Chapter 9 — The Emerald Dress

I said yes before fear could make the decision for me.

Then I spent three days trying to find a reason to take it back.

By Friday afternoon, the reason was hanging from a padded hanger in my room.

Emerald silk.

A wrap dress, made to my measurements, with sleeves that ended just below the elbow and a neckline that curved softly over my chest.

It was beautiful.

That made it worse.

Beautiful things seemed to demand something from the person wearing them. Confidence, perhaps. The ability to enter a room without checking who might laugh.

I had neither.

The dressmaker had been kind. She asked what I liked, listened when I said I wanted to move comfortably, and refused to let anyone speak over me.

There had been no lecture about disguising my body.

Still, standing in front of the mirror, I found every reason someone else might object.

My hips.

My stomach.

The softness of my upper arms.

The neckline showed more of me than any uniform ever had, though it wasn’t indecent. The silk followed my shape instead of concealing it.

I pulled the tie loose.

Then fastened it again.

On the dresser lay the earrings Mrs. Bell had brought up, simple gold drops from the estate’s jeweler.

I hadn’t agreed to accept them yet.

Borrowed, I had told myself.

Everything could remain manageable if it was borrowed.

A knock sounded.

“Come in.”

Ruth entered, carrying a small packet of dressings.

“How’s the hand?”

“Healing.”

“May I see?”

I held it out.

She removed the old dressing, examined the thin pink lines across my palm, and applied a smaller one.

“You’ll hardly notice these soon.”

“Good.”

She glanced at the mirror.

“That color suits you.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you like the dress?”

I looked at my reflection.

“I think so.”

“That wasn’t what I asked.”

I smiled weakly.

“I like it very much.”

“Then let that be enough for a few minutes.”

After she left, I sat on the bed and put on my shoes.

I chose low heels. I could walk in them without worrying about my knee.

Another thing to explain if someone noticed.

I closed my eyes.

I was exhausted, and the evening hadn’t started.

At six-thirty, I stepped into the sitting room.

Gabriel stood by the fireplace with one hand resting on his cane.

He had improved steadily over the past week. He still moved carefully, but the color had returned to his face, and the unfamiliar weakness in his voice was almost gone.

He wore black trousers and a dark shirt open at the collar.

I stopped when he turned.

His gaze moved over me slowly.

My hands went to the silk at my waist.

“Is it too much?”

“No.”

“You didn’t answer very quickly.”

“I was looking.”

I glanced down.

“Perhaps I should wear the cardigan.”

“Are you cold?”

“No.”

“Then don’t.”

He came toward me.

I took a step back without meaning to.

He stopped.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Matilda.”

I hated how gently he said it.

If he had sounded impatient, I could have apologized and gone to my room. Kindness left me nowhere to hide.

“I don’t know how to do this.”

“Have dinner?”

“Have dinner as someone people are expected to notice.”

He leaned his cane against the arm of a chair.

“We can eat up here.”

I shook my head immediately.

“I don’t want you to change everything because I’m frightened.”

“Then tell me what frightens you.”

I looked toward the mirror above the mantel.

We stood close enough to appear in it together.

He looked like a man who had never questioned whether a room belonged to him.

I looked like a woman waiting to be told she had entered the wrong one.

“They’ll stare.”

“Probably.”

I turned toward him.

“That isn’t comforting.”

“I’m not going to tell you something untrue.”

My throat tightened.

“They’ll wonder why.”

“Then they’ll have something to discuss on the drive home.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

I moved past him to the mirror.

The dress shifted around my legs. It was comfortable. Elegant, even.

I wished I could enjoy that.

“Look at us.”

He came to stand behind me, leaving a little space.

“I am.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes,” he said. “I think I do.”

His eyes met mine in the glass.

I forced the words out.

“I’m still the woman who cleaned your bathroom. I’m still large enough for people to make jokes before they know my name.”

“I know your name.”

“You know it now.”

His expression sharpened.

“We already had this conversation.”

“I know. I’m trying.”

He let out a slow breath.

Then he asked, “May I touch you?”

I nodded.

His hands settled at my waist.

Not hovering.

Not cautiously pinching the fabric, as though he hoped to avoid finding my body underneath.

His palms rested against me, warm and certain.

I could feel him behind me, the careful pressure of his chest against my back.

“I noticed you before that night,” he said. “I told you that because it was true.”

“Not like this.”

“No. Not like this.”

The honesty made me look up.

“What changed?”

“You.”

I started to lower my eyes.

His fingers tightened slightly.

“Not your face. Not your body. I learned what you were willing to do when nobody would have blamed you for walking away.”

I swallowed.

“That could still be gratitude.”

“It includes gratitude.”

There was no practiced speech in his voice. He sounded almost frustrated with the limits of words.

“But I don’t spend my afternoons waiting for everyone else to leave because I want to thank you again.”

My breath caught.

He continued, quieter.

“I want to hear what you think. I want you to argue with me about the household accounts. I want you laughing in the next room.”

His gaze moved to my mouth in the mirror.

“And I’ve wanted to kiss you for days.”

I turned in his arms.

The movement brought us close enough that I could see the tiny scar at the edge of his chin.

“Why didn’t you?”

“You asked for time.”

I stared at him.

“You listened.”

“Yes.”

For a moment, I couldn’t make my thoughts line up.

The dangerous man in front of me had heard a boundary and kept it without trying to convince me that I hadn’t meant it.

That unsettled me more than a hundred expensive gifts could have.

My eyes filled.

“There’s something I haven’t said.”

“Say it.”

“When you’re fully recovered, I’m afraid you’ll look at me and remember a terrible night. You’ll wish everyone would stop connecting us to it.”

His hands became still.

“And I’ll be the last person to understand.”

Gabriel watched my face.

“If that were what I wanted, I wouldn’t be asking you to sit beside me tonight.”

“You could change your mind.”

“So could you.”

I hadn’t expected that.

He brushed a tear from my cheek.

“I can’t promise you’ll never be frightened. I can promise I won’t make you guess whether I want you.”

My breath trembled.

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

The answer was immediate.

No qualification.

No reference to what I had done for him.

His thumb moved lightly along my cheek.

“You’re beautiful, Matilda.”

I almost shook my head.

He saw it.

“You don’t have to believe me tonight. But I’m not going to say it less often because other people were cruel.”

I rested my hand against his chest, above the place where the bandages remained hidden.

“Does this hurt?”

“No.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

His mouth curved.

“You’ve become remarkably strict about that.”

I laughed through the last of my tears.

He bent toward me slowly enough that I could have turned away.

I didn’t.

The first touch of his mouth was gentle.

That surprised me.

I had expected Gabriel to kiss the way he gave orders—with certainty, leaving no room for anything except obedience.

Instead, he waited.

I leaned into him.

His hand moved to the back of my neck, and the kiss deepened.

I forgot the mirror.

I forgot to draw in my stomach or decide whether my arms looked too large around his shoulders.

I held him carefully, mindful of his injuries, and felt the low sound he made against my mouth.

When he lifted his head, we stayed close.

My fingers rested at his collar.

“That didn’t feel like gratitude,” I whispered.

His forehead touched mine.

“No.”

A knock sounded from the hallway.

We both looked toward the door.

“Dinner in fifteen minutes,” Mrs. Bell called.

“Thank you,” Gabriel answered.

I stepped back, breathless.

My lipstick had faded. One curl had come loose near my cheek.

In the mirror, I looked happy.

It was so unfamiliar that I stood staring.

Gabriel picked up his cane.

“We can still stay here.”

I shook my head.

Then I went to my room, put on the gold earrings, and returned.

He offered his free arm.

I took it.

At the top of the staircase, voices drifted up from below.

For once, I didn’t try to make myself smaller before they could see me.

“Ready?” Gabriel asked.

My heart was beating too quickly.

But I looked down the stairs.

“Yes.”

We descended together.