Free The Chain Garden by Jane Jackson Page A

the glass she pressed her fingers to hot cheeks. A lady’s hands were supposed to be cool. Hers were cold, while the rest of her was far too warm. Perhaps if she held her wrists under the cold tap – No, that would mean unbuttoning her cuffs. If fastening one brooch was beyond her she couldn’t possibly manage twelve tiny buttons.
    Her mother had wanted her to have a dress specially made for this evening. She had refused. How could she justify an unnecessary luxury when her father was beset by financial problems? Besides, she had worn her blue so seldom it was virtually new.
    In her heart of hearts she did not feel she had anything to celebrate. What was different from last year? Or the year before?
    Tonight Edwin Philpotts was coming to dinner. As her heartbeat quickened she re-focused on her reflection. At least the high close-fitting collar hid the hollows at the base of her throat. The dress was white figured net over blue silk, the bodice drawn in by a broad sash of blue satin that emphasised the slenderness of her waist. Full sleeves of pleated chiffon were gathered into deep tight cuffs, and the hem of the deeply gored skirt was edged with a narrow frill that brushed her white kid slippers. Violet had gathered her hair up into a loose topknot of curls.
    She glanced at the clock. It was time to go. Her gaze fell on the brooch. She reached out a hand, observed its tremor and left the cameo on her dressing table.
    Descending the staircase ahead of her, her father was immaculate in a single-buttoned dinner jacket with silk facings. Against the dense black his stiff collar was starkly white, his face the colour of raw beef beneath close-cropped pewter hair. A gold link gleamed in his pristine cuff.
    Elegant lavender silk flattered her mother’s pale complexion. Her hair appeared thicker than usual, and was dressed in a becoming style enhanced by two silk flowers that matched her dress. Realising that Violet had used pads of false hair to create the fullness, Grace was touched that her mother should think the occasion worth such effort.
    Following them downstairs and across the hall to the drawing room, Grace drew another tremulous breath.
    Louise took a small glass of dry sherry from the tray Patrick offered and smiled at Grace. ‘Darling, you look lovely. Doesn’t she, Henry?’
    ‘Indeed she does.’ Lifting a crystal tumbler containing an inch of whisky he raised it in salute. ‘Happy birthday, lass.’
    Grace’s heart swelled. ‘Thank you, Papa.’
    Louise extended her free hand to her elder daughter. ‘I want this to be a special evening, my darling. I do wish you had agreed to a dance. I would so like to see you have fun. You work so hard.’
    ‘Wow!’
    She turned to see Bryce studying her in open astonishment.
    ‘You look really nice.’
    ‘There’s no need to sound quite so surprised,’ she teased.
    ‘Really Bryce,’ Louise scolded.
    ‘No, I didn’t mean –’ He pulled a face. ‘Sorry. Out of practice, I’m afraid. Evening, Father. How did the meeting go?’
    As her father remained silent Grace held her breath.
    ‘Perhaps this isn’t the right time to ask,’ Bryce said. ‘I just – I was interested that’s all.’ As his father’s eyebrows lifted Bryce continued quietly. ‘I couldn’t do what you do, Father. And God knows you wouldn’t want my life.’ There was a painful edge to his voice that startled Grace. ‘But that doesn’t mean I’m not concerned when I read about mines all over the county closing down. It can’t be easy for you or any mine owner at the moment.’
    ‘It’s not.’ Henry cleared his throat. ‘I’m much obliged to you.’ He drained his glass and turned away looking for Patrick.
    ‘Here’s Granny,’ Grace murmured.
    ‘Good God,’ Bryce whispered. ‘ Still in mourning?’
    In unrelieved black except for her customary pearls, Hester stood in the doorway waiting for someone to escort her to a chair. Spotting Grace she beckoned.
    ‘No,’ Bryce