Pursuing Lord Pascal Read Free Page A

beauty at all,”
she muttered under her breath, hoping Sally wouldn’t hear. Over the
last bustling week of modistes and milliners and maids poking and
prodding at her, she’d learned that Sally had no tolerance for
self-doubt. Given self-doubt was Amy’s default position, she was
surprised that their friendship survived. Even prospered.
    “Of course you do,” Morwenna said, proving
she’d been eavesdropping. Last November’s woebegone widow was
impossible to recognize in the slender woman in spangled yellow
sarsenet, who faced this glittering crowd with unexpected
assurance. “You mightn’t see it, but everyone else does, even when
you’re wearing faded chintz and farm boots, and you have mud on
your face. You just need to believe you’re beautiful.”
    “Thank you,” Amy said, still unconvinced.
Morwenna didn’t understand what it was like to grow up as the only
plain member of a good-looking family. Silas and Robert were both
handsome men, and Helena, while unconventional in looks, was
nonetheless striking. Whereas Amy had always felt like a cabbage
set in the middle of a bouquet of roses. “I’ll say one good thing
for cattle and sheep—they don’t care what you look like.”
    “You can’t spend your life in a barn, Amy,”
Morwenna said. This week, she’d been as bossy as Sally. Amy didn’t
mind. It was wonderful to see her venturing back into life again,
even if it meant sisterly nagging.
    “Yes, I can.”
    “Nonsense,” Fenella said, proving she’d been
listening while her fine blue eyes scanned the ballroom. “You’re a
lovely girl, Amy, and it’s about time you crept out from under your
rock and showed the world your mettle.”
    Amy went back to plucking at her bodice,
until a scowl from Sally made her drop her hand. “But
people—men—keep staring. I feel like a fright.”
    “They’re staring because you’re a new
face—and you look good enough to eat in that dress,” Anthony
Townsend, Lord Kenwick, said, proving he, too, lent an ear to Amy’s
cowardly havering. “In fact, may I have this dance, Amy? Otherwise,
I doubt I’ll have another chance all night.”
    “Really?”
    “Trust us,” Sally said with a sigh. “As if
we’d let you make a fool of yourself.”
    “No, I can do that all by myself.”
    “Amy,” Morwenna said sternly. “Hold your head
up and dance with Anthony. And when gentlemen line up to dance with
you, act as if you expected nothing else.”
    “Since when have you been such an expert on
the ton?”
    Morwenna had met Robert in Cornwall, and
they’d married after a whirlwind courtship. He’d left for the South
Atlantic before he had a chance to introduce his wife to London
society. “I’ll have you know that I was the belle of the Truro
assemblies. This is just a larger, better dressed version. I can
already see you’re going to make a sensation. Enjoy it.”
    “I wish I was back talking about drainage
with my steward,” she mumbled.
    As Sally rolled her eyes, Anthony took her
hand. “Courage, lass.”
    She lifted her gaze to his and managed a
smile. He towered over her. He towered over most people, and he’d
never lost the bluff manners of his humble Yorkshire upbringing.
But while he might look like a mountain, she’d long ago learned
that he had a kind heart and a mind sharp enough to see past her
grumbles to the sheer terror possessing her soul.
    “Please promise you’ll dance with me again if
nobody else does.”
    The twitch of his mouth bolstered her failing
courage. “I promise. And so will Brandon. Won’t you, my lad?”
    Brandon, fair and beautiful like his mother,
subjected Amy to a glance of unmistakable admiration. “Rather! Amy,
you’re looking tiptop. All the fellows will be knocked for
six.”
    It was Fenella’s turn to roll her eyes.
“Brandon, I despair of your expensive Cambridge education. You used
to speak the King’s English.”
    Anthony sent his wife a fond glance. “It’s
nowt to worry about. He’s just bang