Chapter 31 Amy-Rose

Chapter 31

Amy-Rose

“Are you still cross with me?” asked Amy-Rose. Helen looked at her. The scowl she tried to keep on her face melted and made Amy-Rose laugh. “It’s your birthday—I had to start with a fresh press,” Amy-Rose said. “And if you had sat still, you’d be fine.”

“You didn’t have to maim me!” Helen said. Her words had little bite but she spoke loud enough to draw some attention.

She was the belle of the ball, and Amy-Rose had to admit she enjoyed watching Helen rise to the occasion. She’d taken her time pressing Helen’s hair earlier in the evening, pulling it back to the crown of her head. “And if you’d turned in early like I’m sure Olivia told you to, you would not be so tired now.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Helen. The younger girl leaned against Amy-Rose’s shoulder and watched the sea of people crowded into the Davenports ballroom dancing to the band. “I just wish this day hadn’t come so soon.”

Amy-Rose laughed. “You should enjoy your night.”

“As should you. Why aren’t you dancing with John? I know he’s been daft, but he tries.”

“Don’t be so harsh. He chose himself too.” Amy-Rose looked to where John stood. He was speaking with Louis Greenfield, animated and bright.

Helen snorted. “Pretty sure he’s chosen you. You are the only person in your way . ”

“Helen!” Mrs.Milford scolded her young charge.

The birthday girl flinched and apologized. She began chatting with her tutor. Their words faded to a buzz, lost in the music that seemed to grow more muffled as John made his way to where they stood. Amy-Rose tried her best not to stare at him. She didn’t want her gaze to linger on the way the jacket hugged his shoulders.

Abruptly, Amy-Rose turned and started for the refreshments table. She paused to let a member of the hired party staff pass with a spent tray, and caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror above the mantel. Her hair curled down the middle of her back, tied with a fuchsia ribbon that matched her gown. She realized she was the same age her mother was when Clara fell in love. A secret, complicated, and beautiful love. They were lucky enough to find each other, yet not so lucky to enjoy a life well lived, she thought.

Mrs.Davenport, to her surprise, fell into step beside her. “I wanted to thank you for helping Helen, Amy-Rose. Not just with her hair.” Mrs.Davenport guided them to a stop at the edge of the dance floor. “I think Mr.Davenport and I see how hard she tried to be ready for this night, which would not have been possible without her friendship with you.”

“Oh.” Amy-Rose was caught off guard. “Well, Helen is dear to me, Mrs.Davenport. Like a sister. She and Olivia both. I couldn’t imagine it any other way.”

Her friend’s mother placed a gentle hand on Amy-Rose’s. “Clara was a wonderful woman, and we are grateful to have known her—and you.” Mrs.Davenport looked over at the group of young gentlemen, laughing and carrying on, John included. “We had always pictured him with a daughter of a close friend. We were wrong about which one.” With one final squeeze around Amy-Rose’s waist, Mrs.Davenport swished away. In her wake, she left Amy-Rose with a hope she had dared not nurture. When she glanced back at Mrs.and Mr.Davenport, they seemed to be caught up in an intimate exchange of their own.

Amy-Rose again found John across the room. He looked up, and his eyes seared right through her. She recalled an afternoon tangled together in the washing under the clothesline, nights whispering their dreams under a sky full of stars, and very carefully, she held the possibility of a future morning, spent waking beside each other.

Why wasn’t she dancing with him indeed.

Amy-Rose drew a breath and pulled back her shoulders. Chin level with the floor, she walked with purpose, tamping down the insecurities that rose in her as she closed the distance between them. Stopping before John, she greeted his friends, her voice steady. She turned to one in particular. “Good evening, Mr.Greenfield.” She looked him in the eye, once a maid, now a businesswoman. She recalled his derision, not so long ago, and remembered to stand taller.

“Miss Shepherd,” Greenie said, having the decency to look deeply uncomfortable. “Lovely to see you. You’re looking…very well.” The last came out in a bit of wheeze.

“Thank you, Greenie.” Turning to John she said, “Mr.Davenport, would you care to dance?”

Recognition shifted across John’s features. She knew then that he remembered the painful night months ago, the courage of the leap she took now, and the trust she placed in him to catch her. John took a step back, his friends restless behind him. He bowed slightly, and extended his hand to her. When he looked into her eyes, the change in him was small, a mixture of tenderness and relief, but for Amy-Rose, it was everything. She reached out to meet him. And he broke eye contact to take her satin-gloved hand.

“Miss Shepherd,” he said, “it would be my honor.” He kissed the back of her hand, sparking a wave of heat from her knuckles to her shoulder. She had dreamed of this moment so many times over so many days, and had pushed it down, pushed it away, just as many. John waited now, allowing her to decide. Amy-Rose had run from him before. She would not do so again. A step forward was all it took. They walked together, hands clasped between them.

“I’m glad you asked me to dance,” he said.

“Why didn’t you ask me ?”

He looked at their joined hands, which he now placed on his chest, over his heart. “So you could enjoy your night. So you could choose if and when you wanted me. So you could be sure you trusted me, after everything.”

She thought of the few gentlemen who’d asked her to dance tonight, the novelty of courtship she had only witnessed from the fringes before, where her only expectation was to remain invisible and to refill the champagne flutes. The ladies’ couch proved to be the epicenter of gossip where the matrons congregated, and the refreshments table, guest-side, was a place of flirtation and dance card negotiations. She wanted only one person on her dance card. And no more negotiations. “Thank you for that,” she said simply. She looked up at him. “And I do.”

John’s face broke into a dimpled smile. “Amy-Rose.” His voice cracked.

“John,” she said.

And that was all, for now, that they needed to say.