Chapter 10

10

"T ricia?"

Tricia gasped and quickly hid the magazine under her pillow.

"Yes, Kat?"

"Your light woke me up," her younger sister complained.

"I'm dreadfully sorry, Kat. It's late."

Kat let out a wide yawn. "Shouldn't you still be at the ball?"

She shook her head. "I'm frightfully tired, so Mummy said I could retire for the evening. The lawn party is early tomorrow, of course, which I will be expected to attend."

"Do you think I could?" Kat asked.

"I don't see why not. You're a young lady of the ton, Katrina."

"That's Lady Katrina," Kat reminded her.

Tricia giggled. "You're absolutely right."

How easy it was to forget that a mere few years ago, she was Miss Price and Kat was Miss Katrina. They were lowborn, first living as tenants on the Lybrook land, and then, after Cameron started work at the Regal Theatre in Bath, they lived in the city in a rented townhome.

Cameron now owned that townhome—a gift from their grandfather, the Marquess of Denbigh.

Cameron also owned a small estate—the Thornton estate—which was part of the larger Denbigh estate where the marquess and dowager marchioness lived.

Tricia and Kat would want for nothing for the rest of their lives. They both had sizable dowries, and they would always receive an allowance from the Denbigh estate.

Sometimes it seemed like a dream come true.

Other times—like tonight—it seemed like an arrow had shattered her heart.

When Cameron fell in love with Rose, Tricia met Thomas.

And from that moment, her life had never been the same.

She was a suitable match for Thomas now, being a lady of the peerage. He wouldn't have looked her way four years ago. Of course, she was way too young four years ago anyway, but once she'd spied Thomas Jameson, her heart was no longer her own.

After tonight, she knew he shared her attraction. She would have given up her maidenhead to him if he hadn't stopped her.

Perhaps it was her own fault, for when she said she didn't want to marry a man who didn't love her?—

"Tricia?" Kat interrupted her thoughts.

"Yes?"

"Are you sad about something?"

Tricia cleared her throat quickly. "Of course not, Kitty Kat. Why should you ask such a thing?"

Kat squinted. "Because in the dimness of your light, I can see your eyes watering a bit. As if you're about to cry."

Tricia sniffed back what Kat correctly saw as the beginning of tears. "Why on earth should I be sad, Kitty Kat? I just attended my first ball as a lady of the peerage. I am ecstatic, of course."

"If you were so ecstatic, why are you in bed now while the ball is probably still going on?"

"And how would you know that?"

"Because the clock only just now struck one. Didn't you hear it?"

No, Tricia hadn't heard it. She had been too lost in her own thoughts.

"You should go back down to the ball, Tricia," Kat said. "I know there couldn't be any women there more beautiful than you."

Tricia laughed lightly. "You're too kind, Kitty Kat. I'm just glad that you are so much younger than I, because I know I wouldn't be able to hold a candle to you. When you come out, all the eligible bachelors in England will be vying for your hand."

Kat gave her a dazzling smile. "Do you truly think so?"

"I know so. Now go back to sleep. I can't go back to the ball. My dress is rumpled."

"You can smooth it out. Why didn't you have Trudy help you undress?"

Indeed, why hadn't she? "I suppose I didn't want to bother her."

Being lowborn, Tricia was still uncomfortable around servants. But when it came to her ornate gown and corset, she did require help.

"Then you must go back down to the ball."

"Don't be silly, Kitty Kat. It's after midnight, and my carriage has turned into a pumpkin."

"But did you meet your handsome prince?" Kat asked.

"I met several handsome men," Tricia said.

"And perhaps one of them will be your prince?"

"I don't know, Kitty Kat," Tricia said, though she certainly hoped one of them would. "You go back to sleep now."

At those words, a giant yawn split Kat's mouth. "I suppose I am fatigued."

"Of course you are, love. Now get some sleep. I'm frightfully sorry that my light bothered you."

"Will you tell me absolutely everything in the morning?" Kat asked.

"I guarantee you that I will."

Though truthfully she couldn't tell Kat everything that had happened.

She walked over to Kat's bed, pressed a kiss on her forehead, and tucked her in.

Should she go back down to the ball?

She already told mother she was tired.

But she wasn't tired. She could read more of The Ruby , but the light would bother Kat.

When she heard Kat's breathing turn shallow, she knew she was fast asleep. Tricia blew out her lamp and left the room, locking it behind her.

She had no intention of going back to the ball, but she was rather peckish. She could sneak down to the kitchens and get a plate of goodies. She walked briskly down the stairwell. Her cheeks warmed as she brushed by a lady and a gentleman in a clandestine embrace. Why would they be on the third-floor stairwell? Wouldn't they be more comfortable on a balcony in the fresh air? Or perhaps the library? The art gallery?

She paid them no mind and swiftly walked down the two flights of stairs to the first floor, where she bypassed the ballroom and headed toward the kitchens.

A young maid scurried toward her. "Yes, my lady?"

"Good evening," Tricia said. "I don't wish to return to the ball, but I find I'm a bit hungry. I thought I might get a small plate."

"Yes, of course, my lady." The maid hurried toward one of the chefs, whispering to him. A moment later she returned to Tricia with a plate that contained a lemon cake, some fresh strawberries and raspberries, and some lovely clotted cream.

"Thank you truly," Tricia said.

The maid curtsied. "Oh, it's my pleasure, my lady. Would you like me to set up a place in the dining room for you?"

"Oh, please, don't go to any bother. I'll eat over there." She glanced toward a small table on the edge of the kitchen surrounded by seven or eight chairs.

"My lady, that would hardly be proper."

"I don't believe I asked whether it would be proper," Tricia said. "Thank you so much." She headed toward the small table.

What did it matter whether she ate in the kitchen or the dining area?

The answer to that was that it didn't.

Perhaps part of her would never get completely used to having servants. The Ashfords and her grandparents, the Denbighs, treated their servants very well, with much politeness. However, in the last four years, she had borne witness to those of the peerage who did not treat their servants thus.

Tricia felt sorry for those servants, as she had been treated that way herself. Though she was never a servant, she was considered lowborn, and she had often been treated less fairly than the ladies of the peerage whenever she found herself going into town.

She was looked down upon, whispered about.

She grew to loathe being around the highborn.

But then there were the times where she felt perfectly at ease. During the pagan festivals, for example. At the age of fifteen, she was chosen as the May Queen.

Most people of the peerage did not attend such follies, though some did. The Duke of Lybrook and some of his contemporaries were often seen at the festivals. The duke was quite talented with a bow and arrow and loved to compete in the archery contest. Tricia couldn't help smiling at the memory of the year Cameron had bested him.

But the Ashfords never attended. The late Earl of Ashford had been a devout Christian who frowned upon such pagan frivolities.

What of the newer Lord Ashford? Did he share his father's piety?

So much she did not know about the man she held in such high esteem.

Much she needed to find out.

She did know one thing, however. He was attracted to her, and with very little coaxing, she could lure him into taking her to bed. Then he would marry her. He had all but promised.

She could have her heart's desire.

Yet she wished for his love as well as his hand.

"I'm simply being a ridiculous lovesick girl," she said out loud.

"Did you need something, my lady?" a servant asked her.

"No, no. Please pardon me." Her cheeks warmed as she took a bite of a fresh strawberry.

The fruit was plump and sweet.

But not nearly as sweet as the kiss she had shared with Thomas earlier.

She took another bite of the ripe berry, and to her dismay, some juice dripped onto her gown. Thank goodness the gown was dark blue to match her eyes. Had it been a lighter color, the juice would have stained. She quickly wiped away what she could with her napkin.

"Do you require assistance, my lady?" the same servant asked her.

"Goodness, no. I'm simply always finding myself in peril, aren't I? If I'm not tripping over my own big feet, I'm getting strawberry juice on my bodice."

The servant grabbed a cloth. "Oh dear, will it leave a stain?"

"No, of course not. The juice is only the lightest pink, and as you can well see, my gown is of a dark color."

"It would be such a shame to ruin such a beautiful gown," the servant observed.

"Thank you," Tricia said. "I do adore the gown. The modiste said it worked quite well with my figure and with the blue of my eyes."

The young servant girl looked down at her feet, her cheeks beginning to redden.

"You may look at me," Tricia said. "I imagine we're both about the same age, aren't we?"

"I wouldn't know, my lady."

"How many years have you?" Tricia asked.

"Nearly twenty, my lady."

"Then we are the same age. I am nineteen myself. What is your name?"

"Helene, my lady."

"A lovely name, at that. My name is Patricia, but my friends call me Tricia."

"That is also a lovely name, my lady."

"Please, I may have the blood of the peerage," Tricia said, "but I was never highborn. I only found out about my ancestry a mere four years ago. I'm not terribly comfortable being called ‘my lady.' Would you like to sit down and join me?"

Helene raised her eyebrows. "I'm afraid that would not be proper."

Tricia gestured toward the chair across from her. "But I'm inviting you."

"It doesn't matter."

"Helene," an older woman snapped. "Don't be derelict in your duties."

"Yes, ma'am." Helene curtsied and scurried back to the counters, where she began wiping.

Such a shame. Helene was a pretty girl with brown hair and dark eyes. What a belle of the ball she would be if she were allowed to partake.

Tricia finished her plate, wiped her lips daintily, and then rose.

"Do you require anything else, my lady?" the older servant who admonished Helene asked.

"No, ma'am. Thank you." Tricia resisted the urge to curtsy herself.

"Very well, my lady." The older servant turned away without a smile.

Tricia left the kitchen. Where should she go next? She would not return to the ball, but her garments were so stifling. She required some fresh air.

She stole through the corridors to the front entrance of the estate, where servants guarded the doorway.

"Do you require assistance, my lady?" one of them asked.

"I would like to go outside, if you please."

"I'm afraid I cannot allow that without an escort," the servant said.

"I'm the sister of the Earl of Thornton," she said. "I want only a bit of fresh air. I shan't go far."

"Then I must check with the earl first."

"For goodness' sake," Tricia scurried away from the entrance.

If this was what the peerage was like, she'd had quite enough. Having to ask permission to do this or that, needing a chaperone for this or that. Goodness, when she was but fifteen, before she knew her ancestry, she came and went from her rented land by herself, running errands for her mother.

But now, all of a sudden, she was a prisoner?

She hadn't thought much about it before she came of age. She had been too excited about the riches she had found herself immersed in.

But now she'd had quite enough, thank you very much.

If she wanted fresh air, she had to get Cameron's permission. So against her better judgment, she returned to the ballroom.