Chapter 5

 

Elspeth’s rebellious mood survived a restless night, which she spent telling herself that she deserved her humiliation. Hadn’t she sworn that Brody Girvan would have no more power over her emotions? Yet the moment she met those glittering green eyes, she was as besotted as ever.

Never again.

So she managed to maintain a cool air when he joined her for breakfast. To her surprise, Diarmid wasn’t much behind him. At the Christmas gatherings, both young men usually slept late, after sitting up to drink and play billiards, once everyone else went to bed.

That wasn’t the only change. The air of constraint between Diarmid and Brody was new, too.

Brief curiosity sparked. What on earth was going on? Fergus, Hamish and Diarmid were the best of friends, legacy of a long ago escapade when Fergus rescued the two younger boys who had become lost in the mountains behind Achnasheen. Brody had always fitted into the group as if he belonged. But this morning, Elspeth couldn’t mistake the lack of ease between her two companions.

Before she had a chance to winkle out the story, Marina swept into the morning room and hurried her away to the south tower.

“My goodness, you’re on top of the world here, aren’t you?” Elspeth said in amazement, as she stepped into the large and airy sitting room with windows facing in all four directions. She’d never been invited into the laird’s private apartments at Achnasheen before. She paused to admire the view down to the sea, with the snow-capped Cuillins on Skye rising in the distance.

Marina laughed. “I often tell Fergus I only married him because no artist could resist the idea of living in such an extraordinarily beautiful location.”

“He wouldn’t believe you,” Elspeth said with conviction.

Marina’s striking features softened, so she looked extraordinarily beautiful herself. “No, he doesn’t.”

“Do you think you can do anything with me?” she asked, nervous hands twining at her waist.

“Coraggio, cara.” She left Elspeth standing in the middle of the floor and stood back to survey her with that intense attention, familiar after last night. “Are you sure you’re ready for this? Once I’ve finished, you won’t be lurking in the shadows anymore. I suspect sometimes the shadows are a welcoming place.”

Elspeth recalled her mother describing her as a mouse, without a hint of spite, and Brody making do with her company because there was nobody better to flirt with. “You’re right. The shadows are safe.”

“Yes, they are.” Marina watched her as if reading her thoughts.

“But they can become a prison,” Elspeth said slowly. She raised her chin and squared her shoulders before she met Marina’s penetrating black gaze. “I’m ready to be free.”

“Brava, ragazza.” Marina smiled at her, then turned to open a door that led to a dressing room. “We have work to do, Sandra.”

Marina’s Italian maid, as stylish as her mistress in a gray ensemble banded with black velvet, emerged. She carried a pile of clothing which she tossed over the back of a pretty sofa, upholstered in flowered blue brocade.

“Those are all my dresses,” Elspeth said in shock.

“I hope you don’t mind.” Marina made an apologetic gesture. “I thought first we’d see if any of your clothes are worth altering. Sandra worked for my modiste in Florence. When I decided to move to the wilds of Scotland, I invited her here to be my dresser. She’s a genius with a needle.”

“Buongiorno, signorina,” Sandra said, dipping into a graceful curtsy. “We make you bellissima.”

Elspeth had just enough Italian to understand and to cringe at the plan’s impossibility. But she bit back any word of protest. The first step toward claiming self-assurance was acting like she already had it. She turned to Marina and spread her hands in bewilderment. “I thought you were just going to lend me a dress.”

Marina smiled. “We’re not at all in the same style, or I would.”

“You’re much slimmer than I am,” Elspeth said, before she remembered that she meant to pretend to be confident. She spared a fleeting regret for all the shortbread she’d eaten over the years, to cheer herself up over her failure to win Brody Girvan.

“You have a magnificent figure. You’re a true pocket Venus.” Before Elspeth could grasp hold of such an extravagant—and astounding—compliment, Marina’s tone turned practical. “Although only il buon Dio would know it under those schoolgirl frocks.”

Elspeth shot the drab pile of dresses a doubtful look. In this lovely room and in comparison to the modish clothes the other women wore, her outfits looked duller than ever. “Do you think you can rescue any of them?”

“A snip here. A dart there. You’ll be surprised. That’s not all we’re going to do. You need to change the shades you wear. Basta, no more browns and beiges and everything dull. No wonder you disappear into the wallpaper in dresses the color of mud. You should be in reds and blues and pinks and yellows. Strong shades to bring out your white skin and your sparkling eyes. I have some bolts of fabric from Milano and Firenze, that we can use for a few new gowns. But those won’t be ready for tonight.”

Amazed, daunted and touched in equal measure, Elspeth stared at Marina. She couldn’t remember anyone taking this trouble over her before. “You’re far too generous.”

Marina laughed and rubbed her hands together with unmistakable enthusiasm. “I’ll enjoy turning you into a beauty. It’s an artistic project. And Sandra was becoming bored, with just me to fuss over.” She turned to the maid with a volley of rapid Italian that Elspeth assumed was a translation of what they’d both just said.

Sandra surveyed Elspeth with that same steely focus Marina had devoted to her, then broke into a snaggle-toothed smile that added layers of charm to her bony features. She responded in the same language, and all Elspeth could make out were stray words like bella and pronto.

“Si, si, certo,” Marina said, and turned back to Elspeth. “Now, let’s take off that ugly rag and see what we have to work with.”

Before Elspeth could protest—although Marina was being so kind, what could she say?—Sandra started tugging at the hooks down the back of her dark brown merino. Elspeth clutched the sagging bodice to save her modesty. “It’s not that bad, is it?”

Marina’s smile was kind, too. “I’m afraid it is.”

“Oh.” Elspeth had come here because she wanted to change, but facing up to her frumpishness was no fun. She caught another glimpse of Marina’s smile as Sandra hauled the dress over her head.

“Cheer up. Faint heart never won fair laird.”

At least she could blame her blush on the fact that she now stood in the middle of the room, wearing nothing but her undergarments. “I told you—I’m not interested in Brody.”

Marina’s expression was suspiciously innocent when she circled Elspeth, as if she inspected a statue from every angle. “Brody Girvan isn’t the only laird in the world.”

Until now, for Elspeth, he might as well have been. She straightened her spine and told herself to stop being such a wet flannel. She’d already decided she wanted to make some changes. The way she looked was part of that. “No, he’s not.”

“Brava.”

Sandra stood back, her dark eyes never shifting from Elspeth. When she burst into more Italian, Marina looked thoughtful, before she moved closer to unpin Elspeth’s tight arrangement of plaits.

“Magnifico,” Sandra said, as a wealth of dark brown hair tumbled down about Elspeth’s shoulders. For once, no translation was needed.

“What beautiful hair you have,” Marina said, lifting a thick hank of shining hair and letting it drift through her fingers. “Why on earth do you tie it away so tightly? Per l’amor di Dio, why on earth do you tie everything away so tightly?”

Overwhelmed with the confusing mixture of praise and criticism, Elspeth glanced down at herself. Her full breasts pushed wantonly against her white linen shift, and she felt stunted next to Marina and Sandra, both so tall and elegant. In a defensive pose, she wrapped her arms around her middle. “I’m not the right shape for the current fashion.”

The hint of fondness in Marina’s laugh removed any sting. “We can fix that.”

“High waists make me look like a box.”

Marina said something in Italian to Sandra, Elspeth guessed a translation of her self-deprecating remark. Sandra responded with what sounded like disagreement.

Still smiling, Marina turned back to Elspeth. “With your lovely bosom and small waist, the shape of thirty years ago would have been perfect for you.”

“I told you,” Elspeth said miserably, afraid that her mentor might decide she was a hopeless case after all.

Marina went back to studying her. Elspeth was getting used to it. “But with some lighter materials and someone who knows what she’s doing like Sandra, we will succeed.”

“In turning a sow’s ear into a silk purse?” Elspeth asked before she could stop herself.

She expected Marina to laugh, but her hostess regarded her with a troubled frown. “Elspeth, you’re a beautiful girl, and I can show you how to make the best of yourself, but the world won’t believe that you’ve changed from a caterpillar into a butterfly until you believe it, too. I forbid you to say anything derogatory about yourself ever again.”

Discomfited, Elspeth avoided those piercing dark eyes, as she struggled to come to terms with the idea of anyone calling her beautiful. Was it possible? When she’d accepted Marina’s help, she’d harbored the modest hope that it might rescue her from fading into the background. Beautiful was an unimaginable step beyond that.

On the other hand, what did she have to lose?

“Yes, Marina,” she mumbled.

“A little more gusto, per favore, bella.” Marina carried a cheval mirror from the corner and set it before her.

In the reflection, Elspeth met uncertain brown eyes. This reminded her of the night before last, when she’d promised herself she was going to stop trailing around after Brody and take charge of her life. She angled her chin upward and surveyed the woman in the mirror.

“Yes, look, cara,” Marina said softly. “Look at yourself.”

Marina said she could be beautiful. Marina was a stylish, sophisticated woman with an artist’s eye. If she said that, perhaps it was true.

The girl reflected back was smaller than the two women ranged on either side of her. Out of her nun-like dress, even someone as self-critical as Elspeth saw that her curves weren’t plumpness, but a graceful generosity of form. Her bosom rose above the corset, firm and round and white. Her waist was small, and her hips flared above shapely legs. Thick, glossy hair flowed around her face, adding a touch of mystery to features that she’d always believed irredeemably ordinary. Now she saw large, radiant eyes and a full-lipped mouth.

She didn’t resemble her mother or her spectacular siblings. The dark coloring came from her father’s side of the family. But nor did she look like a woman the world should ignore either. She looked…voluptuous.

A tentative smile lengthened her lips. Perhaps Marina was right, and there was something here to work with.

Approval lit Marina’s black eyes, as she watched Elspeth’s face brighten with new vitality. “Si, cara, si. Now you see what I see, and you know we’ll succeed.” She turned to Sandra with a torrent of liquid Italian, before she stepped back with a determined expression. “Let’s get to work.”