose. "'Til Tuesday, then," he said quietly.

She blinked and nodded while raising a hand to adjust her cap, though it had not shifted. "'Til Tuesday."

Chapter 44.

"I am sorry, Amber, but I will not do it."

Amber looked at Suzanne in surprise. She was to leave for town within the hour for church and her usual Sunday evening activities. Tomorrow she would be posting the letter Amber had written in response to her mother's invitation to attend the wedding ball.

"Suzanne, I need your help with this." Amber held out the note she had written to Mr. Richards and shook her hand to emphasize that Suzanne should take it from her.

Suzanne clasped her hands behind her back. "And I will not do it. Mr. Richards has been nothing but kind to you, and if you are not to see him again, he deserves to hear it from your own mouth."

"You promised me you would help me," Amber said, disliking the whining tone of desperation in her voice.

"Which should impress upon you how seriously I feel that Mr. Richards deserves more than words on paper. I would never break my word unless I felt this strongly."

Amber let out a breath and glanced around the kitchen as though there might be something that would support her argument. She could not tell Mr. Richards to cease his attentions-she could barely write the words much less say them aloud-but she was certain that sending a letter was a better course. Feeling she had no choice, Amber stood up straight, put the hand not holding the letter on her hip and drew all the ton left within her veins to the surface. "As your mistress, Suzanne, I demand you take him this letter."

Rather than be cowed, Suzanne smiled slightly. "If that be the case, then I shall quit your service entirely." With both hands she lifted her skirts and curtsied quite elaborately. Once she had straightened, she smiled even wider. "And you are left without a maid to deliver your message or fetch your foodstuffs or transport your laundry. Now what shall you do?"

Amber frowned and allowed her shoulders to slump. "Please take him this note," she asked in a completely different tone. "It shall hurt him worse to hear the words than to read them."

"You believe it shall hurt you less, and yet if you should think on that a bit more you know it is not true." She moved toward Amber and looked at her hard, no longer smiling. "You know as well as I that your heart will break in a hundred pieces if he does not call on you again. The man is full in love with you."

Instant tears filled Amber's eyes and spilled down her cheeks. "He knows nothing about me. It is for the best that he forget me, Suzanne, even if it means he is disappointed for a short time. Surely you can see that."

"I can see no such thing. You are in love with him too."

"He does not even know who I am."

"He knows your heart, at least as much as he has been allowed to see. Tell him the truth; let him show you the kind of man he is. I am sure you will not be disappointed."

Amber shook her head. "I cannot bear his rejection. He has been such a brightness for me, and I want to treasure those memories, not be haunted by the look on his face when he realizes my deception and my truth."

The intensity of Suzanne's dark eyes bore through Amber's senses. "Do you truly believe he comes all this way out of chivalry? Do you not see that his heart is as affected as your own? Did he not kiss you as a man in love kisses a woman of his desire?"

The kiss had filled her with such light and hope and goodness that for the s.p.a.ce of an hour she had quite forgotten who she was and what ailed her. It was perhaps the most pleasurable moment of her life and she would forever cherish it. Should she have to see his censure when she rejected him, or, worse, be forced to tell him the truth-which would result in his rejection of her instead-she might lose that moment even within her memory. She dared not risk it and therefore must ensure that the last memory she held of Mr. Richards was one of such joyful pleasure that it would sustain her for the rest of her life.

"But he does not know me," Amber said for the third time. "And when he learns the truth of my dishonesty and deformity he will not wish to a.s.sociate with me any longer."

"I feel you are denying both of you great happiness," Suzanne said, sounding frustrated. "If you could for one moment see the changes that have taken place these months, you would see the very thing Mr. Richards has fallen in love with. You are unwilling to accept that you are worthy of a man such as he is."

Amber wished she could believe it, but nothing in her life or education gave the idea any credibility. To emphasize her point she reached up and pulled off her knit cap. It had been months since Suzanne had seen Amber's head, and Suzanne backed up a step in shock.

"This is what I am," Amber said loudly, her arms spread wide. She walked to the table and slapped the note upon it. "If he knew, he would not feel anything but revulsion for me no matter what improvements have taken place with my character. I am not a woman who could be accepted by his family or friends, and I will not ask him to choose me over his future, his connections, and his obligations to both. I would never make him happy and have deceived him from the start. Between that deception and revelation of the truth, he should want nothing to do with me. You have to understand the wisdom of my choice to give him leave before either of us is hurt more by this game I have played with him."

Suzanne said nothing. Amber turned away from the maid's wide-eyed stare and replaced the cap as she returned to the sideboard, embarra.s.sed by the depth of Suzanne's reaction, which confirmed her fears. She could not bear to see such a reaction in Mr. Richards's face; the antic.i.p.ation of it alone was enough to bring tears to her eyes.

"I appreciate your hopes for my happiness," she said in a softer voice. "Truly I do, but I will appreciate even more your taking the note to Mr. Richards. It will be better for him to read the words in privacy and accept what is inevitable." She took a breath before revealing the remainder of her decisions, hoping that perhaps Suzanne would understand this next choice better than she had the first.

"The letter I asked you to send to my mother is an acceptance of the invitation to Darra's wedding ball. It is important for my family to have me seen by their society, and I have chosen to leave Yorkshire. I have made a request from my parents in regards to retaining my inheritance and setting up a home similar to this one, but in a different place so as not to be so close to Mr. Richards and cause him further harm. I believe I am able to care for myself so I shall not allow you to make such sacrifice as to attend me again. I am hopeful that without my situation to confine you, you will feel free to pursue your man in town and provide for yourself the happiness you deserve."

She had to stop as emotion threatened to overcome her at the idea of losing Suzanne, but she took a breath and straightened her posture. She kept her back turned, however, unable to look Suzanne in the eye as she delivered her final words. "My mind is quite set on the matter, and I would remind you that I am still your mistress and you are still my servant. I expect you to fulfill my commands, which are for you to deliver my letters and abide my wishes."

"Miss," Suzanne said in a choking tone that cause Amber to close her eyes as she struggled to contain herself. She could not absorb Suzanne's sorrow when her own was already so overwhelming.

"Please go," Amber said, a waver to her own voice. "I have made peace with this decision, and if you care for me at all I ask that you leave me to my choice and set about the tasks I have asked you to perform in my behalf."

Suzanne did not speak, and Amber did not turn to face her. After a moment, Amber heard her maid finish her preparations to leave, move to the door, pull it open, and then close it again. Amber braced her hands on the edge of the sideboard and dropped her head, waiting for the emotion to wash over her. She had hurt Suzanne. She would soon hurt Mr. Richards. Had she hurt every person who had ever cared for her? Was that the true reason for her exile?

Mr. Richards would surely be angry, but he would then leave her alone, a.s.sured that her heart was not bound to him in any way. She had not been gentle in her letter, and he would have no doubt that she had no interest in seeing him again. Sometime in the next fortnight her father's traveling carriage would collect her, she would endure discomfort at the family estate for a time and then move forward with a life of her own choosing-protected from a fantasy that had only resulted in pain. Perhaps in time she could interact with whatever community surrounded her, perhaps working through the local clergy as Suzanne had encouraged her to do.

Regardless, she would never allow such a connection to take root in her heart again, not as it had with Suzanne, Mr. Richards, or her own family. She would protect this heart Suzanne so admired, take comfort in purpose, and . . . she did not know what else. She did not want to live as Constance had, but it was safer, not only for her but for those who would be hurt by her.

"It is best," she said out loud. Mr. Richards deserved a wife he could respect, admire, and desire. Amber could never be those things, and even Suzanne, the one person who had attempted to convince Amber she could be accepted, had seen the wisdom in the end.

Amber would never see Mr. Richards again, and she would soon leave this place, which had become a sanctuary, forever. How it broke her heart to know it.

Chapter 45.

"Thank you, Nelson," Amber said to her mother's maid as Nelson put the last of three ostrich feathers into the folds of the expertly draped turban Lady Marchent had procured. It was the same soft green fabric as the dress Mama had chosen for Amber's presentation tonight. The dress was meant not to draw attention-it was Darra's ball-but it still complimented Amber's eyes and figure.

The wig Amber had worn in London was considered but eventually dismissed by her mother who wanted no memory of that night's display to accompany this evening. Amber was to attend the wedding ball, make polite if not shallow conversation with their connections, be part of a toast to Lord and Lady Sunther's happiness, and then fade away secure in the knowledge that friends and family would no longer worry about her well-being. Perhaps she would be invited back to Hampton Grove for family events now and again, but never to draw attention back to her own self. Never that.

Amber fingered the pendant resting just below the hollow of her throat. The jewel had once felt like a trademark, and though it was as well-crafted and lovely as it had ever been, it felt strange and foreign now. Heavy. Cold. Everything felt that way.

"I need but paint on the brows and ye shall be ready," Nelson said, sounding nervous.

"I can paint on the brows," Amber a.s.sured her. The paint her mother had purchased was a finer quality than what Amber had from Constance's trunk, and it more closely matched the true shade of Amber's eyebrows-if she'd had them. "I have painted them on many times now and know just how it is done."

After the brows, she painted a very thin line along the edge of her eyelids in order to give the shadow of lashes; it was the best she could do. If the attendees at the ball looked long enough they would see something awry, but Lady Marchent had asked her to give as few opportunities for scrutiny as possible and Amber agreed that would be best.

"Thank you, Nelson. You may go. The dancing has already begun, has it not?"

"It 'as, Miss. I 'eard the strains of music when I was comin' up to 'elp ya."

Lady Marchent had requested Amber show herself after the formal introductions of the other guests. While Amber could not say she was not wounded at being asked to come late, she did not mind so much. These last days at Hampton Grove had revealed to her that the company of her family was no longer something she craved.

The older boys were still away at school, and while William, the youngest, was still in the schoolroom at Hampton Grove, she suspected her mother was purposely keeping him apart from his eldest sister. It would be easier for him to forget about her entirely if they did not renew whatever affection might lie between them.

Darra had come to Amber's room the first night of her return. They talked for hours of Darra's wedding, and Amber had hoped for more time exactly like that, but it was not to be. Beginning the next day, Lady Marchent seemed determined to keep the girls apart and, but for family meals and a few promises of finding time to talk again, Amber had seen little of her sister.

At least they had resolved the difficulties between them. She would forever be grateful for the chance to be reconciled to her sister again and hoped that once they were removed to their separate futures that connection would continue.

Amber had seen her father only long enough to repeat the request she'd sent in the letter and receive his a.s.surance that a man was looking for a location she could remove to. She had asked after Constance, and, without meeting her eyes, Lord Marchent had given a brief description of what she already knew-his younger sister became ill toward the end of her second season and was removed from London in hopes of a recovery that sadly never came about. After two years of convalescence, she removed to Yorkshire where she lived her life in isolation. She was not buried in the family plot because of the influenza, not her "other condition."

Amber did not accept his explanation, but did not argue with it either. What was the purpose? He was determined to justify his family's treatment of Constance just as surely as he justified his treatment of his own daughter. He was resolved that he had done the right thing and Amber would be unable to change his mind about it.

"It was her choice to go to Yorkshire, Amber. No one forced it upon her. She simply realized, as it seems you have, that causing discomfort to the people around her was a great source of her own discomfort. I believe she was quite happy in the cottage, so much that she chose not to come to the funerals of her own parents when they pa.s.sed. It's a shame you are not willing to stay there. It would be far simpler for you to return to Yorkshire than to arrange a new location."

"I should like a more mild climate," Amber said, inserting the reason she'd invented to explain herself.

Since there was no affection between her and her father, she hoped it meant she would not be too disappointed by the loss once she left the family estate again. He was working to secure her independence as a yearly income she could control and hoped to have all things in arrangement by the end of the month. She had chosen simply to be grateful for his a.s.sistance rather than hurt at his eagerness to dispose of her.

With her family so uncomfortable with her presence, and Darra frequently unavailable to talk, Amber had spent the majority of her time walking the grounds of Hampton Grove alone and enjoying the nostalgia of childhood memories. At times, she removed her bonnet and cap when she was a.s.sured she was alone. The weather was fine and the sound of birds and wind in the trees was a comfort. It had been many months since she had been outdoors, except for trips to the cottage stable, and she wondered why she had resisted it while she had been at the cottage.

The cottage.

Her head was as full of thoughts regarding Yorkshire as it was with thoughts of her current surroundings; she could not be free of them no matter what she did to distract herself. It seemed everything brought her thoughts back to the quaint house and Suzanne, whom she missed terribly.

Suzanne had not spoken of the letter she'd delivered to Mr. Richards and had not treated Amber any different upon her return from town that day. They had worked and lived side by side until Lady Marchent had arrived to take Amber back to Somerset.

The night before their parting, Suzanne admitted that Mr. La.r.s.en had declared himself to her the week before. She had not said that without her mistress she had no reason to refuse him any longer, but Amber understood it all the same. Amber wished her dear friend happiness and the next day bid her a tearful good-bye on the cottage steps. Suzanne, who rarely showed emotion, had been crying into her ap.r.o.n when the coach pulled away.

It was only her mother's frigid disapproval that dried Amber's own tears. The woman was only a servant, Lady Marchent had said. Why waste tears on one such as that?