A Scandalous Countess: A Novel of the Malloren World (38 page)

She shot him a frown. “You won’t catch me that way, sir.”

He laughed. “Nevertheless, I’ll know you, Georgia, even in a suit of armor.”

“Joan of Arc? Most inappropriate for the theme, but here we are, and you are dismissed.”

They were outside the mantua maker’s house.

He kissed her hand. “Thank you for an enchanting day.”

“Thank you for a novel and delightful dinner. I will see you at the masquerade. Before,” she added, “you see me.”

He smiled as she went in and then walked away, adrift, simply because she wasn’t by his side.

Today had given him hope, however. As she’d once said, people had many facets, and she was a diamond. The peacock Lady May was also a patroness of a charity, and willing to attempt to fix a lowly water problem dressed appropriately for the task. She was a woman knowledgeable of housewifery, even if she denied any application of it, and she’d been kind in correcting a clumsy girl’s work.

She’d been only momentarily dismayed by the low-beamed, straw-floored pie house set with long tables, where all types mingled. She certainly hadn’t been deterred by the company of men, and in no time she’d charmed his friends, but perhaps had been a little charmed herself. She’d been interested in their stories and asked intelligent questions, enjoying learning about
different ways and foreign lands. Would a country manor house not interest her too, and the society around it?

He reined in his optimism. A country estate was not a ship of the line or a spice island. It wouldn’t even be new to her. She’d lived in the country to the age of eighteen, and if she’d been trained in all levels of household management, she’d have experienced dairies, brew houses, laundries, and kitchen gardens. And learned to dislike them, it would seem.

Dracy was a great deal smaller than Herne. Cozier, he could say, if he were optimistic, but he needed a wife who knew not only how to slice quince, get rid of moths and beetles, and repair curtains and hangings, but who was also willing to actually do it.

He’d never been a dreamer, so perhaps he had been ensorcelled by sirens after all. That didn’t prevent him from anticipating the masquerade, and the result of their wicked wager, win or lose.

Chapter 22

I
t was nearly nine when Georgia checked her appearance one last time, assessing its ability to conceal her identity. Surely Dracy wouldn’t know her with almost every inch concealed.

It hadn’t been easy to design a costume portraying the dove of peace that was comfortable, flattering, and could be made rapidly, but they’d achieved it, and at very little cost.

The headdress had been the most work, but it perfectly resembled a dove’s head, with the beak projecting above her nose. The feathers fed down the back of her head to blend with her hair, which fell loose to her waist and was powdered white.

It had been Jane’s genius to point out that real doves’ feathers would be too small to be in scale, as well as being too hard to find in quantity. The solution had been white goose feathers, which continued down the flowing back of the gown to end as the fan of a dove’s tail.

At the front Georgia had wanted to wear a classical robe, but Jane had argued in favor of decent convention, so she wore stays under a high-necked gown of white silk. She wore no hoops and only a roll at her hips to spread the skirt a little. The skirt had an overlay of gauze cut into feather shapes and a trimming of down.

Intent on challenging Dracy, she’d applied a bold red rouge to her lips and purchased a different perfume. It was delicate because she disliked heavy scent, but distinctly of rose.

She smiled at the book that had arrived an hour ago, a gift from him. According to Jane it was a book about the language of flowers, but it was also perfumed, so Georgia hadn’t touched it. She’d rebuke him later for trying to trap her with a distinctive, spicy smell. She’d had Jane wash her hands thoroughly before adjusting the costume.

That trick made her all the more determined to win the wager, so she’d practiced speaking in a high, whispery voice. It would work, and thus tonight would be a wicked revelation—if she were brave enough to demand that prize, that he strip naked for her.

Before that, she had to face the beau monde en masse.

Lady May had never lacked courage, and she would ignore the slight churning in her belly, but she was grateful that for the first hour she would be disguised.

She nodded at her reflection in the mirror. “Ready for the fray.”

“It’s not a battle, milady.”

“Oh, yes it is,” Georgia said.

Her strategy was simple. She was presenting herself as the very image of purity and would behave to match. When she removed the dove’s head to reveal herself, the impression should linger. It wouldn’t wipe all away—that was the work of time—but it should help.

The flurry of scandal about the letter had died down simply because no letter had been produced or published. That had been the promise at the ball, so now, according to Babs and others, most people dismissed the rumor as spite. Some were even ashamed to have believed it so quickly, and thus more well disposed through guilt. Eloisa had done her a kindness, which would doubtless choke her if she knew. Dracy had done her a
greater one by taking that letter. She might not have thought of that on her own.

Georgia put on a voluminous black hooded cloak that hid all of her except her face. If Dracy was cheating by spying on her, he’d not learn much. Jane was carrying the head in a red cloth bag. Red to further mislead. Her parents had agreed to let her go separately. They’d already left and would send the coach back for her, and it already awaited.

She was soon on her way with only Jane for company, if one didn’t count a coachman and two armed footmen. Soon the coach joined a stream, all approaching Carlisle House.

Georgia looked ahead at the brilliantly lit house. “Splendid decorations.”

“That they are, milady,” Jane said. “Illuminated pictures of peace and prosperity in a whole rank of windows.”

“And garlands of lamps in the form of crowns. Madame Cornelys has outdone herself. We must do the same. The head, Jane.”

“You’d be better to wait until we arrive, milady. There’ll be a dressing room.”

“No, I want to arrive in full disguise.”

“I don’t know why you’re so anxious not to be recognized, milady. Within the hour everyone will shed the more cumbersome parts of their costumes for the dancing.”

“I need to remain anonymous that long. I have a wager with a friend. Hurry.”

She shed the cloak. Jane took out the dove’s head and settled it carefully in place, then smoothed the feathers at the back into Georgia’s hair.

“Does it look well?” Georgia asked. “I wish I had a mirror.”

“There’ll be mirrors in the dressing room,” Jane pointed out.

“
Dear Jane, humor my foibles as you always have.”

“And sometimes when you’ve gone too far, milady.”

“I plan no improper behavior at this masquerade, I promise you.” That was honest as far as it went.

She perched on her seat so as not to disturb anything, telling herself again that Dracy could never detect her.

“Here’s your mask for later, milady,” Jane said, sliding it into a pocket, “and your fan. And here we are. I hope all goes well.”

“It will, Jane. Enjoy yourself in the servants’ room.”

She stepped carefully out of the coach, leaving the cloak to Jane, and delighting in the reaction of the crowd of onlookers. So often she’d arrived at a grand event in a spectacular gown, sparkling with jewels, and the crowd had applauded and called out, “Lady May!”

“The dove of peace,” someone said, and she was applauded.

Georgia smiled and swept into the heart of the beau monde.

Lady May was back, and tonight would go perfectly.

The interior of Madame Cornelys’s house was often decorated to represent Venice, for the lady came from there, and the Venetian masquerade was her specialty. For this event, however, it remained a handsome English house, decorated only with banners hanging from the ceiling.

Clever,
Georgia thought. They resembled banners of war but instead were banners of peace and prosperity. She saw joined hands, abundant countryside, a lion and a lamb, and a merchant ship.

“A dove of peace,” said a gentleman in a toga. “Clever.”

Georgia inclined her head to Lord Sandwich but moved on. She didn’t care to dally with members of the ministry. She behaved the same way with two other gentlemen, and the second said, “I suppose doves can only coo.”

“Coo,”
Georgia said to him and went upstairs, delighted that Waveney hadn’t recognized her. No one was recognizing her, and that meant that for the moment she was free.

Free of the past.

Free of expectations.

Free of scandal and suspicion.

“O happy dove!” declared a crusader, seizing her hand to kiss it.

“Coo” was rather limiting, so as she pulled her hand free, Georgia adopted her high-pitched voice. “You are inappropriately dressed, sir. How can a knight partner peace?”

“I’m Richard the Lionheart, pretty dove, great warrior of England. I guard the peace.”

“Only with bloodshed, sir.” She spotted another armed warrior and challenged him.

“I’m Saint George,” he declared, thumping his spear. “Slayer of the dragon of France. Accompanied, of course, by beauteous Britannia.”

Lord Trelyn, she realized, and the voluptuous Britannia was his wife, whose narrow mask was no disguise at all. As portrayed on the coins, she wore a helmet and carried a spear and shield. Rather overencumbered in Georgia’s opinion, but then Nerissa Trelyn was overendowed as well.

“So many weapons,” Georgia sighed. “The dove of peace could weep.”

“Weapons keep the peace, silly dove,” Lady Trelyn said. “Flutter away.”

The Trelyns moved on, saving Georgia the effort of responding, but she wondered if she’d been recognized.

She and Nerissa Trelyn had been rivals in beauty at one point, but not in other ways. Lady Trelyn was a model of dignity and virtue, which Lady May had never claimed, but she lacked the noble virtue of kindness. When people had been stirring the scandal broth about her,
Nerissa Trelyn would have wielded a very large spoon. If she’d been at Winnie’s ball, Georgia would have consided her as chief culprit of the letter.

That reminded her that the creator of the letter was still at large and could be here. Most likely was here. She put aside any fears in case they showed, and tried to spot Dracy. He’d had little time to get a costume and lacked her expertise. Surely he’d be wearing something simple. While dealing with light flirtations, she eliminated many men because they hadn’t his height and trim build. But then she wondered if he might attempt a deep disguise.

She assessed a tall, turbaned Arabian with a great belly.…

“Pretty dove, do you carry an olive leaf?”

She had to turn to the togaed man. In answer to his question, she opened her fan, revealing that each spoke was painted to resemble an olive leaf. “And you, sir, do you argue for peace in the senate?”

He chuckled. “Only if the terms are right.”

She rapped him with the closed fan. “Then the dove will have nothing to do with you, sir.”

She moved on from Lord Holland, who would have been better costumed as a moneybag. He was said to have accumulated half a million when paymaster to the forces during the recent war.

The turbaned man had disappeared, but she didn’t think he’d been Dracy. She felt she’d know Lord Dracy, no matter what the disguise.

Dracy scanned the room for Georgia.

There were a dozen redheaded Queen Elizabeths. A Tudor gown made a concealing costume, but not concealing enough. In any case, none of them moved with the light grace of Lady May.

There were even more Britannias, some better suited to the costume than others, but most were showing too
much flesh. Georgia wouldn’t come here scantily dressed. She was too aware of her situation for that.