Free A Perfect Likeness by Sandra Heath Page B

was a blue muslin spotted with silver. Kathleen had the clever notion of removing the fine lace from Bryony’s nightgown and applying it in neat gathers down the back of the blue muslin’s skirt. The gathers continued beyond the hem, being cleverly stitched one to another, so that a train of sorts emerged where none had been before.
    A little more of the lace was stitched to the puffed sleeves, and as the clock on the mantelpiece was pointing to eight o’clock, Bryony was at last able to step into her “new” gown. The clock ceased chiming just as Kathleen fixed the final hook and eye, and Bryony stared at her reflection in the cheval glass. The moment had arrived. Now she must go down and face Sebastian and his mistress.
    Picking up her silver reticule, she glanced at Kathleen. “Wish me luck.”
    “You will not need luck, Miss Bryony, for you look beautiful. Sir Sebastian will be dazzled by you and he will soon turn from the countess.”
    Would he? Bryony doubted that very much. Taking a deep breath to steel herself for what lay ahead, she left her rooms and proceeded along the gallery, on her way to the solar, where it was the custom for everyone to gather before going in to dine in the winter parlor. She pondered that at Polwithiel every room appeared to have been given a Gothic name, the entrance hall becoming the great hall, the main drawing room the solar, and the dining room the winter parlor.
    Passing through the folding doors, she came to the landing surrounding the well of the grand staircase and saw Felix coming up toward her, having evidently only just left the salle d’armes, for his hair curled damply against his forehead and his coat was tossed carelessly about his shoulders. His valet, looking totally exhausted, followed a few steps behind, hurrying on past when his master stopped to speak to Bryony.
    Felix smiled at her. “I fear I am going to be exceeding late for tonight’s exciting diversion, but then, I hardly wish to be prompt when I must look at Sebastian over the epergne.”
    She returned the smile. “Have you really been in the conservatory all this time?”
    “The salle d’armes, dear lady,” he reproved. “l am a swordsman, not a damned gardener.”
    “I beg your pardon.”
    “Granted. Yes, I have been there all this time, but I have rested now and then and I have taken the refreshment necessary to keep body and soul together.”
    “Your valet looks extremely fatigued.”
    “As I said earlier, Frederick is out of condition. He is knocked up after five minutes.” He smiled, his glance moving slowly over her. “So, it seems we are to be denied ringlets with the mulligatawny?”
    She flushed a little. “Yes.”
    “Mother’s work, no doubt.”
    “Yes.”
    “And are you ready to meet my damned cousin face to face at last?”
    “As ready as I ever will be, I suppose.”
    He raised an eyebrow. “What an enigmatic reply. Surely it cannot mean that you do not look forward to your brilliant catch?”
    “No doubt I look forward to it as much as does Sir Sebastian.”
    “However much that may be.” He glanced again at her hair. “A more fashionable coiffure suits you. Those ringlets were decidedly out-of-date.”
    She didn’t quite know what to say, for while he had complimented her, he had at the same time been more than a little rude. “Possibly your grace thinks everything about me is decidedly out-of-date,” she said then, her tone cool.
    “Oh, no, Miss St. Charles,” he replied, seeming to find her reaction a little amusing, “for your beauty is timeless, and your spirit ... well, interesting.” He inclined his head then and walked on in the direction of his private apartment.
    She remained where she was for a moment. Felix, Duke of Calborough, was an extremely handsome man, and conscious of the fact. He appeared to find it entertaining to be one moment charming and the next hurtful. He was a contradiction which she did not particularly care for.
    Slowly she walked on