Page 17 of The Marriage Wager

The blue did wonderful things for her eyes and her skin, and her breasts pushed up over the deep scoop of the neckline in a way that would have been, perhaps, too provocative, had it not been for the demure trim of blond lace and the almost girlish look of the small puff sleeves.

“A very simple little something around your neck, I think,” Francesca said, studying her. “A locket, say. And I have a shawl that will look perfect with that.” When Constance began to protest, she shook her head firmly, saying, “I will lend it to you, and that will make it perfectly all right, won’t it?”

When Maisie had finished pinning the dress, Constance and Francesca laid out the clothes that Constance had brought over and discussed with the maid their plans for altering them, bringing out the materials they had bought the day before. They spent the rest of the afternoon cheerfully discussing hems and necklines and overdresses and petticoats. Then Maisie left to finish her work on the dress that Constance would wear that evening, and Constance and Francesca settled down to cut the narrow blue ribbon they had bought the day before into pieces and make tiny bows for Maisie to sew on at regular intervals around the deep lace ruffle.

They took time out for tea, which they had in the shade in the pleasant little garden in back, then went back inside to begin their preparations for the party. They chatted and laughed as Maisie helped them into their clothes and did their hair. Constance could not remember when she had enjoyed herself so much. This, she thought, must be what it was like to have a sister—or what it might be like getting ready with her cousins if she did not spend all her time helping them into their clothes or putting up their hair or finding their lost gloves and fans.

Then, at last, Maisie was done and they were ready. As Francesca beamed at her like a proud mother, Constance went to the mirror for one last look at herself.

“Oh, my.” She could not hold back the soft exclamation.

Her hair was pulled up and caught in a cluster of curls, and feathery wisps curled softly around her face. Her dark brown tresses gleamed in the soft glow of the candles, warm and lustrous, the red highlights catching the light. The spray of tiny blue silk rosebuds that Francesca had bought for her the day before was pinned into her hair at the base of the cluster of curls.

The blue dress fitted her perfectly, the bodice cupping her breasts, then falling from the high waist in graceful folds that swayed with her movements as she walked. Excitement stained her cheeks with color and glowed in her large gray eyes. She knew that she had never looked lovelier.

“Ah, I think I hear Dom’s voice downstairs,” Francesca said, and they left the room, walking down the curved staircase together.

Lord Leighton stood in the entryway at the foot of the staircase, and he turned at the sound of their approach, looking up the stairs. He stiffened, and his eyes widened as he saw Constance.

Unconsciously, he took a step closer, and the slightly stunned expression on his face was everything that Constance could have hoped for.

“Miss Woodley,” he said, recovering himself and sweeping her a bow. “You take my breath away.”

Francesca laughed and said lightly, “Watch out for this one, Constance. He can charm the birds from the trees.”

“I am well aware that he is a terrible flatterer,” Constance replied in the same light vein.

“You wrong me, both of you,” Leighton retorted, taking the hand his sister held out and bowing over it, then doing the same with Constance. A thrill sizzled through her at the brush of his lips against her hand, even through the cloth of her glove.

She could feel the color rising higher in her cheeks. She stole a look at Dominic and found him gazing at her. There was a look in his dark blue eyes that set her heart thumping madly in her chest.

“Remember that you have promised the first dance to me, Miss Woodley,” he said quietly.

“I would not forget, my lord,” Constance replied, and swept out the door before him, anticipation swelling in her chest.

Tonight, she thought, unsure whether her words were of prayer or dread, was the start of a different life.

CHAPTER FIVE

CONSTANCE WAS VERY AWARE of Leighton’s hand around hers as he helped her up into the carriage. He was watching her, she knew, despite the dimness of the light, as the coach rolled away from the house and started up the street.

“Are you going to Redfields next week, Dom?” Francesca asked.

The grimace he gave her in response did not indicate that that was a very likely prospect, Constance thought.

“Not if I can find anything better,” he replied, adding, “And I shouldn’t think that would be difficult.”

“You should go. You have a duty to the estate, you know. Now that you are the heir.”

He shrugged. “I doubt I will be missed.”

“Of course you will be. Everyone always asks about you.”

Leighton raised one eyebrow skeptically. “The earl and countess?”

Weren’t the earl and countess Leighton’s parents? Constance wondered. It seemed odd that he should refer to them so formally. She supposed that he could be inheriting the estate from an uncle, but, no, she was certain that Francesca had said that Leighton had become the heir when their elder brother died. It did not, she thought, seem that there was much love lost between Dominic and his parents, especially given the fact that Francesca responded to his question with an uncomfortable silence.

Leighton sent his sister a faint twist of a smile. “I cannot imagine why you go, frankly.”