by Lisa Kleypas
Now Sara found herself in the famed set of rooms on Bond Street, lined with gilded mirrors and elegant pinkish-gray brocade. There was an intimidatingly regal ambiance at Lafleur’s. Even the pleasant smiles of the assistants did little to calm her trepidation. The thought of how much her whimsy might cost was unnerving, but Sara doggedly ignored the nagging worry. Later she would moan and wince as she accounted for her wild expenditure. Later she would be prudent and responsible.
“Please call me Lily,” Lady Raiford said. “And this is no trouble at all, my dear, especially in light of all you’ve done for me.”
“Ma’am? Have I done something for you?”
“Saving Derek the way you did, never thinking of the danger to yourself ... I’ll be forever in your debt. Derek is a close friend of the family.” Lily grinned cheerfully. “Quite an interesting man, don’t you agree?” Before Sara could answer, Lily turned and caught the eye of a figure standing by. “Well, Monique? How long will it take to make Miss Fielding breathtakingly beautiful?”
The dressmaker approached them from the door, where she had been waiting tactfully. She welcomed Lily with a fondness that betrayed a long-standing friendship, and then turned to Sara. By all rights a woman of Monique Lafleur’s stature and success would be aloof, proudly wearing an air of hauteur. Instead Monique was friendly and kind, with a smile as generous as her girth.
“Cherie.” She took Sara by the shoulders and glanced over her assessingly. “Ah, yes,” she muttered. “I see there is much work to be done. But I do enjoy a challenge! Lady Raiford was right to bring you to me. When we finish, I promise you will be an enchanteresse!”
“Perhaps we could find something simple for me to wear ...” Sara’s words were lost in the sudden bustle as Monique gestured to her assistants, lily merely stood back with a smile.
“Cora, Marie!” the dressmaker called. “Come, bring the gowns, maintenant! Quickly, there is not a moment to lose!”
Sara stared in bemusement at the armloads of richly hued silks and velvets that were brought forth. “Where did all these come from?”
Monique dragged her to an adjoining room outfitted with delicate rococo furniture, tasseled curtains, and mirrors even more massive than the ones in the front rooms. “The gowns belong to Lady Raiford.” Deftly she turned Sara around and unfastened her bodice. “I design everything she wears. When the countess adopts a new fashion, all of London copies it the next day.”
“Oh, but I couldn’t take one of Lady Raiford’s gowns—”
“None of them has ever been worn,” Lily interrupted, following them into the room. “We’ll have one of them altered for you, Sara.” She turned her attention to the dressmaker. “The blacks and purples won’t suit her at all, Monique. And nothing so virginal as the white. We want something bold and striking. Something that will make her stand apart from the crowd.”
Sara stepped out of her gown and averted her eyes from the sight of herself in the mirror, clad in her chemise, thick white stockings, and heavy drawers. Monique cast a speculative glance at the serviceable undergarments, shook her head, and seemed to make a mental note of something. She reached for one of the gowns, turning it this way and that. “The pink?” she suggested, holding the shimmering rose-colored satin in front of Sara’s half-clad figure. Sara held her breath in awe. She had never worn such a sumptuous creation. Silk roses adorned the sleeves and hem of the gown. The short-waisted bodice was finished with a stomacher of silver filigree and a row of satin bows.
Lily shook her head thoughtfully. “Charming, but too innocent.”
Sara suppressed a disappointed sigh. She couldn’t imagine anything more beautiful than the pink satin. Busily Monique discarded the gown and sorted through the others. “The peach. No man will be able to keep his eyes from her in that. Here, let us try it, cherie.”
Raising her arms, Sara let the dressmaker and her assistant Cora pull the gauzy peach-hued gown over her head. “I think it will have to be altered a great deal,” Sara commented, her voice muffled beneath the delicate layers of fabric. The gowns had been fitted for Lily’s lithe, compact lines. Sara was more amply endowed, with a generous bosom and curving hips, and a tiny, scooped-in waist ... a figure style that had been fashionable thirty years ago. The current highwaisted Grecian mode was not particularly flattering to her.
Monique settled the gown around Sara’s feet and then began to yank the back of it together. “Oui, Lady Raiford has the form that fashion loves.” Energetically she hooked the tight bodice together. “But you, cherie, have the kind that men love. Draw in your breath, s’il vous plait.”
Sara winced as her breasts were pushed upward until they nearly overflowed from the low-cut bodice. The hem of the unusually full skirt was bordered with three rows of graduated tulip-leaves. Sara could hardly believe the woman in the mirror was herself. The peach gown, with its transparent layers of silk and shockingly low neckline, had been designed to attract a man’s attention. It was too loose at the waist, but her breasts rose from the shallow bodice in creamy splendor, pushed together to form an enticing cleavage.
A broad smile appeared on Lily’s face. “How splendid you look, Sara.”
Monique regarded her smugly. “With a few alterations, it will be perfect. This is the gown, nest-ce pas?“
“I’m not certain,” Lily said, pacing around the room as she considered Sara from.all angles. “Perhaps it’s just my preference for more assertive shades ...” She paused and shook her head with a decisiveness that caused Sara’s heart to sink. “No, it isn’t spectacular enough to achieve our purpose.”
“Purpose?” Sara asked, perplexed. “There is no purpose other than to see me suitably attired. Surely this one is more than adequate?”
Lily slid an unfathomable glance to the dressmaker, who suddenly found a multitude of reasons to leave the room. Quietly the assistants followed. Baffled by their sudden departure, Sara fluffed the skirt of the peach gown and feigned unconcern.
“Perhaps we should have a little talk, Sara.” Sorting through the other garments, Lily held up a mauve and violet creation and made a face. “My God. I can’t think why I ever had this made.” Carelessly she tossed the gown aside. “Exactly why is it imperative, as Worthy wrote, for you to attend the ball tonight?”
“Research,” Sara said, not quite meeting her eyes. “A scene for my novel.”
“Really.” An odd smile played about Lily’s mouth. “Well, I know nothing about writing novels. But I have a fair understanding of human nature. Perhaps I’m mistaken, but I assumed the point of all this was to make someone notice you.” There was a subtly inquiring lilt to the last word.
Sara shook her head immediately. “No, my lady—”
“Lily.”
“Lily,” she repeated obediently. “I don’t intend anything of the sort. I don’t wish to attract anyone’s attention. I’m nearly engaged to Mr. Perry Kingswood, of Greenwood Corners.”
“Ah.” The countess shrugged, regarding her with friendly sympathy. “Then I was wrong. Actually ... I’d thought you might be entertaining an interest in Derek Craven.”
“No. He’s not at all the sort of man I ...” Sara stopped and stared at her blankly. “Not at all.”
“Of course. Forgive me. I was being presumptuous.”
Sara tried to smooth over the awkward moment. “it’s not that I don’t think well of Mr. Craven. He’s a unique sort of person—”
“There’s no need to tiptoe around the truth. He’s impossible. I know Derek better than anyone. Selfish, secretive, lonely ... very much the way I was five years ago, before I married Lord Raiford.” Lily stood behind Sara and began to unfasten the snug gown. “We’ll try the blue velvet. You have the perfect complexion for it.” Seeming disinclined to discuss the subject of Derek Craven any further, she freed the row buttons from the tiny silk loops that held them.
Sara frowned as she slipped the sleeves down her arms and stepped out of the gauzy peach circle. The silence became untenable
. “But why should Mr. Craven be lonely?” she finally burst out. “He’s surrounded by people all the time. He could have the companionship of any woman he desires!”
Lily made a comical grimace. “Derek doesn’t trust anyone. After being abandoned by his mother and living for so long in the rookery ... well, I’m afraid he doesn’t have the highest opinion of women, or of people in general.”
“He has a very high opinion of you,” Sara said, thinking of the magnificent portrait in Craven’s private gallery.
“We’ve been friends for a long time,” Lily conceded, and added pointedly, “but nothing more. Oh, I know what the gossips claim—but the relationship was strictly platonic Perhaps it doesn’t matter to you. In any event, I wanted you to know the truth.”
Sara felt an unaccountable leap of pleasure at the information. Aware of Lily’s perceptive gaze, Sara struggled with an urge to confide in this sympathetic stranger—she, who had always guarded her own privacy so carefully. I’m not going to the ball for research, she wanted to burst out, I’m going because Mr. Craven thinks I’m a country mouse. And I barely recognize myself... because suddenly I would do anything to show him that he’s wrong ... when it shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter at all.
“Mr. Craven forbade me to come to the club tonight,” Sara heard herself say.
“Did he?” Lily responded immediately. “I’m not surprised.”
“He claims I wouldn’t be safe among the demimonde. Why, I’ve visited brothels and rookery gaming hells, and I’ve never come to any harm! It’s not at all fair, especially in light of the fact that I’m the one who rescued him!”
“I should say so,” Lily agreed.
“From the moment I arrived, he’s wanted to send me back to Greenwood Corners.”
“Yes, I know.” Lily moved to fasten the blue dress. “Derek wants to be rid of you, Sara, because he perceives you as a threat.”
Sara laughed incredulously. “Me, a threat? I assure you, no one has ever thought of me that way!”
“There is only one thing that Derek Craven fears,” Lily assured her. “He’s a complete coward when it comes to his own feelings. He’s had affairs with dozens of women—and as soon as there’s any danger of becoming attached to one, he’ll discard her and find another. When I first knew him, I thought of him as an extremely limited man, incapable of love, trust, or tenderness. But now I believe those feelings are there. He’s bottled them deep inside ever since he was a child. And I think the time is fast approaching when he won’t be able to hold them back any longer. He’s not quite himself these days. Lately I’ve seen signs that the wall he’s built around him is cracking.”
Troubled, Sara smoothed the velvet at her hips and stared down at the floor. “Lady Raiford, I’m not certain what you expect of me,” she said honestly. “I love Mr. Kingswood, and I intend to marry him—”
“Sara,” Lily interrupted gently, “you would help Derek greatly if you show him tonight that he’s not as bloody invincible as he thinks. I’d like for you—or someone else—to find a chink in the armor. That’s all.” She smiled warmly. “And then you’ll go back to Mr. Kingswood, who is a wonderful man, I’m certain ... and I’ll do my part to find the right woman for Derek.” Lily laughed. “She’ll have to be strong, wise, and patient enough to qualify for sainthood.” She stood back to look at Sara, and a grin appeared on her face. “This” she said emphatically, “is the gown.”
They sat together in the Raifords’ carriage, drinking companionably from a silver flask that Lily had produced. Sara stared out the window from behind a tiny tasseled curtain, watching the torrent of people ascend the steps to the club. Women wore sumptuous gowns and masks adorned with plumes, jewels, and ribbons. Their escorts were attired in dark, formal attire and simple black masks that made it look like a highwayman’s ball. The windows blazed with light, while the strains of orchestra music floated into the cold darkness of night.
Lily watched the procession and smacked her lips, savoring the taste of fine brandy. “We’ll wait a few minutes more. It wouldn’t do to appear too early.”
Sara drew the borrowed cloak around herself and reached for the flask. The brandy was strong but mellow, a pleasant fire that eased the tautness of her nerves and the chattering of her teeth.
“My husband is probably wondering where I am,” Lily remarked.
“What will you tell him?”
“I’m not certain yet. It will have to be something close to the truth.” Lily grinned cheerfully. “Alex can always tell when I’m lying outright.”
Sara smiled. Not only did Lily Raiford take pleasure in recounting outrageous tales of her past misbehavior, but she freely gave her opinions about anyone and anything. She had an amazingly cavalier attitude toward men. “They’re easy to manage, and entirely predictable,” Lily had said earlier. “If something is easily given, they’re indifferent to it. If something is withheld, they want it desperately.”
As she mulled over Lily’s advice, Sara thought that perhaps she had been right about withholding. Perry Kingswood had always known that as soon as he cared to propose, Sara would accept. Perhaps if he hadn’t been so certain of her, it wouldn’t have taken four years to come to the brink of an engagement. When I return to Greenwood Corners, Sara thought, I’ll be a new woman. She would be as self-confident and independent as Lily Raiford herself. And then Perry would fall madly in love with her.
Pleased by the notion, Sara bolstered herself with more brandy.
“You’d better go easy on that,” Lily advised.
“It’s quite bracing.”
“It’s quite potent. Here—it’s time to put your mask on. Don’t be nervous.”
“It’s a lovely mask,” Sara said, toying with the narrow black silk ribbons before tying it in place. Monique had artfully fashioned it out of black silk and lace, and glinting blue sapphires that matched her gown. “I’m not nervous at all.” It was true. She felt as if some reckless stranger had replaced her usual cautious self. The midnight-blue gown molded to her figure, cut so low that her breasts seemed ready to spill from the meager bodice. A broad satin sash fastened with a gold buckle emphasized her small waist. The mask covered the upper half of her face but revealed her lips, which Monique and Lily had insisted on darkening with the faintest hint of rouge. Laboriously they had arranged her hair in a cluster of curls on top of her head, allowing a few ringlets to dangle teasingly against her cheeks and neck. A perfume that reminded Sara of roses blended with some deeper foresty scent had been applied sparingly to her bosom and throat.
“A triumph,” Monique had declared, gloating over the transformation. “Beautiful, worldly, but still fresh and young ... ah, cherie, you will make many conquests tonight!”
“Stunning.” Lily had said, beaming with delight. “What a stir she’ll cause. You’ll undoutedly hear all the gossip tomorrow morning, Monique.”
“Bien stir, everyone will come in to ask who she is, clucking like a flock of jealous hens!”
As the two had congratulated themselves, Sara had stared at the unfamiliar reflection in the mirror, her stomach jumping excitedly. The image was that of an experienced woman, well-versed in the art of seduction. “Not a mouse tonight,” she had whispered with a wondering smile. “You won’t even know me, Mr. Craven.”
At the sound of Lily’s vaguely anxious voice, Sara recalled herself to the present “If you have any trouble tonight,” Lily was saying, “just shout for Worthy.”
“There won’t be any need for that,” Sara said airily, and tipped the flask for another deep swallow.
“You’d better say something to Worthy when you go in. He won’t recognize you otherwise.”
Sara smiled smugly at the thought. “Neither will Mr. Craven.”
“I’m not certain I like the look in your eyes,” Lily said uneasily. “Be careful, Sara. Strange things have been known to happen at these assemblies. I ended up married after a particularly memorable one. Here, give me back that flask. I think y
ou’ve had enough.”
Reluctantly Sara gave back the brandy, while Lily delivered a final lecture. “Don’t accept any wagers, or you’ll be tricked into playing prick-the-garter with some randy buck before you know what’s happened. And mind that you don’t go to the back rooms with anyone—that’s where people disappear for a convenient tail tickle.”
“Worthy didn’t tell me that.”
“He was probably too embarrassed.” Lily said darkly. “Those rooms are designed to muffle all sound, and they’re filled with questionable pieces of furniture upon which all manner of sordid things have taken place.”
“How do you know so much about them?”
“Hearsay, of course.” Lily grinned in a way that belied her innocent tone. “Out of the carriage, minx.”
“Thank you,” Sara said earnestly. “Thank you for everything. I do wish you would let me pay for the gown, and the silk undergarments, and—”
“I won’t hear of it,” Lily interrupted. “You can tell me all about the ball someday. That will be payment enough.” She waved Sara away with a laugh.
The footman assisted Sara from the carriage, and she walked up the steps alone. Perhaps it was just a touch of giddiness from the brandy, but she was feeling most strange. The night was magical, menacing, kaleidoscopic. The marble steps beneath her feet seemed to shift like sands moved by the tide. Something was going to happen to her tonight. Whether the morrow brought happiness or regret, she knew that for at least a few hours she would have lived as boldly as she had always dreamed of doing.
“Madam?” the butler asked imperturbably as she swept into the entrance. It was his responsibility to filter out uninvited guests, otherwise the assembly balls would swell to unmanageable proportions.
