Page 71 of Taming the Heiress
Meg crossed the room to pick up her fan of carved ivory and cream silk, slipping its cord over her wrist, and came back.
"Heavenly," Angela said. "You float like a cloud when you move. It is a most splendid effect."
"Monsieur Worth meditated a very long time before designing this gown for you," Miss Worth said. "He was most inspired by the beautiful, unusual color of your eyes. He wanted to create something that suited your beauty and reflected your gentle nature."
"He could not have designed anything more gorgeous or more perfect for Lady Strathlin," Angela said. Meg saw her friend's wide blue eyes and smile reflected in the mirror.
"Mrs. Shaw, you would also look beautiful in a gown like this one," Miss Worth said. "Of course, your own gown is elegant tonight. That black watered silk trimmed with black velvet and the touch of pearls here and there, make a stunning contrast to your ivory complexion and pale blond hair. Yet I feel that Monsieur Worth could create something marvelous for a Nordic beauty like you, should you ever feel inclined."
"Oh, I could not—I could not afford it, truly," Angela said. "And I have worn second mourning for years."
"But you cannot think to wear it forever, as young and beautiful as you are," Miss Worth replied.
Meg looked at Angela in the mirror. "Whenever you are ready, Angela," she said, "we will ask Monsieur Worth to design for you. I would consider it a privilege to give that to you."
"Oh, Meg, thank you, but I could not—"
"You have birthdays like everyone else, and must accept gifts. And I'm sure Monsieur Worth can design something for you in mourning colors, if you'd like."
Angela sighed, then smiled, her light blue eyes brightening. "Someday I will come out of mourning and surprise you," she said. "I am finding it a dreary thing to have so little color in my life. Perhaps it does not... honor those who are gone."
"Life does go on, Angela," Meg said. Her friend nodded.
"Madam, allow me to just lift this one section," Miss Worth said. "It droops lower than the other side." She gathered her pincushion and knelt on the floor again.
While she stood still, Meg glanced in the mirror again. Unaccustomed to studying herself often, thinking herself only vaguely pleasing at best, she could hardly believe the transformation she saw.
But the sheer delight of a beautiful gown and the joy of looking wonderful in it felt diminished by heartbreak and apprehension. She would see Dougal tonight, but all her yearning would come to nothing if he did not care to speak to her again.
If she could not gain his forgiveness, and she lost his love and respect through her foolishness, then all the glittering evenings and splendid gowns in the world would make no difference to her.
Besides, she reminded herself, even if Dougal loved her, and even though she loved him—she had decided to accept Sir Frederick's proposal so that Dougal and Iain could be safe. And tonight was the night she must give her answer. Tonight seemed like the hour of her own funeral, as if her life and all chance for happiness had ended.
But there were others she could not disappoint. She must carry on with a smile and proud demeanor for their sakes.
Drawing a deep breath, she waited as Miss Worth finished her work. Then she turned, aqua skirt and tulle cloud swinging gently. "Shall we go downstairs? Mr. Hamilton must be pacing impatiently with Mrs. Berry, waiting for us to come down for the concert. The carriage will be ready by now, and we are late."
Angela took up her fan and her shawl of black fringed lace. "Let him be impatient. I hope, when you come down the stairs, he falls to his knees in sheer astonishment. He will realize that waiting for you was well worth it."
"My dearest Angel," Meg said, as Miss Worth opened the door, "I rather think Mr. Hamilton is waiting for you."
* * *
Lamplight spilled golden over the lean planes of his freshly shaved jaw, flickered gleaming highlights throughout the waves of his hair. Gazing into the mirror, Dougal straightened the small bow of white silk wrapped just beneath his collar points and smoothed the lapels of his white brocade waistcoat, tugging at its buttoned front. He perfected the drape of the gold watch chain slung across his vest and pulled at his stiff cuffs.
His boots were polished, his coat and trousers immaculate, his skin lightly scented with a soap that mingled spices and vanilla. Sliding his long fingers into white kid gloves, he tugged at the long tails of his black dress coat.
He felt girded for battle.
Reflected in the amber sheen of the mirror, his eyes were cold and hard, green glass, the pupils mere pinpoints. A new leanness shadowed his cheeks, tiny lines etched the corners of his eyes, and his lips were pressed flat and humorless. Every fiber in his being had steeled to resolve and defiance.
He would face them all with the same gritty nerve and unflinching determination he had summoned to brave a gale, dive deep into the sea time after time, rescue men from a collapsing bridge, and shove away a monstrous shark to reach a small boy. None of the people he would see tonight, none of the havoc they had wreaked in his life of late—the lost funds, the rumors that undermined his sterling reputation—could be as terrifying as the physical dangers he had encountered.
Yet somehow those sniping, condemning people, with their damned opinions and judgments, their haughty criticisms and assumptions, seemed far more intimidating.
He had made this commitment and would not take the coward's route and stay away now. He would attend the concert with his cousin and her husband, and then he would walk into Lady Strathlin's fashionable home with all the dignity and backbone that he could muster.
Not only did he anticipate meeting some of those who had condemned him without reason, but he would also see the woman he loved, the woman he had asked to marry him.
