My Unfair Lady (4 page)

   Summer couldn't be sure what caused them to back off, but the big one suddenly pushed Maria at her and they all took tail. The duke relaxed his stance, and Summer went over and cut down the bundle of fur so that it fell into Maria's waiting arms. "Is it still alive?" she asked.

   Maria blinked back tears. "Yeah, though I can't even rightly tell what kind of critter it is. Ever see the like?"

   His Grace spoke from over her shoulder. "It's a monkey. I've seen a few before. They come from India."

   He spoke in harsh pants, and Summer looked at him curiously. "Are you all right?"

   "Certainly. It's just the adrenaline, madam. I suppose I'll have to become accustomed to it, traveling in your company."

   "What's—"

   "Summer, we have to see to the critter. He's losing a lot of blood," snapped Maria. With the ease of much practice, they sliced strands from their petticoats and applied pressure as they gently bore the animal back to their hotel room, calling service for hot water, alcohol, and proper bandages.

   The duke chastised the driver for passing through such a disreputable part of the city and then quietly went to his own room. For a moment, he wished he could go with the ladies to care for the abused monkey, then shook his head at the ridiculous notion.

   What he
should
do is demand that Miss Lee start acting like a lady. To quit carrying a knife under her skirts and jumping out of carriages. But he was having such a good time…

"The duke's mistress?" hissed Maria. "How can ya' let his mistress come to our house?"

   Summer sighed and watched her friend storm into her room, little India on her shoulder. Although it had been several weeks since they'd returned from Paris, the monkey still looked the worse for wear with bald spots from where he'd been burned.

   Summer sighed and answered Maria's question. "Don't tell me you've adopted society's snobbish ways already? What's the difference between a mistress and Lotty or Maisy?" She named two of the kindest of their old friends from the saloon.

   "'Cause they don't pretend they're something they're not. And this woman's coming here as if she were some kind of lady, when—"

   "She is a lady. Her husband is dead. Do you really think she should spend the rest of her life in loneliness, just because she chooses not to have the restraints of another marriage?"

   Maria sniffed. "'Course not. But she's sleeping with our duke, now, ain't she?"

   "What possible difference could that make?" asked Summer. Ever since the Duke of Monchester had helped them rescue India, in Maria's eyes he could do no wrong. Her friend laughed off his acidic remarks, and not because she thought he was funny like Summer did. And she stared at him with great big moony eyes, which irritated Summer to no end, although she couldn't figure out exactly why.

   "Stop referring to the man as 'our duke,'" commanded Summer. "He's not
our
anything. It would serve us well if you'd also remember he's not really our friend, only a hired employee."

   Maria sniffed again but condescended to answer the bell when it rang, ushering Lady Windolm into the bedroom of Summer's London town house.

   She didn't look anything like Summer had expected.
Pale would be the best way to describe her. Pale hair, skin
, voice, and personality. A soft, gentle woman who would be frightened by a whispered "boo." Summer couldn't imagine her with His Grace—why, he'd eat her alive!

   "How do you do?" whispered the pale woman.

   "Just fine, Lady Windolm." Summer's voice in comparison boomed in her small chamber, and the woman near jumped out of her skin.

   "P-please, call me Elisabeth."

   "And I'm Summer. Our—the duke has told you of our arrangement?"

   The lady nodded her head and opened a roll of cloth, spilling out an odd assortment of items onto Summer's vanity.

   "What's all that for?" asked Summer in amazement.

   Elisabeth smiled shyly. "Byron… I mean, His Grace, said to teach you polite manners and to make you beau tiful. And although the men frown on anything remotely artificial in a woman's look, we do have our ways. I thought we'd start with appearances first, then with a new sense of self-confidence, we can work on the manners."

   Summer grinned. So his first name is Byron, she marveled, and then wondered why that bit of knowledge gave her a warm feeling of secret joy. She quickly said Monte's name to herself three times.

   She blinked up at the woman who'd spoken to her of self-confidence. The lady seemed to need a bit of that herself. Summer watched her hand flutter as she picked up a wicked-looking metal device and began to advance on her. "What's that for?"

   "The duke said your eyebrows were a bit too, um, shaggy." She colored a becoming shade of rose. "Those were his words, not mine, of course."

   "Of course."

   She leaned toward Summer, the scent of roses emanating from her as if she bathed in them, and began to carefully pluck a few chosen hairs. "The trick is…"

   "Ouch."

   "To not thin them too much, so it looks quite natural."

   "Ouch."

   "And to let your own brow shape prevail. We just want to soften your look a bit."

   "Ouch. Again. Tarnation, how often will I have to do this?"

   "Oh my. It's very important you see to them every day, so the little hairs growing back won't give away your beauty secret." Elisabeth stepped back and eyed Summer with a critical gaze. "Just a few more, now. Oh perfect. No, no, don't look in the mirror yet. There are a few other things I want to do to you first."

   Summer felt a trickle of fear. Did her relationship with Byron bother Elisabeth? Even though it was strictly business, was she the overly jealous type? Would the pale woman take advantage of the situation and make her look like some kind of clown?

   "Um, how long have you been… in a relationship with Byron?"

   The lady's color rose again. "Oh my, for quite a while. Now this is petroleum jelly: odorless, tasteless, colorless. But it's quite amazing what a touch here and there will do." And with that she stroked a thin layer of the stuff on Summer's lashes.

   "Forgive me if I'm being rude, but whatever do you two see in each other? I'd never have thought… the duke is kind of… Well, I have a hard time picturing you two together."

   Elisabeth giggled. "He said you were rather pecu liar. And for me to try and not to be too shocked by anything said or seen in your home."

   Summer opened her mouth to defend herself, and the lady took up a piece of red crepe paper and pushed it against her lips, effectively silencing her and astonishing her at the same time.
Crepe paper?
Tarnation!

   "The Duke of Monchester," said Elisabeth, "is a very handsome man. How can you wonder what I see in him?"

   "Looks aren't everything. The man I love is very handsome, although quite the opposite of Byron—the duke. Monte has dark hair and eyes, and is the most polite, soft-spoken, cultured…"

   Elisabeth waved a hand in dismissal. "Oh yes, the duke mentioned him. He sounds very nice. But you see"—and she lowered her voice even further so that Summer had to lean toward her to hear—"Byron is a very dangerous man."

   A thump sounded outside her door, and Summer rolled her eyes. "You might as well come in, Maria."

   The black-haired girl entered with a guilty-looking India on her shoulder. "Ya' just don't know how to skulk properly yet," she reassured the monkey. "But don't worry, I'll be teaching ya'." She stared indignantly at Lady Windolm. "And I couldn't hear what ya' said, ya' speak so softly."

   Summer sighed while Elisabeth stared in open mouthed surprise at Maria. "She said that His Grace is a dangerous man."

   "Pshaw," said Maria, settling herself at the foot of the four-poster bed. "He's just got a nasty tongue."

   Elisabeth snapped her mouth shut and calmly took a round tin and a soft brush from her supplies and lightly brushed a fine powder over Summer's face. "That tongue often as not wags in the prince's ear," she said. "And woe be to anyone who crosses the man, for with one word, that person would be shunned from all polite society to spend the rest of her days in shame and isolation."

   Summer and Maria exchanged pointed glances.

   "Don't believe me, but I've seen more than one young hopeful's dream of a good match crushed beyond hope, and it's even rumored"—Elisabeth's voice lowered again, and both women, and the monkey, inched forward to hear her words—"that the reason Miss Carlysle took her own life was because of the duke's amusing anecdote about her, one that ruined her chance of gaining the hand of John Strolm, whom she'd set her cap for with all the pent-up passion of love's first touch."

   Summer snorted. "Rather melodramatic, don't you think?"

   The lady shrugged her satin-clad shoulders. "Well, it's just what I heard, a rumor only. But honestly, just the thought of saying no to Byron… or not giving him exactly what he wants… makes me cringe."

   "Tarnation," said Maria. "Are ya' telling us ya' sleep with the man 'cause yore scared of him?"

   A frown marred the pale smoothness of Elisabeth's skin. "Why, no, I mean, well… I guess I just never thought about it before."

   They all stared in silent fascination until Elisabeth snapped out of her contemplations and began to wipe the powder from Summer's face with a soft cloth. "It's very important that you always do this. Never leave the powder on."

   "Then what do I put it on in the first place for?"

   "Believe me, it makes a difference. The powder will stay in your pores to reduce any oiliness and smooth out your skin tones and make you paler." Elisabeth wrapped up her cloth, leaving her supplies on Summer's vanity. "Those are for you. Save the powder and crepe paper for balls and evening parties. The jelly you can wear anywhere; just be careful not to put it on too thickly, as it can melt into your eyes."

   Summer nodded but eyed the contents of her vanity with distrust.

   Elisabeth snatched up a brush and advanced again. "Now, for the hair. The duke said it was rather, um, wild. But I think it becomes you. What you need is a short fringe of hair over your forehead—which fortunately for you is the height of fashion." She snatched up a pair of scissors and snipped so quickly Summer didn't have a chance to protest. "Now," she continued, "when your hair flops down it looks on purpose, and you just have enough"—she yanked and twisted, securing the knot tightly with hair combs— "to put it in a topknot. However, I recommend that during the day you put the knot in back of your head, at the nape of the neck."

   Summer sighed. What took this woman seconds to do would take her hours of twisting and comb-sticking.

   "I also recommend that you curl your hair at night with twists of flannel cloth. It will soften your appear ance." She took Summer's hand and brought her to her feet, turning her finally around toward the mirror. Summer's mouth dropped open. The lady had done such minor things, but they'd made such a difference!

   Maria stood and peered over her friend's shoulder. "Lady Windolm, will ya' do me too? Please?"

The next morning the bell rang and the Duke of Monchester pushed past the footman, storming into the drawing room where Summer sat reading
The Habits
of Good Society: A Handbook of Etiquette for Ladies and
Gentlemen
, one of the many books Lady Windolm had loaned her. She had just been astonished to discover that a gentleman could not speak to a lady unless she spoke to him first, when Byron filled the room with his presence.

   "How dare you?" he hissed, the anger emanating from him in waves of almost palpable electricity.

   Summer looked up and met his blue eyes, that shiver running through her as usual whenever he came near her, confusing her again with its intensity. He opened his mouth, presumably to continue his tirade about whatever she'd done, then snapped it closed, his eyes widening at the sight of her new appearance. Summer grinned at his reaction, causing him to back up a step, thereby letting her appreciate his own appearance. Although he wore the blue silk cravat again, his gently worn clothes were all black, from his coat down to his neatly polished boots. They made his hair look twice as light with the contrast, and his overall appearance slightly sinister. She liked it.

   "Do you approve of what your mistress did to me?"

   The duke recovered quickly from his surprise, the glow of appreciation winking out of his eyes to be replaced by his usual hooded gaze. He frowned, as if trying to remember something important, and then his face twisted again in anger. "That's exactly my point, madam. I no longer have a mistress!"

   Summer wasn't about to let it go—after all the criti cism he'd given her, he could at least acknowledge that she looked sophisticated now. But if his reaction had been anything to go by, she could only joyfully imagine how Monte would react. "Sorry to hear about that. But what do you think about what she did to me?"