Jacqueline Navin - The Sleeping Beauty

For the first time since she’d pushed herself away from the strictures of beauty and grace that had been drilled into her as a child, she wanted something of her old self back. The thought of going to the conservatory and…and seeing him again was too daunting without it. Her mother had taught her how to use her looks to command attention, admiration. Power. She needed something of that skill now.

She took up her brush and began to pull it through her hair. Years of neglect weren’t going to be cured in one sitting, but the slight sheen that came into the tresses gave her confidence. Pinning it up as best she could, she surveyed the effect. Not bad, she decided. Biting her lips and pinching her cheeks, she went to the wardrobe to inspect its contents.

The dresses were all heavy with dust, dull and limp with age, and in some places, moth-eaten. Even had they been in excellent condition, they were outdated. A yellow muslin wasn’t too bad, she thought, pulling it out and brushing it off. The lace was still good and the stomacher in front boasted beautiful gold embroidery on ivory satin.

She flung it out before her, raising a cloud of dust. Then again and again. Each time it was as if she was shedding more than dirt. She was shedding the years. Her heart quickened. Destiny or not, she was going to give Mr. Adam Mannion a thing or two to reckon with. Namely, that she wasn’t a treasure-laden galleon ripe for a pirate’s plucking.

Her spirits lifted as she rushed about the rest of her toilette.

The conservatory was magnificent. Adam looked around him, bouncing on his heels.

He wondered what his father would have thought to see him here, poised to marry an heiress. Not yet, he cautioned, checking the dangerous direction of his thoughts. The belle had yet to be won.

Lord Rathford, who had been nursing a drink while slumped in an old wicker settee, stood up when the sharp click of heeled slippers tapped upon the floor tiles. Adam looked over, mastering the sublime excitement that had stolen over him, and donned a sober mask.

The sight of Helena caused his jaw to drop. It gaped open for a moment before he recalled that it should be shut. He did so with such haste his teeth clicked together.

She was…incredibly different. Her hair was brushed and fixed into a neat twist. The simple style flattered her, revealing a face that was well-proportioned and delicate boned, with a pale complexion that needed no powder to enhance it. Her eyes were as vivid as a southern sea, her brow fair and arched, her mouth nicely pinked and prettily formed into a broad curve in the shape of a longbow laid on its side.

Her thinness, however, was disconcerting. In the soft fabric of the dress she now wore, he could see that the bones of her shoulders were acutely pronounced. The stomacher, meant to flatten a woman’s chest and push her breasts upward, nearly sagged. The garment hung on her, even at the pinched waist, which was already shockingly narrow. Yet even in this faded finery, she made a palpable impact on the room as she entered, head held high, eyes straight ahead.

“Father,” she said, pointedly ignoring Adam.

He grinned. She might have transformed her outward self, but she was still determined to bedevil him.

Rathford held out his arms to her. Adam’s complacency vanished when he saw the older man’s hands shaking visibly. Adam turned his head away.

Why all the melodrama? he thought testily. Christ, he wasn’t a beast. And if they thought he was, why not throw him out and have done with it?

She breezed past him, into her father’s embrace. Embarrassed at the intimate way they had their heads together, murmuring to one another, he looked out the dirty, multi-paned windows.

“No!” he heard her say.

Rathford said something back. She protested; he overrode her.

Adam checked his nails. They could use a trim, he supposed. He sighed, waiting. Raising his eyes to the ceiling, he began to count the cobwebs.

A sharp cry and the rustle of skirts told him she had retreated from her father. Adam spied her sulking by some potted plant carcasses in the corner. She glared at him.

Turning to Rathford, Adam found the man red-faced. Biting his lips to hold back whatever emotions churned behind that ruddy facade, he gave Adam a curt nod and made for the door.

Adam supposed Rathford had told her the happy news. The rest was up to him.

Gritting his teeth, he approached Helena carefully, much as he would a skittish horse. Although he was certain she would not be delighted by the analogy, the situations were similar in that they both called for a gentle voice, a firm hand.

He was unprepared for the blaze of her eyes when she whirled on him. “My father says I am to wed you.”

He halted in his tracks. It wasn’t so much her anger—that he might have anticipated—but the stark blaze of fear he saw that stopped him. Holding up his hands in a gesture of peace, he said carefully, “I am certain the idea will be more agreeable to you when we know each other better.”

“Why? Do you improve upon acquaintance?”

He bit back his temper. “I simply believe we got off to a bad start.”

“When precisely was that? When you chased me into the shadows or when you pushed the door in and nearly knocked me down?”

He answered, “I believe it was when you called me a jackanapes.”

Doing her best to flounce, she turned away from him with a sound of disgust. He reined in his mounting anger, reminding himself that he was supposed to be smoothing out their differences, not inflaming them.

He could coddle her pride. For five thousand and another six annually, he could do that. “I admit I thought you a servant,” he said in a conciliatory tone. “It was unforgivable of me, but I can only plead the excuse of ignorance and poor lighting.”

Her head came back around, slowly. Thoughtfully.

Encouraged, he continued. “You are no fool, that one can easily see.” He took a step closer, glad she didn’t skitter away from him. At this distance, he could see her prominent collarbone and the soft pulse that beat at the base of her throat. His gaze dipped lower to where the tiny breasts heaved under the too-large bodice. The slightest tremor stirred inside him. He swallowed, tearing his eyes away from the strangely exciting sight. “You don’t trust me. I think this is fair. However, though I may be a cad, I am an honest one. If you don’t believe me, consider that your father loves you too much to deceive you. He will no doubt share with you every facet of our conversation and the resultant bargain. Therefore, I have no choice but to be truthful.”

She bit her lip with uncertainty, and he felt his stomach clench as the even, white teeth sank into tender flesh.

She said, “If all you want is money, I will pay you to go away.”

“If money was the only consideration, I could pluck an heiress without going farther than the drawing rooms of Belgravia and Mayfair.”

“Then why did you come?”

He hesitated. “There was talk. There was…a legend of sorts. Of a woman who lived in these parts, who was possessed of beauty and charm—”

The blue of her eyes grew icy when she cut him off. “If you wish to flatter me, you must think me indeed a fool.”

“Of beauty and charm,” he insisted, coming even closer, so that it seemed he towered over her. She was so petite, so fragile, like an exquisite doll made of porcelain. “That is the truth.”

“And rich.”

He didn’t flinch. Almost, but he fought it. “And rich. Yes.” There was an awkward silence.

She was the one who broke it. “I trust my father is compensating you well.”

He didn’t like that, not at all. Less so for it being the truth. “I have already admitted as much. You cannot wound me by taunting me with it.”