A CONTENTATION
Amabel headed back to her chamber. She was shivering, head held high.
How dare he?
She closed the door behind her and leaned on it, trying to calm her thoughts. Her feelings were in turmoil, heart pounding in her chest. She could feel her pulse fluttering and her stomach shuddered as if a thousand wings beat there. However, she didn't feel scared or shocked. Not very, anyhow. She was mainly, if she thought about it, excited.
She recalled the way the man had stared at her, his eyes looking into hers. Brown eyes, they'd been, deep, dark and strangely tender for all the brutish power of the man.
And he was quite a powerful presence. His bulky body filled the stairwell, warm, muscled and earthy. Amabel had hesitated to walk past him, afraid of his strong grip. If he had been the sort who wished to harm her, he would have no cause to stop – she could not fight him. Yet he was strangely diffident.
That was what had intrigued her. If not for his polite, almost deferential courtesy, she would have simply stalked past and felt only brief anger for his rude conduct. Instead, with that strange, almost frightened courtesy, he'd grabbed her interest.
He's the first person who's ever looked at me like that.
All things considered, she thought as she draped her shawl over her shoulders then sat down in the padded seat and stared broodingly into the fire, he was the first man who'd ever really looked at her.
In comparison to the other men she knew – the likes of Arthur, Hamish, even dear Douglas – he was the only one who had looked her in the eye and met her face to face, without condescending and without dissemblance. He had been rude, but he'd addressed her as an equal, with the gloves off.
And he'd looked at me like I stepped out of nowhere.
It was a peculiar reaction, easily the strangest she'd ever inspired before. However, it was a reaction that made her heart thump and her blood sing in her ears. It was a good feeling. It made her feel happy.
“I wasn't expecting much of that,” she said to herself. She reached for a poker and stirred the fire, watching idly as the sparks rose up the chimney with each stir. She had come alone to court – her father was settling business at his own father's estate, Buccleigh, a castle an hour's ride away. He’d join her as soon as his business was concluded, but for the moment, she was here alone. Except for her chaperone, of course. However, Glenna wasn't likely to restrict her overmuch. Older than her by only four years, Glenna was more of a companion than she would be a traditional chaperone.
“Milady?” a voice called outside her chamber.
“Yes, Glenna?”
“Oh, there you are. I brought the new blue dress up...what is it?” Glenna's grave oval face was surprised. “You look...touched with fever, milady...you're not unwell.”
“I'm very well,” Amabel said in a tight voice. She was surprised. Was she flushed? Was it that the stranger in the hallway had affected her that much?
“Oh. Well, that's well, milady. I had news.”
“Oh?” Amabel raised a brow. “Come, tell me the news,” she said, waving Glenna to the clothes chest at the foot of her bed. Glenna sat down shyly, and then turned to face her.
“Well, milady, you know there's to be a masque here tomorrow?”
“Yes, I know,” Amabel said, a tension filtering into her voice. She was not entirely happy about that. The thought of meeting Arthur, Bruce and Hamish on the dance floor was bad enough. The thought of them feeling they could take liberties as a result of wearing an excessively feeble disguise was more so.
“Well, the master of ceremonies has said some servants may attend. It's tradition, so he said, for the high-ranking servants to come masked as well, and...” she trailed off, her big slate-colored eyes intense.
Amabel nodded. “Of course you shall come,” she said without thinking about it. “You can have one of my gowns, of course,” she added with candid generosity.
“What?” Glenna was staring at her, her face somewhere between disbelief and fear. “Oh, no, milady! I couldn't do that.”
“You could,” Amabel said with a grin. “Of course you could, Glenna. My clothes don't bite, you know. I have that lovely deep blue gown that I never wear anymore – it'll suit you, I think, better than the ocher one, which doesn't suit me either, now I think of it,” she added with a smile. “I only took that fabric because Mama said it was nice.”
Glenna giggled. “My lady. If you're sure...”
“Indeed I am!” Amabel said with a characteristic impatience. “Why ever would I say it were I not sure? You'll come with me and that will make it so much more diverting than if I had to face all that tedium of suitors and unmasking and courtly protocol alone.”
“Oh, my lady!” Glenna was laughing now, her thin, pale face alight with her smile, though tears streaked down her pale cheeks unchecked. “You can't know how wonderful this is for me...how exciting...Oh, milady,” she said again, sighing. “Thank you, milady.”
Amabel sighed. She had never thought about the fact that a ball could mean so much to someone. She herself was quite weary of them, with their implications and pressures and the constant determination of her parents to find her a suitor.
Having Glenna there will make it so much more exciting.
She went impulsively to her clothes chest and reached in, rummaging around to find the old gowns she had mentioned. She pulled out a soft grayed blue wool under-dress and then a cornflower velvet.
“Here,” she said, handing the two pieces to her maid. “You can try this one. There's this, of course,” she added, reaching for a yellow ocher velvet. She wrinkled her nose. “If you'd like it, too?”
Glenna laughed. She was laughing with abandon and, abruptly, she stood and embraced Amabel. Amabel felt her heart melt. She had no siblings, and Glenna was like a sister to her. She kissed her cheek fondly.
“Well, now,” she said, looking at the chest and biting her lip, trying to compose herself. She would not cry. She would not! “How are we going to dress up?”
Glenna stared. “You mean, the disguises?”
“Yes!” Amabel chuckled. “We can't go without a mask – it's against the rules. It's carnival, remember! It's supposed to be a night when people can take liberties they wouldn't take when in their own identity.”
She felt a little queasy as she said it. The thought of Arthur taking liberties he wouldn't otherwise do was not one that filled her with excitement.
Now if it was that gentleman on the stairs, with that broadly-muscled body, then... she felt her heart thump and a strange warmth flow through her. She sighed.
What was she doing? She didn't know the man. They hadn't exchanged names...she didn't even know who he was, much less anything else about him! That is ridiculous. She made herself an inner resolution to forget him. Immediately. He would evaporate from her thoughts. Now.
“Milady?” Glenna asked. Amabel realized she must have said something and she hadn't heard it.
“Sorry, Glenna?” she asked, frowning.
“I was just thinking...could we make something with that Brussels lace you purchased from here? For the masque, I was thinking...” she added, voice trailing off as Amabel was struck with an idea.
“Oh, you clever thing!” she smiled. “The market! Why make a mask when we can likely purchase one? Come on! Let's go tomorrow. We can get such nice ones. I want a silvered one...it will match my skirt.”
“Milady!” Glenna clapped her hands with excitement. Her oval face looked enraptured. “Let's do that! What excitement.”
“Yes,” Amabel nodded slowly. “It will be fun, for certain.”
She packed the other gown into the trunk and then sat down on it, brooding. It was almost time for dinner and she should ask Glenna to help her do her hair. However, she was too preoccupied with thoughts of tomorrow. Thoughts of that strange gentleman and the way he'd made her feel as well.
Even now, she felt all overwrought inside.
“Will you wear the purple tonight, milady?” Glenna asked.
“Sorry?” Amabel frowned, turning to face her where she searched about in the chest containing her clothes. “Oh. I think the red, Glenna.”
“Oh. Good, milady.”
She shook out a dress of a red so dark it could almost be black, a deep grape red color, somewhere between purple and the color of spilled ink. “Here we are, milady.”
“Yes,” Amabel said, squinting at it in the flame light. “I think that will do very well.”
She had planned to wear the green, perhaps, which was more restrained and demure. After seeing the man on the stairs however, she had decided she would rather stand out.
She let Glenna brush out her hair and then turned in front of the mirror, letting the dress fall to her side as she held it up against her neck.
“Yes,” she said again. “That will do it.”
“Very good, milady.”
When she was done, her dress fastened, hair brushed, delicate indoor shoes on her feet and a plain kirtle of the same almost-black color fastened at her waist and hanging to just below her hip, she turned and stared at the reflection in the mirror.
The reflection that studied her out of the mirror showed her a girl of slight stature, with a compact figure, neat and curvaceous, small breasts just rounding the neckline of her dress. Her long black hair was a curling torrent down her shoulders, her eyes bright.
“All done,” she said, satisfied, turning from the mirror. “Thank you, Glenna.”
Glenna curtsied and stood back for her.
“Have a good evening, my lady.”
Amabel nodded. “I will.”
She walked quickly and quietly down the silent corridor to the feasting hall. As she did so, she felt her heart thump in her chest. Her thoughts were unquiet and kept on returning to the man in the hallway. I wonder if he will be there tonight?
A warm glow of tapers and fire announced the feasting hall before she entered it. She stopped at the doorway, feeling a little breathless as she always did when she entered here. The high, arched ceiling soared above her, almost lost in the darkness above. Below, the tables stretched out, a long oak table surrounded by elaborate high-backed chairs opposite the door, flanked by others like it. The dais, where the royal table would be set, was empty tonight.
Amabel walked into the hall, running a hand down her velvet skirts to smooth them. A serving man appeared and showed her to her seat, an empty one at the top end of the third table, beside the duke of Anderglen. She sat down shyly and looked at the plate.
She was about three places from the foot of the royal dais, a place of high honor. She was a little self-conscious, as this was the first time she was here alone. She felt the lords and some ladies looking at her, and the sense of their gaze on her was like a physical touch.
I wish I was here with someone I knew.
She couldn't help that her mind strayed, more and more, to the man from the hallway.
I wish I even knew what he was called.
She smiled to herself. Here she was with her thoughts lingering on the face of the man whose name she didn't know! It was so silly.
“You had a pleasant day, milady?” the duke asked politely. A man of perhaps a little older than her father, with a soft, concerned face, she smiled up at him.
“Yes, thank you, my lord,” she said. A serving man came round with a dish of grilled fish, and placed it somewhere in the center of the table. The duke reached out to carve it. He passed her a portion first, and then helped himself.
“Thank you,” she said politely. “This looks most interesting.”
The duke chuckled, a smile crinkling his eyes. “I hope it's not too interesting, my lady. I reserve my interest for scrolls and manuscripts. My dinner I prefer quite ordinary.”
Amabel chuckled. “You read, sir?” she asked, surprised. With the exception of the clergy, very few people did. Her mother's aunt did, and her father could read a little, but no one else she knew.
“I do sometimes,” he said. “Though mostly I get my steward to read them out to me. All sorts of scrolls, I've got. Fascinating ones...fine copies from the libraries of Constantinople. All third- or fourth-hand, you understand...couldn't afford the direct copy.” He smiled.
Amabel smiled back. He was good company, interesting at least. “What do these scrolls discuss?” she asked.
“Oh! All manner of things. The means of navigation by the stars, medical treatises – I hesitate to read those, gives me cold shivers – and all sorts of bizarre philosophical matters.”
“Indeed?”
“Oh, yes. Do you know, there were some works published that assert that man can turn base metals into gold. What a notion, eh! A fine thing that would be...”
As he went on about the contents of his fine scrolls, Amabel found her attention straying back again to thoughts of the dark-haired man. She couldn't help but wonder what he was interested in. Would he have wanted to know about philosophies from the east? Alternatively, would he have responded the way Arthur likely would have, with some comment that reading was for priests and not a topic suitable for ladies.
“So, my lady,” the duke was saying, “If you have an opportunity, you should visit the market. You can purchase almost anything there. Not scrolls, unfortunately. Or if they have any there, I trust they are poor forgeries.”
“Oh, yes,” Amabel nodded, dabbing her fingers in a bowl of scented water as a serving man cleared away the first course. “I find the market most exciting.”
“As exciting as the dinner?”
“Almost, sir. Almost.”
They both laughed.
When the dinner had ended, Amabel returned, feeling tired but content, to her chamber. She was walking to the door when she chanced to look up at the man coming down the stairs. It was him. The man from the hallway.
He was staring at her.
She cleared her throat. Should she say something? What should she do? It wasn't like he knew her, not exactly.
He cleared his throat.
“Milady?”
It came out all throaty and hoarse. He cleared his throat. Tried again.
“Milady? I was meaning to say...”
“My lord,” Amabel said with an impressive aloofness – she was impressed, at any rate, her heart was thudding like a bellows and her nerves jangled, blood racing as she looked at that tall, compactly muscled figure, the clear brow and the deep-set, clear brown eyes. She walked across the floor and up the stairs, facing him.
“My lady, I was meaning to say...Sir Rufus. Rufus Invermore. At your service, my lady.”
“Sir,” Amabel said, dropping a curtsy. She looked at the floor and then raised her eyes to meet his. Her pulse thumped in her throat and her cheeks flushed. “Pleased to...make your acquaintance.”
“Honored, milady.”
She hesitated, and then decided that there was no harm in being truthful. “I am Lady Amabel, my lord. My father is the duke of Buccleigh. Pleased to meet you.”
He bowed so low Amabel feared he might fall over. Then he stood.
“Lady Amabel.”
He looked into her eyes and she looked up at his. It felt as if a spark jumped between them, an almost tangible sensation as their eyes met. She shivered.
“Goodnight, sir.”
She curtsied again and headed quickly up the stairs, heart pounding in her throat.
I will not turn around. I will not turn. I won't.
She reached the top of the steps and turned around. She saw him heading hurriedly down.
He stopped to wait to see if I'd stay. She shook her head, disbelieving.
She had thought she'd be offended, affronted. She should be. However, when she walked back to her room, heart fluttering in her chest, spirits soaring, it was not a frown that traced her brow, but a smile that stretched her cheeks. She was absolutely and unaccountably happy. She saw him again.