Page 69 of A Rogue in Firelight
“It is beautiful,” Ellison breathed, reaching out to touch the blue gown and the wine-colored one as well. The dresses had graceful falls of creamy lace at bodice and sleeves, and lace ruffles in deep rows around the hem.
“And headdresses to match,” the woman said, “with nine feathers, just as the viscountess specified.” The shop girl returned with the head pieces, one turban-like in black silk with white feathers, the other a narrow blue band with pearls and feathers.
“These are gorgeous!” Ellison was extremely pleased with the blue gown, which was a dreamy confection in deep blue silk with ruffles of plaid silk along the hem. The shop girl added a long swath of matching plaid which could be worn over the shoulder and pinned with a brooch.
“Lady Strathniven asked me to make the blue gown to the same measurements as the mourning dresses we made for you a while ago.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Fowler. This is unexpected, and so kind.”
“I am glad you can be done with somber colors. They take the roses from your cheeks. The blue suits your complexion well.”
Ellison nodded, the silk sliding through her fingers like water. Was she ready to leave mourning colors behind? The blue was a brighter, more joyful color than she had worn for a year and a half.
“It is time, Elly,” Sorcha said gently.
“Perhaps.” For some reason she thought of Ronan MacGregor. Would he agree?
“The train is very long, the required length for a royal reception,” the seamstress explained. “We have been making gowns with these long trains for weeks. There is such excitement over the king’s visit! Now, for you, Miss Beaton,” the woman continued, turning, “I had a note from Lady Strathniven requesting that you be fitted for a gown as well, to be added to my lady’s account.”
“Oh, my goodness, what a wonderful gift.”
“I have a pale green satin that would complement your hazel eyes. We could combine a green bodice with a creamy white skirt. It would be demure and very pretty for you. Come this way. We can look at trims and laces as well.”
While Sorcha went with Mrs. Fowler, Ellison tried on the blue gown with the help of the shop girl. It shaped to her form like perfection, and its elegant long sleeves and neckline flattered her shoulders and slender collarbones. She twirled, spirits soaring. It was wonderful to wear something beautiful after hiding in subdued tones for so long.
She knew she could move on from mourning. She had not only lost her young husband, but had lost herself somehow. Her life had taken a darker turn into loneliness and guilt. The gorgeous blue silk spun as she turned, its susurration exciting. She would wear the gown—and she imagined Ronan MacGregor dressed in Highland finery, tall and handsome, at her side. In an assembly room filled with hundreds, thousands, of others, she would see only him. And he would see only her.
Stop, she told herself. He was to attend one royal event quickly—and then vanish from her life.
Soon, with the gowns wrapped and Sorcha’s gown measured and promised, they left the shop with their string-and-paper parcels, spent a little time on other errands, and then walked back to the hotel.
Her heartbeat quickened when she saw Ronan standing with Mr. MacNie. He turned to see her, and his smile emerged like a sunbeam, warmth enveloping her.
She smiled shyly, filled with a sudden certainty. He cared for her. She saw it in that moment. And suddenly she wanted to be in his arms, divinely alone, just the two of them, just the moment and the future—
Of all her unlikely dreams, that was the most improbable.
*
“Mama fears thecity will be so crowded during the king’s visit that she dare not go to Edinburgh.” Sorcha set down her tea cup to lean toward Ellison, across from MacGregor in the tea room of the hotel. “She is disappointed, but it is for the best.”
“With her delicate health, she should stay home,” Ellison said.
“I promised to regale her with the gossip when I return,” Sorcha said. “Do you think I could stay in the city with my aunt? I did not ask.”
“I am sure of it. I will ask for you.”
“Thank you.” Sorcha smiled. “Lord Darrach, will you stay in the city as well?”
“Hmm? Oh, aye.” He sounded distracted. Ellison stole a glance toward him. For several minutes he had looked around the dining room as if on guard.
“What delicious tea,” Sorcha said. “I love a Bohea blend with just a hint of orange flavor to it. Mama prefers Chinese green, though I find it bitter. Which do you prefer, Lord Darrach, black or green?”
“Tea? I, uh, usually black tea.”
Ellison spread strawberry jam on a scone as Sorcha chattered on, and glanced toward Ronan. He nodded politely yet did not seem to listen closely, his head half-turned as if very distracted.
Noticing two young men seated in a corner who also glanced their way, she frowned, feeling a bit alarmed. She patted the packages that sat on the empty chair beside her. “Shall we leave, sir?”
