“Look at me, Amber,” Thomas said gently as he knelt before her. “Let me explain.”
Her arms were now preventing her seeing him rather than him seeing her. She heard the crunch of gravel as he moved closer, took both her wrists and pulled her arms away from her head—just as her mother and Darra had done on the night they learned of her state. She clenched her eyes even tighter.
“Amber,” he said in a soft tone that washed over her. Softness. Kindness. Would he speak to her so if he were here to exact revenge upon her? Would he go to such efforts?
She felt the smallest glimmer of hope in the measure of his tone, and she lifted her head. When she met his eyes, he smiled.
Smiled?
She stared at him, shocked and confused that he could see her for exactly what she was and not react with revulsion. He turned his head to the side. “Fenton, your wine.”
Amber’s eyes left Mr. Richards’s face only long enough to see Lord Fenton step forward. She looked away from his expression, which was decidedly shocked. And yet Mr. Richards’s had not been.
Thomas took Lord Fenton’s wine glass and removed his handkerchief from his pocket. After dipping the edge of the cloth into the wine, he turned to face her, and she looked him over, certain she would see proof of his mask, his disguise of the disgust he must be hiding. He did not show even the shadow of being repulsed, however. He did not even seem angry or embarrassed, and she did not know what to think as he lifted the wet handkerchief to her face.
She held his eyes as he cleaned first her cheeks, which she feared were stained by the lining she had put around her eyes, then wiped at her painted-on eyebrows. She closed her eyes under a wave of fresh humiliation and attempted to gain control of herself, caught between fear and the effect his gentle touch had upon her. He continued dipping the handkerchief into the wine and clearing the paint from her face until he sat back upon his heels and waited for her to open her eyes. When she met his gaze, he was smiling still. She could not speak. Why was he not running away? How could he abide to look at her?
He leaned forward and placed his hands on either side of her face. The effect of his touch was instant, and her body shivered in reaction to the warmth she felt. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever known,” he whispered. He leaned in and kissed her lightly on the lips, then the right cheek, then the left. And then he pulled her head forward and kissed her upon the top of her hideous, horrible, terrible head.
She began to cry again as relief and hope she would never have imagined replaced the fear that so recently had strangled her. He straightened her head and stared into her face.
“My intent was to find you in the ballroom and lead you to the floor for a waltz,” he said. “Fenton was to assure your sentiment for me and for Yorkshire before I did so to make sure you would not be opposed to my attention, but I fear he pressed you too much.”
Lord Fenton spoke from the side. “I was only attempting to—”
“Fenton,” Mr. Richards said, turning his head. “You will allow me this after having so poorly played your part thus far. Could you remove some distance and afford us some privacy?”
Lord Fenton snorted as Mr. Richards turned back to face Amber, and his expression softened again. “I wanted you to know that I knew who you were, that I knew of your condition, and that my heart was not restricted in the least. I wanted your family to see it; I wanted them to know that you were not to be hidden away for the rest of your life. I wanted them to see that you lacked nothing of any consequence in regard to all you have become.”
Amber shook her head. “I don’t understand, Mr. Richards. How did you know?”
“Please, call me Thomas.”
She repeated herself. “How did you know, T-Thomas.” The intimacy of calling him by his Christian name further impressed upon her the remarkable nature of this moment.
“You do not remember me from London, do you?”
London?
It felt years ago that she had been in London. He had been there?
He began with her dismissal at Almack’s, which she did not remember, and she ducked her head in embarrassment until he touched her chin and lifted her eyes to meet his. He told her of his avoidance of her despite his continued desire to be in her company, and, finally, he told her of offering her his coat at the ball at Carlton House.
“That was you?” Amber breathed. She had thought back on that kindness a hundred times, but the emotion of the experience had always obscured the memory of the man who had assisted her. Looking at him now, however, she could supplant his face in her memory and felt a rush of competing reactions wash through her veins. “After I had treated you so poorly?”
Mr. Richards—
Thomas
—explained how he had then recognized her voice from behind the heavy wooden door the day he had come to the cottage to look for the sales record. He admitted his hope that learning of her scandalous character would finally drive thoughts of her from his mind.
“Imagine my surprise when the woman I came to know instead was kind, and good, and humble, and more dear to me than she could ever have been before.”
She tried to look away but once again he would not allow it and drew her face back to him. “When Mrs. Miller brought me that note . . . I am afraid I would not let her leave without her confirmation of everything, though she was not hard to convince.”
“S-Suzanne?” she stammered, lifting a hand to wipe at her eyes. “She told you?” Should she feel betrayed or grateful?
“I already knew much of it, and she suspected other interests behind my visits. All that she confirmed to me was that your condition seems to be permanent and that your leaving Yorkshire was not because of your indifference to me, but rather because you feared I would reject you as everyone else in your life had already done.”
She looked down and he awaited her reply. “Not everyone,” she finally said. “I gained a dear friend in Suzanne I shall forever cherish. But how could you ever . . .”
“Love you?” he said when she could not finish.
She blushed in embarrassment and did not reply. Could not reply. Could not believe this was happening.
“I have a question I would like to ask you, Amber—may I call you Amber?”
She smiled at this sudden nod to propriety after all that had happened between them. “You may call me whatever you wish.”
“I wish to call you Amber, then,” he said with wink. “Actually, I have two questions to ask you if I may.”
Amber simply nodded, then tensed in anticipation.
“The time we spent together in the cottage showed you to be very different than you had been in London. Would you agree that your character was improved upon your time at the cottage?”
Amber bowed her head. “The girl I was . . . it pains me to think of her.”
Thomas nodded as though to tell her the answer was acceptable to him. “If you could, would you take back your hair and never have come to Yorkshire?”
Chapter 48
Amber took several seconds before she answered; she wanted to be sure she didn’t give an answer simply because she knew what answer he wanted. She would not be anything less than honest with him or herself from now onward. “I would not change it,” she said, her voice soft, surprised, and yet sure as well. “I would not trade the things I have gained from having endured these difficulties. I only wish I could have learned them another way.”
He leaned in and kissed her, allowing his lips to linger. She closed her eyes and placed a hand alongside his face, wishing the kiss could quiet the rising awareness that was building like a sob in her chest. After several moments, Amber pulled away and looked into his eyes. “Thomas, you come from a respectable family. You have responsibilities to them, and I fear you have not thought this through.”
“I have thought of nothing but being with you for weeks, Amber. You must know my intention is to ask for your hand in marriage, to share my life with you in every way.”
She felt her cheeks heat up but she did not answer, which caused him to move closer, bringing him only inches away from her face. The air between them warmed with his proximity and the scent of him was familiar.
“Do you mean to refuse me?” he asked in a soft voice, as vulnerable as her heart felt. He could not realize the reality. Had his feelings—which were still so shocking to her—clouded his understanding of what it meant to join his life to her?
“Thomas, a wife such as me will limit you. People will not accept me as you have. Our society does not tolerate imperfection.”
“Our society is riddled with imperfection,” Thomas said with a chuckle that Amber could not share.
“
My
imperfection will change everything for you, especially as you are already establishing a unique position. I could ruin every hope you have of retaining social standing.”
“I embrace it,” Thomas said, squeezing her hand.
“Your family will be affected as well. Your brother is titled; he has responsibilities to uphold.”
Thomas shook his head. “I assure you that the people who matter to me will accept you and love you.”
How could that be possible when her own family had not done so? “You cannot expect so much from people, Thomas.”
He regarded her for a thoughtful moment. “You believe that the people I want in my life will not accept you because you are without hair?”
She nodded.
Thomas sat beside her on the bench and took both of her hands in his, invigorating her with his touch. “I have never taken the course chosen for me by societal expectations, and I can promise you, without a moment’s hesitation, that I am full in love with you and those feelings have nothing to do with your hair or lack of it or how people might choose to react to it. I do not believe they will be as discounting as you fear, but if they are, it is of no consequence to me. You know that I am not relying on my station to provide for my future. Part of that independence is because I refuse to allow society to dictate my future and my happiness. I cannot give you the lifestyle your father did, but—”
“I care not about that,” she said quickly.
“And if I believed you did I would not be here,” Thomas continued. “But I can give you my love, my respect, and my promise that my feelings for you will not be compromised by the opinions of others. Not ever.”
She stared at him, stunned by the sincerity of his words and unsure how to answer him.
Thomas looked past her to Fenton, who had not removed himself as Thomas had asked him to and now leaned against the beam of a trellis, watching the exchange. “Could you see that a waltz is played next?” Thomas asked his friend.
Heat rushed up Amber’s face to know Lord Fenton had been a silent audience of their declarations. She felt her heart race as she glanced toward the veranda, partially blocked from view by the trellis. Thomas did not mean to dance with her in front of all these people, did he? She looked to her turban, crumpled amid the stones, the feathers scattered beside it.
Fenton nodded as though it were a small thing to change up an orchestra’s repertoire and strode past them to the steps, leaving Thomas and Amber alone.
Thomas turned back to Amber, whose hands he still held. “I expect to live a full life with a good woman—with you—and I would hope that you would take confidence in your character as I do. If people of our class reject you—us—it is to their own detriment. If they accept us, it is to their own credit. Give them the chance to accept us, rather than live your life with an expectation of rejection. Do you recall when Cassius says to Brutus ‘Men at some time are masters of their fates: the fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars—’”
“‘But in ourselves,’” she finished for him as she applied his words to the last several months of her life. It had been her choice to hide and live in fear of people’s reactions. It had been her choice to deceive him of her true identity.
She
had been the one most unwilling to accept her imperfections. Could she not also be the first—or perhaps the second, or third when she thought of Suzanne who had said these exact things—to accept herself? Could she not be assured of her internal improvement despite a physical flaw she could not control? She found herself unable to discount Thomas’s earnestness and certainty.
“We are only underlings to fate if we choose to let the wills of others shape our lives,” Thomas said softly.
Amber looked into his eyes, stunned by the capacity of this man she had once rejected because he had not seemed to be
enough
. Now she stood on the threshold of proving to him that she would do all she could for his comfort, including taking the confidence of his love and support to do such a hard thing. “You truly believe I am as whole as anyone,” she said.
Thomas’s eyes sparkled in the moonlight. “I believe you are
more
than anyone I have ever known. I want you to believe it as well and feel, as I do, that becoming my wife will make me a greater man than anything else in this world ever could.”
The orchestra completed the strains of the cotillion and the guests applauded the conclusion of the dance. The waltz would be next, assuming Lord Fenton had been successful. Thomas stood before reaching for her hand. She resisted, looking at the raised veranda in fear again. She could not face a roomful of people and the judgments they would hold.
“I cannot replace my turban without help of my mother’s lady’s maid,” she said, raising a hand to her head and looking at the discarded fabric that had served as her shield.
“I mean to dance with you tonight, Amber,” he said. “It is your choice whether we dance here in the garden, or in the ballroom. You have no need for a covering regardless of which venue you choose, but I leave the choice to you.”
Amber let out a breath of relief. “I do not feel prepared to present myself to so many people and would not want to be the cause of disruption at Darra’s ball.”
He smiled, nodded, and reached his hand closer to her. “Then shall you dance with me here in the garden?”
She took his hand and rose to her feet before following him to the base of the steps where tightly fitted stones provided an improvised dance floor. They were close enough to hear the opening strains of the waltz but far enough to preserve their privacy.