Corey McFadden (18 page)

Eleanor gave a great toss to her head, and the girl winced. But the wig stayed tight.

“It will do. Now fetch me my slippers and go upstairs to the little governess and get her presentable. Make her look like a woman and not like a church mouse. Here,” Eleanor said, handing Lily one of her pots, “take her some rouge and see that she applies it liberally.”

Lily bobbed a curtsey and took the pot, quite sure that the lovely Miss Carpenter would have none of it. She left the room quickly, glad to have been dismissed from the lioness’s den without a mauling this evening. Not that the evening was over. Lily would have to sit up all night, waiting for Lady Eleanor to run in and have her makeup or costume refreshed from time to time. Occasionally the woman would need the basin quickly, to vomit the brandy she swilled down too liberally. Then Lily would be left to clean up the mess. No, the evening was far from over.

* * * *

Upstairs, Joanna stared aghast at the sight that met her eyes. The costume was a nightmare of immodesty, with a décolletage past any hope of decency. It was ostensibly a shepherdess’s dress, although Joanna was quite certain no shepherdess in all the history of England had ever possessed such attire. The gown was made of yards and yards of sprigged muslin, accented fetchingly with bits of delicate white lace peeping from hem and sleeves. If only there were some lace at the bosom! A great deal of it! There was a crook for her to carry, a white domino mask with lace all around it, an elaborate, musty-smelling powdered wig, and a rather lovely wide-brimmed laced and flowered bonnet. But the neckline was out of the question.

Joanna was giving it one last hopeless tug, to no avail, when she heard a light tap on the door. “Come in!” she called, desperation in her voice, shielding her chest ineffectively with her hands.

“Oh, Lily, thank heavens you’ve come!” Joanna wailed. “You’ve got to get me out of this dress. I can’t possibly wear it outside of this room!”

“But why on earth not, Miss Carpenter? It’s a beautiful dress!” said Lily, walking toward her, smiling. Indeed, the pretty young governess was lovely, with her clear, unpainted skin and her freshly washed scent. Even her hair was shining clean, Lily noted appreciatively. Such a contrast to her ladyship below who just continued to apply goose grease to her hair day after day, then powdered it or covered it with a wig.

“Just look at this bosom, Lily!” wailed Joanna. “I shall be embarrassed to death if I let anyone see me like this.” Joanna kept tugging, but there was nothing much to tug.

Lily gave a hoot of laughter. “You won’t be showing anything that most of the other women at the party aren’t showing, Miss Carpenter. And a sight prettier your bosom is, too, compared to most of those over-painted old harridans.”

“Oh, hush, Lily. Someone might hear you,” Joanna said, giggling nonetheless.

“You’re right, though,” said Lily, holding Joanna at arm’s length and perusing her thoughtfully. “It really doesn’t look like you. I know!” she said, her eyes lighting up. “Don’t you have a pretty lacy handkerchief? I’ve seen you with one peeking out of your sleeve haven’t I?”

“Yes, I do,” replied Joanna, comprehension dawning. “It’s here in my drawer.” She fetched the pretty little piece, a gift from Squire on her sixteenth birthday, and held it out for inspection.

“Perfect! I was afraid it might be too small, but this will do nicely for a fichu.” Lily took the lacy square and with a few deft folds tucked it neatly into the offending décolletage.

“There!” she said, stepping back to view her handiwork. “It hides a pair of sins, Miss Carpenter. Now just stand still while I pin it.”

Joanna surveyed
herself in the mirror while Lily worked. Yes, the handkerchief worked wonders. She breathed a sigh of relief.

“Now why don’t you sit down and let me do up your hair, Miss Carpenter?” said Lily. “Are you planning to wear that—hairpiece?” Lily tried to hold her tone neutral, but Joanna could hear the disapproval.

“It is hideous, isn’t it?” she replied with a grin. “Do you think I can get away with just the hat over my own hair? I suppose all the ladies will be in wigs, but I’ve never worn one and I must say I find them rather silly-looking. No one but Squire wore one in Little Haver, and he only wore an old tye wig when he wanted to dress up for some reason.”

“I think your hair is beautiful just the way it is, miss. See how it shines?” Lily gently brushed Joanna’s dark tresses. “I don’t think it will matter if you don’t wear the wig, particularly since the hat is so large.” With a deft twist, Lily caught up Joanna’s hair and began pinning with nimble fingers. Joanna was surprised to see her hair seem to spring to do Lily’s bidding. Curling tendrils framed her face, and her usual tight bun in the back gave way to a cascade of curls which fell to her neck.

“You make it look so effortless, Lily,” said Joanna appreciatively. “I could never get it to look like this.”

“You have wonderful thick hair, miss, with lots of natural curl to it. You can make this head of hair do anything you want. And it looks so much nicer than those smelly old wigs!”

“Oh, you are very kind, Lily, but don’t go to much trouble. I intend to make a brief appearance and then disappear back upstairs. I’m hoping there will be such a crush that I won’t be missed.”

“Just don’t run afoul of Lady Eleanor, miss,” Lily said, her eyes troubled. “For some reason she seems to be setting great store on your attending this evening. Look, she even sent one of her rouge pots for you. I don’t suppose..?” Lily trailed off questioningly, holding up the pot, a hint of a smile on her face.

“Not even if she ordered me to wear it, Lily,” Joanna answered, laughing. “Besides, I’ll have the domino on over my eyes, and the big hat shading my face. She won’t notice if I’m wearing paint or not. And why on earth would she care? I realize that I am not up to the latest mode, but if I’m that much of a social embarrassment, why inflict me on her guests at all?” Joanna gave a nervous little tug to her makeshift fichu and noted with approval that it stayed tight.

“Oh, miss, you’ll be just fine. Mrs. Davies said that some of the old-timers are invited—people from the neighborhood. They’re quiet and respectable-like and you’ll like them. There!” Lily stepped back and proudly surveyed her work. “You look beautiful, miss. I shouldn’t wonder if you weren’t the most beautiful woman at the whole party!”

Indeed, as Joanna gave herself a once-over in her mirror, she was startled at the transformation. The hat was tied aslant, creating a shadowing that emphasized her cheekbones, and her dark curls framed her long neck.

“Well, if I had you to dress me more often, I should grow quite vain, Lily,” said Joanna, laughing. But she was secretly pleased and a bit wondering at this unfamiliar image in the mirror.

Lily fastened the domino across Joanna’s eyes, then handed her the long crook. “You’ll put them all to shame, miss,” said the maid, grinning broadly.

“I hope not, Lily,” answered Joanna with a sigh, gathering her dress about her and proceeding to the door. “I don’t need any more angry ladies in my life.” Squaring her shoulders, she left the room.

* * * *

Eleanor glanced with bitterness across the room to where the little hussy held all the young men in thrall. Not only were Dalton and Hayhurst sniffing after her as they had been bidden to do, but three or four other young bucks were clustered around, including the maddeningly handsome Count Damelio, of dubious Italian nobility but obvious personal talent. Eleanor’s eyes strayed to the count’s vaguely Elizabethan costume, with puffy, overdone sleeves, velvet tunic, glittering paste jewels, stockings, cross-garters—an elegant, studied effect. But the clear focus of the outfit was the codpiece, large beyond proportion, meant to amuse, no doubt, but to entice as well. And Eleanor was enticed. Damelio had been dancing attendance on Eleanor early in the evening, capering about, showing off, making veiled little suggestions and innuendos, undressing her with his rich, dark eyes, and brushing his hands against her at the slightest provocation.

And now he was off doing the same tricks for that little bitch. Eleanor could blame herself for it—after all, it was she who had insisted the chit appear this evening. And that costume she had supplied had been one of her own most fetching, although she was amused to note that the prim and proper Miss Carpenter had pinned lace onto the bosom. Still, it would be worth it in the end if Giles managed to show up and Dalton and Hayhurst were up to the task set for them. They certainly seemed enthusiastic enough.

“My lady,” came a hiss in her ear. She turned to see Hawton next to her, attired as one of a number of harlequins in attendance.

“Yes?” she answered, smiling up at him and linking her arm through his. Perhaps if Damelio noticed that she had other possibilities....

“Sir Giles has just ridden into the stables. He told me to tell you that he would change and join you shortly.”

“Thank you, Hawton. Be a dear and fetch me some punch. I swear, I am dry
as a bone with greeting everyone.” She gave him a come-hither smile. If she lost Damelio to other pursuits this evening, she’d need alternative arrangements. She watched as Hawton threaded his way through the large crowd, disappearing into a sea of swirling colors. Wonderful! Everything was set in motion, and with a little luck she could expect the noose to tighten around the neck of little Miss Carpenter within the hour. Now if she could get that gaggle of fools away from the girl and let Dalton and Hayhurst play out the scenario....

* * * *

Joanna felt positively stifled. Since the moment she had walked in the door she had been surrounded by a group of very attentive young men. They were all in costume, each one more outlandish than the next. One, Count Somebody or Other, was flaunting a most amazing contraption on his privates. Joanna was trying to look everywhere but there. She had tried valiantly to keep up with the repartee, and while she had never considered herself a prude—small towns, after all, provided a wealth of opportunities for learning about life—she was rather shocked at the sheer license of the conversation. It would seem, to hear them talk, that nearly everyone in the room, at least among Eleanor’s set, was sleeping with someone other than his or her spouse. Joanna felt that none of it was any of her business, but she had been met with amused stares when she had tried to turn the discussion to more neutral topics, such as the lovely local landscape, or even politics.

Most of the names of the attentive young gentlemen had escaped her, but Mr. Dalton and Mr. Hayhurst she remembered, because they were the two to whom Lady Eleanor had introduced her when she had first entered. Neither had left her side for the last hour, and she now despaired of sneaking away early as she had planned.

With apprehension, she saw that Lady Eleanor was making her way toward their little group. Joanna tried again, this time successfully, to disengage her hand from the count’s, only to find it seized immediately by one of the other men.

“I see you have made quite a hit with my young gentlemen, Miss Carpenter.” Lady Eleanor’s voice was purring, but her eyes held a glittering malice. “You all must know that our little Miss Carpenter is our governess—she takes care of Giles’s niece and idiot nephew. Isn’t that a dreary way to spend one’s days? No wonder she’s making the most of her night off!” Eleanor tittered loudly, joined by the gentlemen. Joanna could feel her face flaming. Why hadn’t she just refused to come down to this infernal party?

“But I must borrow a few of you. We’re going to have a rather naughty little contest and I need some particularly licentious judges to help me. Dalton and Hayhurst, you stay and keep our little man-hunter happy, and the rest of you can have your turns with her later.” Eleanor linked her arm through Count Damelio’s, her eyes meeting those of Dalton and Hayhurst behind him. If the count was annoyed at the interruption, he gave no sign, and they walked off, trailing several other gentlemen in their wake.

“Let’s step out on the terrace, Miss Carpenter, shall we?” said Dalton or Hayhurst—Joanna wasn’t quite sure by now which was which.

“Yes, it’s so stuffy in here, isn’t it?” chimed in the other.

Before Joanna could answer, they had each taken one of her arms and made for the doors which opened onto the terrace. Well, that was all right with her. It was stuffy inside, with all those elaborate costumes and stale scents, and she was red-faced and fuming over the “man-hunter” remark. Perhaps she could contrive some way to get away from them, now that she wasn’t surrounded.

Inside, Eleanor noted with a smile that Dalton and Hayhurst had managed to get the girl out onto the terrace, and not a moment too soon, for she spied Giles coming down the stairs just then. Typical of him to shun fancy dress, even though she’d left a perfectly fine costume for him on the bed, that of a bejeweled and be-turbaned pasha. Still, he looked handsome in his formal black frock coat and snowy white linen. It was a shame he favored such dark colors, shunning the brocades and pastels so popular now among gentlemen of the
ton
. Eleanor noted with a practiced, approving eye how his breeches molded his muscled thighs. Well, perhaps he’d find someone among her set to bury his sorrows in tonight. Philippa had made several remarks about him, and if Eleanor knew anything about Philippa, Giles would have his hands full, literally and figuratively. Now, if she could just keep Giles busy for five minutes, to give Dalton and Hayhurst time to get little Joanna into a thoroughly compromising position....

* * * *

The air outside was fresh and cool on Joanna’s face and she drank it in gratefully. There was the tang of the sea in each breath, and she longed to be on the beach, alone and barefoot. She felt confused and unsettled. She had never before attended anything remotely resembling this soiree. Squire’s rare entertainments had been smallish country affairs, populated with familiar faces, aged and dear. The talk had run to farming and politics, and although there was the occasional naughtiness in the village, Papa was always quick to put such things right with a wedding, and not another word was ever spoken about it. Indeed, Joanna had not been brought up to consider such goings-on particularly interesting, or food for conversation, but rather the inevitable consequence of youth and high spirits, neither remarkable nor fascinating. But to hear Lady Eleanor’s friends talk, there was nothing else in the world so captivating as discussing who was sleeping with whom.