Valiant Bride by Jane Peart

Author:Jane Peart
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Zondervan

chapter

13

SEATED AT HER DRESSING TABLE Noramary, brush in hand, considered the possibility of letting Delva powder her hair for the evening’s festivities.

The candles in the sconces on either side of the mirror cast flattering light, reflecting her serious expression as she weighed her decision. Delva, anxiously awaiting her mistress’s directions, stood behind with the horn-shaped paper face mask and powder bowl, ready to dust Noramary’s rich dark hair if she was directed.

“No,” said Noramary finally, “it’s much too much bother.” Besides, she thought, Duncan never powders his hair, even for formal occasions. And tonight, standing by his side to receive their guests, she wanted to complement him.

“Now, Delva, if you’ll put that messy stuff away, you can help me with my gown.”

Noramary stood while the girl carefully dropped the damask underskirt over her head and tied it in the back. With the width of the three starched muslin petticoats Noramary was wearing, her tiny waist looked even smaller. Then the puffed taffeta paniers were attached, adding more fashionable breadth. Next came the shirred satin bodice with the tiny buttons to be fastened down the back. Stiff lace ruffled the square neckline and elbow-length sleeves.

“Oh, ma’am, yo’ does look mos’ beautiful! Jes’ wait “til Marster Duncan sees yo’.” Delva stepped back, smiling, head cocked to one side in admiration.

Noramary surveyed herself critically, thinking with some satisfaction that, although this modish creation was also one of those hand-me-downs made for Winnie’s trousseau, then altered for Noramary’s taller, more slender figure, it was extremely becoming. It was blue, the color of a peacock’s feather, chosen to enhance Winnie’s blonde prettiness. Nonetheless, the gown proved spectacularly becoming to Noramary’s blue eyes and rose-tinted complexion.

She hoped that Duncan would be pleased with her appearance. She had seen him ride in from his field inspection earlier. From her window she had watched as he swung himself out of the saddle, moving with careless grace, then took the steps into the house, two at a time. A little later she had heard his voice mingled with that of his manservant’s from the dressing room and knew he, too, was getting ready for the evening.

Noramary felt an excited little tingle at the prospect of her role as hostess for the evening. Many times she had helped Aunt Betsy entertain guests, but never before had she enjoyed the privilege of overseeing an elegant party in her own magnificent home.

Even as she was thinking these thoughts, a knock from Duncan’s dressing-room door startled her and she turned just as he entered the bedroom, handsome in a saffron satin coat, fluted neckpiece and cuffs, creamy breeches.

“Good evening, Noramary,” he said, his sweeping glance taking note of every detail. “How truly lovely you look.”

The spontaneous compliment seemed to surprise him as much as it pleased Noramary, for he reddened slightly under his tan. Then, he took a few steps toward her, extending a rectangular velvet jewel case.

“I’d be pleased if you’d wear these tonight. They belonged to my mother.” He pressed the

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