Free Jo Beverley - [Rogue ] by An Unwilling Bride

wrap and could escape to the sitting room and a moment's peace. She sat by a window, looking out at the sun-gilded heavenly estate. As far as her eye could see there were delightful prospects, and the deer picked their way across greensward with contented elegance. It was a fairy-tale setting where surely imperfection and suffering never invaded.
    After a moment she lowered her head into her hands. A human might feel superior to a baboon, but it was still distressing to be forced into its milieu.
    What was she going to do, she thought with panic, if her plan didn't work and the marquess went through with the marriage? She couldn't live in this place. It was impossible.
    She took her hands from her face and forced herself to her feet. Panic would destroy her. Only strength would take her safely home again. She paced the room and rallied her flagging spirits. Belcraven was a building, nothing more, and its perfect grounds were just a stage set created with vast amounts of money.
    The luxury surrounding her was doubtless just an indication of past and present corruption. After all, most of the aristocracy had gained their high estate by acts of violence or immorality in the service of similarly violent and immoral monarchs.
    The duke, the duchess, and the marquess were just people, and no more worthy of awe than the simplest laborer. In fact, that laborer doubtless came by his daily bread more honestly.
    By the time the maid indicated that the requested gown was ready, Beth had talked herself back into courage.
    "Jewels, miss?" asked Redcliff.
    "There is a gold locket in my reticule," said Beth, making no attempt at pretense. "It is all I have." Then she thought of her ring and looked down at the gaudy thing. It at least was in keeping with Belcraven, which only proved it had no place on her finger.
    The maid found the locket and clasped it around Beth's neck.
    Beth considered herself in the long mirror. Both she and Miss Mallory made their own gowns, but once a year they commissioned two formal outfits from the local dressmaker—a heavy one for winter and a light one for summer. This was the latter, and it fitted well and had a few stylish details—pin tucks in the bodice and braid around the hem. The style, however, was simple and modest, and Beth knew it would be eclipsed by anything the duchess might wear. Or other guests.
    That thought almost swept her back into panic. She could face the family—this was all their fault, after all—but not strangers who would look and see only a homely, poorly dressed female, not a rebellious spirit.
    If she had possessed a stunning, fashionable gown and a jewel box she would have used them then and be damned to egalitarian principles.
    The maid went to work on her hair. "What pretty hair you have, miss," said Redcliff as she started to brush through the mass of chestnut curls.
    Beth knew it. It was unfortunate hair for a schoolmistress who had to convince pupils and parents on a daily basis that she was of sober disposition. That was why she kept it short and hidden beneath caps.
    When the maid was satisfied with her work, Beth said, "You will find a cap to match this gown in a box in the gray trunk." In the mirror she saw the protest tremble on the woman's lips. The maid was too well-trained to voice it, however, and found the cap.
    Unfortunately for Beth's intentions, the cap was her prettiest, and this time she could hardly strip it of its decoration—rows of ruched ribbons and two silk roses designed to nestle on her left temple. Moreover, as this cap was designed to fit on the back of her head, it was quite impossible to hide all her glossy curls.
    If only, she thought, this outfit were not so becoming. The bland color suited her pale skin, giving it delicacy and bringing out a hint of color in her cheeks and lips. The curls on her forehead softened the smooth oval of her face and those blasted roses drew attention to her eyes, which, while nothing out of the ordinary, were clear