Unconquered (62 page)

“Giggle, nod your head, and then run in the other direction,” Miranda suggested, and both young women burst out laughing with the hilarity the situation suggested.

“I don’t think I can do much running in these clogs,” Amanda gasped. “It’s all I can do to keep my balance,” and she promptly fell into a heap on the floor.

“You must practice more!” Miranda exhorted her sister. “It simply will not do if you fall on your face before the prince.” They laughed helplessly.

Mary Grant, a pretty girl with a turned-up nose, was delighted to be part of the joke. She had done a beautiful job on both costumes, and had been assured of much additional work from both ladies. Miranda intended having an entirely new wardrobe to take back to Wyndsong, for she knew that she would not be seeing England again for a long time. As for Amanda, a society lady in the Prince Regent’s circle needed at least two full wardrobes a year.

The witch’s costume was exquisitely sensual and romantic as well. Of flowing black silk, and black gauze chiffon, it had a
neckline that was scooped low and edged in black swansdown. The sleeves were full from the shoulder to the tight wrists done in bands of heavier black silk embroidered in silver thread with stars and moons. The bodice was fitted straight down to just above the hips, where it flowed out in a swirling, graceful pleat of full skirts. The hemline was edged in black swansdown and concealed Amanda’s clogs. Her headdress was the typical steeple-shaped brimmed hat associated with witches, except that the brim was not as wide as usual, and soft black silk gauze flowed from the hat, making a long veil in the back and a short one in the front. Beneath the veil Amanda wore her mask, a creation of black silk and silver lace. From beneath the witch’s headdress there flowed a marvelous mass of silvery gilt hair, a wig that had been made in great secrecy, matched to a small lock of Miranda’s hair. Amanda wore a necklace of black onyx rounds set in silver, which lay flat on her chest above a marvelous swell of breasts.

“My God, Mandy,” breathed Miranda. “You are simply splendid in that costume. There is no doubt that you will fool everyone! I would swear it was me!”

Suddenly Amanda burst into tears. “In our whole lives we have never been able to play the kinds of tricks on people that identical twins do. Now, when we can, it is to be not only a debut but a farewell performance. Oh, Miranda, I don’t want you to return to America!”

“Mandy dearest, Wyndsong is my home. England is not my home, America is. You are far more suited to life as an English noblewoman than I am. It is as if you were born for this sort of thing. You are gentle, and mannerly, and witty. You are content in this lovely, manicured land with all the silliness that attends the ton. But I, dearest, I am an American.

“Oh, I have tempered my rashness, it is true, but beneath the veneer of the lady of Wyndsong is a headstrong and brash Yankee who thinks it is ridiculous to drive around leaving calling cards to say we have been at someone’s house when the woman in question knows damned well we were there because she peeked through the curtains and saw us coming up the walk. I have no patience for that sort of life, and neither has Jared.

“The majority of the ton are useless, Mandy. Those who do anything worth doing are in the minority. Jared is not satisfied to lead the life of a butterfly and neither am I.”

She brushed away her sister’s tears. “You are going to spoil that lovely costume that Mary has worked so hard to make. Stop now, Mandy. I will not put up with it!” She sounded so like the old, impatient Miranda that Amanda laughed. “Get dressed, Miranda! You shall make us late as usual, and then they will blame me, for I am supposed to be you!”

Miranda laughed and bade Mary help her dress. As perfect as the witch’s costume was for Amanda, the page’s costume was equally effective for Miranda. Mary had made the dark blue silk hose herself, and incorporated into them a close-fitting panty of the same material. “You could hardly wear white muslin drawers, madam, they would show and spoil the whole effect,” was her comment when Miranda expressed reluctance. Next came a pale-blue silk shirt with a round neckline, and full sleeves with a tight wrist held together by tiny pearl buttons. Over this was a deep-blue sleeveless tabard that ended several inches above Miranda’s knees. It was banded on the sides and around the neckline in silver thread, and had a lion rampant embroidered in its center both front and back. The sides of the tabard were held together by silver frogs that closed over large pink pearl buttons. Miranda’s shoes were silver glacé kid with ridiculous turned-up toes, and upon her head, which was covered by a golden wig that turned under in pageboy fashion, was a lighter blue flat velvet hat with a single white egret feather. Her mask was of light blue velvet and silver lace.

Fully dressed, she turned to her sister. “Well, Mandy, will I fool them?”

“Oh, yes, Miranda! Yes! Yes! Yes!” Amanda turned around excitedly, her dark robes swirling. “This is going to be the most memorable night ever, twin! Let us go and see if we may fool our husbands!”

Miranda smiled at Mandy’s childlike enthusiasm, then turned to Mary Grant. “My sister and I both thank you, Mistress Grant, for your great efforts on our behalf. The embroidery on both these costumes must have taken hours. Please remain at Swynford House tonight so you may get the first decent night’s sleep that I imagine you’ve had in many weeks. Tomorrow my sister and I will settle our bill with you.”

Mary Grant curtseyed. “Thank you, milady. I appreciate your kindness. The truth is that I have not slept in three days in order to finish your costumes on time.”

“I suspected as much,” came the reply. “Thank you again.”

The two sisters left the sewing room, and hurried downstairs to the library, where they had arranged to meet the gentlemen. Jared had chosen to come as an American frontiersman in fringed deerskin jacket and leggings, beaded moccasins, coonskin hat, and Kentucky rifle. Somehow, he lent elegance to the rough-and-tumble costume. Adrian was garbed as an Arabian prince, in white pantaloons, and a white-and-gold-embroidered Persian coat. His enormous turban had a pigeon’s blood ruby and three egret feathers in its center. His boots matched the ruby.

“Magnificent!” Lord Swynford exclaimed as the two women entered the room. “Amanda, my pet, you are an adorable page.” He put an arm around her and kissed her on the cheek. Miranda giggled as Mandy would have done.

Jared Dunham voiced his approval of the costume worn by the woman he took to be his wife. “Yes, my dear, you are the perfect witch, although you do not really look too terribly wicked.” His arm snaked out and pulled Amanda close, and his head dipped down to meet her mouth. Amanda’s first reaction was to shriek and fight him off, but then she remembered that she was supposed to be Miranda. She was also overwhelmingly curious to know what it would be like to be kissed by this man. She quickly found out, almost swooning in his fiery embrace.

Jared Dunham chuckled wickedly, and murmured against her ear, “Don’t faint, pigeon, or you’ll give away the masquerade.”

“Let’s go,” Adrian hurried them. “It would not do to arrive after Prinny’s grand entrance, and that is scheduled for quarter past ten. I suspect traffic on Regent Street will be unbearable.” Taking the arm of the page, he moved out into the foyer, where the footmen waited with their cloaks.

“You know?” Amanda whispered to Jared.

“From the moment you both walked into the room,” he answered. “Your sister’s legs are beautiful, not easily forgotten, particularly by an attentive husband.”

“Then why did you kiss me?” demanded Amanda, indignant.

“Because I’ve always wondered what that button of a mouth tasted like. It’s very sweet, pigeon.
And
because I wanted to see a spark of outrage in Miranda’s eyes, which I did.”

Amanda laughed. “You two deserve each other,” she said. “I
wonder if Wyndsong will be big enough to contain the pair of you.”

“Come, Jared, Miranda,” Adrian called from the foyer. “There’ll be plenty of time for lovemaking after the masquerade,” and Amanda chuckled, wondering if Adrian would remember that remark later, after their deception had been revealed.

Carleton House was a crush of people, but the festivities had been planned well. Regent Street from Oxford Circus to Piccadilly had been closed to all traffic but the two thousand guests. The side streets leading into Regent Street along that route had also been closed off to all but the invited, and each carriage attempting to turn into Regent Street was stopped by a guardsman who checked invitations and counted the inhabitants of the vehicle. This allowed the guests to proceed smoothly right up to the entry of Carleton House, where they left their carriages to linkboys holding lighted torches.

The invitations were checked again at the doors to Carleton House, the Prince Regent’s residence, and then the guests proceeded inside, unannounced, as announcements would have spoiled the surprise of the disguises. In the main ballroom of the palace musicians played chamber music and everyone awaited the Prince Regent. He came at precisely quarter past ten, as anticipated. Passing between the lines of bowing, curtseying guests, he made playful remarks to certain guests as he went.

“Alvaney, is that you beneath that doublet? Yes, it most certainly is. Your new tailor can no more cut a doublet properly than he can a morning coat.”

Good-natured laughter sounded, and Lord Alvaney capitulated gracefully, acknowledging his master’s superior perception.

“Ah ha! ’Tis Lady Jersey, I’ll be bound!”

“Oh, how did Your Highness know?” Lady Jersey sounded properly piqued.

“Why, madam, if you are going to try and disguise yourself to me you will have to hide that fetching beauty mark.”

“Oh, sir, your eye is certainly keen!”

The Prince Regent chuckled, and passed by. Suddenly, well into the ballroom, he stopped before a beautiful gypsy and
asked, “Will you do me the honor to open the ball with me, Princess de Lieven?”

Dariya de Lieven was far too intelligent to play games. She curtseyed elegantly, and said, “I am honored, Your Highness,” and the band struck up the first waltz as the Prince Regent, garbed as his famous ancestor, Henry VIII, opened his masquerade by dancing across the floor with a beautiful gypsy, who was really the wife of Russia’s ambassador.

After an appropriate interval the rest of the guests joined in, and the ballroom was soon filled with waltzing couples. Within the hour the masquerade was well under way with guests spilling out of the overheated ballroom into the gardens of Carleton House. In the Gothic conservatory of the palace a buffet table was set up filling one hundred and fifty feet of the room’s two-hundred-foot length. The Irish damask cloth covering the table was of one piece, woven especially for this occasion in a Tudor rose design.

At ten-foot intervals down the long table were large, round Waterford bowls. In the centers of the bowls were six-armed silver candelabra surrounded by a profusion of tall, multicolored, sweet-scented flowers. The candelabra burned cream-colored beeswax tapers. All the serving pieces were of the finest silver. Although the guests would not be invited to partake of refreshments until after midnight the food was already on the table.

The long table had been set, from the far end of the room, with the appetizers first, the fish course next to that, and so on to the end of what would be a large, sumptuous meal. At the far end were large silver and china bowls of prawns, oysters, and clams. There were smaller dishes of spiced sauces, for many of the fish were served cold. There were lobsters and crabs with bowls of hot melted herb butter. Next were platters of Dover sole, served hot, and platters of salmon
en gelée
and cold trout in herb dressing. Large lemons, whole and delicately carved, adorned all the fish platters.

There was plentiful game as well, and the Prince Regent’s friends had vied with one another to see who could put the most game on his table that night. There were a dozen platters of quail and partridge, and three whole swans. Ducks had been roasted to a golden brown and baked in sauces of cherry or orange.
Pigeon pâté nestled in a bed of fresh watercress. Claw-footed silver platters held the ten roasted, stuffed turkeys and smaller platters held thirty dozen
petits poulets a l’Italien
. In the center of the table rested the most enormous boar anyone remembered ever seeing. Surrounding the boar were huge sides of beef and venison, and surrounding these were legs of lamb and smoked hams studded with cloves and baked in champagne and honey.

Huge serving bowls filled with green beans, celery with bread crumbs and cheese, and cauliflower done three different ways marched toward the near end of the table. There were tiny peas done in a delicate butter sauce—a great favorite in London that season—as well as seven different potato dishes. There were the usual roasted potatoes, potatoes in sauces, and tiny puffed potatoes.

Nearing the end of the table were breads of every description, in small white loaves and long rye loaves, egg-glazed brioches and tiny crescents, soft rolls and hard rolls. Each bread was accompanied by its own small silver dish of iced butter.

Even that majestic table could hold only so much, and the desserts had been placed on a long mahogany sideboard. There were individual soufflés of mocha, raspberry, lemon, and apricot, each in its china dish. Vying for attention with all the tortes and custards were twenty varieties of iced cakes, and as many fruit tarts. Fruit tarts were a perennial favorite, as were jellies flavored with exotic liqueurs. The Prince Regent and his friends kept up a running competition to see who could contrive the most outrageous jellies. The Prince usually won.

There were cheeses and, of course, many platters of carefully arranged crisp crackers, as well as enormous footed crystal bowls of fresh fruit, including Spanish oranges, cherries arrived from France two days before and preserved in ice, green and black grapes from the hills of Southern Italy, green pears from Anjou, and that most treasured of all rare fruits, pineapples from the faraway South Sea islands. English strawberries completed the bounty.