Dawn In My Heart. Ruth Morren Axtell
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the black horse went for a hundred pounds, Sky shook his head and looked at the young buyer in disgust. “He wants a showy mount and doesn’t bother to look further than its appearance.”
After the auction, Sky returned Gillian to her house. Before helping her down from the carriage, he removed the small jeweler’s box from his pocket. “I got you this the other day. I was going to give it to you at the Prince’s fete, but now seems the best time.”
Her eyes widened in delight as she reached for the box he held out to her. “What is it?”
He smiled at her childish enthusiasm. “Why don’t you open it and see? If you don’t like it, you can pick out something yourself.”
She bowed her head over the velvet box and, with a flick, undid the tiny clasp. Inside lay the diamond-and-ruby ring. The ruby shone brightly against the white satin cloth.
He heard her sharp intake of breath. “It’s beautiful!”
“May I?” Before she could move away, he took the box from her hands and removed the ring. He held it out to her. “Would you like me to try it on you?”
“Oh yes!” She removed her glove and held out her hand.
He took the pale, slim hand in his darker one and slipped the ring onto her finger. The gesture made him think of the marriage ceremony and the finality of that moment when he’d slip the wedding band on her finger. It would signal the beginning of their life together.
The ring fit perfectly and looked nice on her. Maybe it was a good omen.
“Thank you…it’s lovely.”
“Not more so than its owner.”
The smile on her face grew, lighting her pale green eyes and parting her rosy lips.
He strained to lean forward and kiss them, but he held himself back.
Next time, Jilly-girl, he promised, liking the sound of the nickname that popped into his head. He would taste of them the next time they met.
Gillian glanced across the carriage to her mother. They had spent most of the day on their coiffures and dresses, and by eight in the evening, they sat in a queue of carriages that inched along the cobbled street. They had finally left Bond Street and now stood at the top of St. James’s Street.
She chanced a look out the open carriage window to see how many coaches were lined down the street behind them. The interior was hot and stuffy so they had been forced to keep the windows down, to the displeasure of her mother.
She could see why. As soon as she did so, the crowds packed along the sides of the streets began ogling her.
“Hey, ducky, you’re a comely thing.”
“Come, lean out farther, so we can see that pretty frock.”
“Look at those pearls.”
“Are the flowers in your hair real?”
“Gillian, put your head in immediately!” her mother said.
“Who’s in there with you, love?” a female bystander demanded. “Is it Lady Bessborough?”
“I think it’s Lady Hertford,” her companion decided. “The prince’s favorite.”
“No,” decided a poorly dressed man who had the effrontery to press his head into the coach window. “This lady’s not fat enough!”
Gillian had pulled her head back in as the soon as the man approached. Now, she imitated her mother who sat in icy silence until the man removed his head from the window.
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