Chapter Twenty-One

T he week between Christmas and New Year's Eve went by in a flash. Too fast. Every moment spent in Brad's arms as he taught her the various dances was special. Every moment made her return home less desirable. Charlie no longer asked about Ben, and, of course, Lucy had no idea who he was.

Butterflies filled her stomach. This would be the first time since ending up here when she'd be out in public. According to Cora, speculation about the woman with two children staying at Bradley's was rampant. Every time the housekeeper went into town, she came back with stories of people trying to get information from her. Well, tonight, they'd find out.

Libby tried to breathe. Even though she rarely wore a corset, the few times she had to, made sure she hated them. Bras had nothing on these torture contraptions. She turned sideways to view herself in the full-length, cheval mirror and patted her flat stomach. Even without a corset, her stomach had returned to its pre-pregnancy form.

Since she was going out in public, it was necessary to don widow's weeds. It was bad enough she was attending a ball, but if she wore any other color, it would create a scandal for Brad.

The bodice of the black dress wasn't deep and the lace attached to it covered a good portion of her chest. Whoever came up with the idea for women to wear black when a loved one died, wasn't a redhead with fair skin. Black was not her color. Even so, she wasn't used to having so much skin exposed. She turned sideways again and giggled. The bustle on the back of the dress made up for the lack of material in the bodice. Living in an era when women worried about their backsides being too big, it was funny to wear something to give the illusion of a large one.

She had to admit, even though it was black, the various layers of material were quite feminine and attractive. The long sleeves would help her stay warm. Too bad it had taken nearly thirty minutes for Cora to dress her in the multitude of undergarments and dress material. How many times would someone step on the short train attached to the bustle? No wonder Cora had put a small sewing kit in her small handbag. Hopefully, she wouldn't have to use it, for how in heaven's name would she be able to fix it without having to disrobe?

Cora came into the room carrying a black cape over her arm. "This was Miss Lucinda's and will be short on you, but I'm sure it'll be fine for tonight. Since it's not meant to go to the ground, it won't make a difference." She set the wrap, a pair of gloves, and a hat on the bed. "Now, all we have to do is take care of your hair. I used to do Miss Lucinda's all the time, but if you'd rather do it yourself..."

Libby bit back a laugh. Do her own hair? In the time she'd been here, she barely managed to put her hair in a bun so it wouldn't come loose after an hour. At least no one said anything about her daily French braids. "I would be grateful if you would do my hair, Cora." But how was she going to sit in her dress? Maybe if she lifted the bustle? She crossed the room to the stool before the dressing table. Actually, now would be a good time to practice as there was no way she'd stand all night.

Lifting the bustle, she lowered herself to the stool. The heaviness of the fabric flowing over the stool nearly sent her toppling backward. If Cora hadn't been standing behind her, she would have.

"Be careful, Miss Libby. I know you haven't worn a fancy dress since coming here, but you must remember not to flip the bustle so far back. At least there will be chairs to sit on tonight, so you shouldn't have a problem sitting down."

Thank goodness for small favors. Libby stood, eased the bustle over the back of the stool, and sat. Whew. She'd done it.

Watching Cora was like watching an artist at work. In no time at all, the housekeeper had her hair in a fancy updo, weaving a few springs of mistletoe through the tresses while leaving a couple of tendrils flowing down her cheeks.

"You did an amazing job, Cora."

"Thank you, my dear." Cora tucked a stray curl into her hair. "I love working with your hair. It's so thick and curly."

Libby laughed. "I always thought my curly hair was a curse. Never wants to do what I want it to."

Cora patted her black, curly hair. "It's why I keep mine short. Plus, it's cooler in the summer."

"I agree." Since Cora wasn't aware of who Libby was, she couldn't talk about air conditioning in homes and vehicles. After the summer, it was one of the things she missed the most. Besides Ben, of course.

Libby stared into the mirror. Besides fair skin which burned easily, another problem with red hair was light eyebrows and lashes. She was never one to wear much makeup, but mascara was always a must. Even though she knew where her mascara was, it was so old, it was probably goopy and gummy. She sighed. "I need something to put on my eyelashes. I hate how I can't see them."

Cora bit her lip then snapped her fingers. "I have an idea." She went to the fireplace, swiped a finger on the inside, and came back to Libby. "Face me. Now don't blink or I'll get ashes on your face."

Sitting as still as possible and holding her breath so she wouldn't blink, Cora touched her sooty finger against her lashes as gently as butterfly's wing. After ministering to each eye, she stepped back and wiped her finger on her apron.

"What do you think?"

Libby spun on the bench and stared into the mirror. Her eyes, once seeming tiny, now, with the black soot, looked large. "What a wonderful idea, Cora. I love it."

"So will Mr. Bradley."

She shouldn't worry about what he thought, but her comment made her heart skitter. He'd never seen her so dolled up. Would he like what he saw?

A light rap sounded on her bedroom door. "It's Brad. May I come in?"

Libby looked at Cora and raised an eyebrow. Even though he'd been in her room right after she'd arrived, he hadn't crossed the doorstep since. Men didn't usually go into a woman's bedroom alone unless they were married or living together. Before she could answer, Cora pulled the door open.

"Of course, you can come in, Mr. Bradley. I'm done fancying Miss Libby up." Without another word, she left the room and closed the door behind her.

Libby's breath caught. On a daily basis, she couldn't get over how handsome Brad was. Except during Christmas when he wore dress pants, shirt, and vest, she'd never seen him wear anything more than a work shirt, and heavy denim pants held up with suspenders.

Tonight, he wore dark dress pants, and a white shirt with a brocade vest nearly matching the color of her dress. The shirt had a wing-tip collar with the points tipping down over his black bowtie. If memory served her right, the striped, black waist-length coat with long, tapering tails in the back was called a tailcoat. The lapels were nearly as shiny as his boots. A pair of white gloves were tucked into a tailcoat pocket.

The overall effect had her heart palpitating so hard, she thought it would nearly split her corset in two. Her mouth went dry. Good heavens. Why didn't men dress like this anymore? If they knew how women nearly swooned if a man dressed in 1800s attire, they'd wear the outfit to bed.

Brad cleared his throat. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down several times. Was he as nervous as she?

"I know this isn't quite appropriate, but I wanted to give you something." He took a long box from an inside coat pocket. "It was my mother's." He opened the box and removed a gold necklace. "May I put it on you?"

"Of course." Her voice quivered, which was nothing compared to her body being ready to melt as he reached around her and placed the necklace around her neck. The light from dresser lamp reflected off the royal blue, oval stone dipping to the top of the dress' neckline. Four smaller, matching stones were strategically located on each side.

Brad's warm breath puffed against her bare neck. In the reflection in the mirror, his head disappeared behind her as he struggled to close the clasp.

Libby fingered the oval stone. When the necklace was closed, he placed his hands on her shoulders sending delicious shivers down her spine. "Oh, Brad. It's beautiful, but it's your mother's. I can't possibly wear it."

"Not as beautiful as you."

He leaned down. Was he going to kiss her shoulder? Her neck? Good thing he couldn't see her wobbly knees beneath the layers of her dress. Her skin was hot. Unfortunately, he took a step back.

"Please wear it. It's been sitting in my dresser for far too long." He pointed at the mirror. "And it goes perfectly with your dress."

Had Lucinda ever worn it?

As if he read her mind, he turned her to face him. "Besides my mother, no other woman has worn this." He lifted the stone, brushing his fingers against her heated skin. "I had many others more suited to Lucinda. I was saving this for when we had a daughter. If you're uncomfortable with it, wear it for tonight and give it back to me."

"Fair enough. Thank you, Brad. I'll be proud to wear it."

"Now, my dear. I believe it's time to leave. My carriage is waiting." He picked up her cape and gloves from the bed and waved a hand to the door. "After you."

Libby snatched up her handbag and a hat matching the cape. With his hand at her lower back, they went down the stairs. Cora waited at the bottom to fasten her hat before Brad helped her with her cape.

He winged out an arm. "Take my arm. It might be slippery."