by Olivia Drake
Maddy pulled out the stool by the dressing table, and the legs scraped noisily on the wood floor. Sitting down, she noted the clutter of cosmetics and reached out to replace the cap on an open jar of rouge. It irked her that she felt embarrassed by the mess. What did it matter what this woman thought of her?
Nevertheless, she straightened the hairbrush and hand mirror, then put a cork in a bottle of perfume. “Perhaps you had better tell me why you’re here.”
The woman folded her gloved hands around the velvet reticule in her lap, her posture straight and her gaze direct. “Allow me to be frank. I understand you are soon to hold an auction for select gentlemen of the ton. An auction in which you yourself are to be the prize.”
A pot of greasepaint dropped from Maddy’s nerveless fingers. She caught it just as it rolled off the edge of the dressing table. Was her ladyship an angry wife come on a mission of rebuke?
No, Lady Milford appeared to be in her middle years. The noblemen were all bachelors in their prime.
Was she an irate mother, then, wanting to protect her son from a conniving actress?
But Lady Milford didn’t look livid. Serious, perhaps, but not on the verge of explosive fury. None of the men were named Milford, anyway.
“Indeed,” Maddy murmured cautiously. “The gentlemen are to bring their sealed bids to me tomorrow night, and in due course, I shall select the winner. But … how did you find out about the auction?”
“My source is of no consequence,” Lady Milford said with a flutter of her fingers. “However, I should like to ask, is it true that only those men who have received an invitation will be permitted to submit a bid?”
“I—yes. I could hardly open it to the general public.” She’d chosen only a dozen or so nobles who were proper and well heeled, men powerful enough to protect her from Lord Dunham, yet not cruel in nature. If she was to embark on an illicit affair, it would be with a gentleman who would treat her with a measure of decency.
“I see,” said Lady Milford. “That is why I’m here, Miss Swann. I wondered if you would consider extending an invitation to my godson, Viscount Rowley. With the death of his brother over a year ago, he is now heir to the Earl of Gilmore.”
Maddy’s jaw dropped. Not because she knew who Viscount Rowley was—she had never heard of him—but rather, because Lady Milford actually seemed to be expressing approval of the auction. So much so that she would come here to solicit an invitation on behalf of her godson!
The situation was so mind-boggling that Maddy couldn’t make sense of it. Ladies often turned a blind eye to the peccadilles of their male relatives. Yet they would never dream of helping those men actually acquire a mistress.
“I—I hardly know what to say, my lady. I know nothing about Viscount Rowley.”
“My godson has been abroad for the past ten years on a trip to the Far East. He has only recently returned. But I can assure you, he is a very wealthy man. Whatever compensation you hope to receive, he has the means to exceed it.”
“A monetary settlement is only a part of my requirement.” Maddy balked at the notion of trying to explain her selection process to this stranger. It was just too private, too personal. Especially when it came to her most secret desires. In the dark of night, she had burned to discover what it was like to lie naked with a handsome man. To experience the glories of lust in his heated embrace …
However, she had never felt inclined to be free with her favors as other actresses often were. Promiscuity had always been distasteful to her, perhaps because of the influence of her lady mother. Over the years, Maddy had developed a reputation for rebuffing offers from even the finest gentlemen. Consequently, many of them had clamored to participate in this auction of her virginity.
“What are your other requirements?” Lady Milford asked.
Under the woman’s direct stare, Maddy battled a blush. “The gentleman must be someone I can admire, someone who is fine-looking but also adept at intelligent conversation.” A thought occurred to her. Perhaps Lord Rowley was some sort of imbecile who could not speak for himself. “May I ask, why are you acting as the viscount’s emissary? Is he incapable of pleading his own case?”
Lady Milford laughed. “Hardly. If you must know, he’s busy unloading his ships and is quite unaware that I am here tonight. With the auction scheduled for tomorrow evening, I deemed it wise to act swiftly.”
“Do you mean to say he’s never even seen me?”
“No, but when he mentioned his desire to attain a … woman, I immediately thought of you, Miss Swann. I’ve attended your plays in the past and I’ve been most impressed by both your talent and your beauty.”
“Oh—thank you.”
“You no doubt find my intrusion into his affairs to be rather odd,” Lady Milford went on. “To that, let me say that my godson’s happiness is of the utmost importance to me. And I am of the belief that you are the perfect match for him.”
Maddy blinked. The perfect match? The woman spoke as if she were negotiating for a bride, not a mistress. “I’m pleased you would think so highly of me, my lady. But I’ve only your word to go on. With me never having made Lord Rowley’s acquaintance…”
“Ah, but you can meet him when he delivers his sealed bid. I’m certain you’ll find him to be a charming, handsome gentleman with a quick mind and a noble heart. And far superior to any of those on your list.”
“Of course you would believe so. He is your godson.”
Lady Milford smiled with genuine warmth. “Excellent point, Miss Swann, though you should know that I’ve something of a reputation as a matchmaker. As such, I am very well acquainted with all of the eligible bachelors that you have chosen. Shall I read their names aloud and enumerate each man’s weaknesses?”
She reached into her reticule and withdrew a folded piece of paper.
“No! No, that won’t be necessary!” Irked, Maddy crossed her arms. Really, this had gone too far. It was disconcerting enough to discuss the auction with such a fine lady, let alone to feel maneuvered by her. Clearly, Lady Milford would not surrender when it came to fighting for her godson. Yet in spite of it all, Maddy found her curiosity stirred about this paragon of manhood.
What real harm could there be in allowing one more bid?
She blew out a breath. “All right, if Lord Rowley wishes to participate, then so be it. Have him bring his written offer here himself tomorrow evening at eight, at the same time as the other gentlemen. But I will make you no promises.”
“Excellent.” Looking pleased, Lady Milford tucked the paper back into her reticule. Then, oddly enough, she drew out something else. Something that sparkled a rich reddish hue in the light of the oil lamp.
A pair of shoes?
Forgetting her wariness, Maddy found herself leaning forward on the stool. Yes, they were shoes. Exquisite dancing slippers, each with a glittery buckle, and much finer than anything she’d ever admired in a shop window. She couldn’t take her eyes from them. They seemed almost … alive. Countless tiny crystal beads frosted the garnet satin, giving the shoes a shimmering glow.
Lady Milford placed the pair on the floor in front of Maddy. “As a token of my gratitude, perhaps you’d like to borrow these for a time.”
“Borrow them—”
The token reeked of a bribe, and Maddy didn’t think it fair to the other gentlemen. Yet before she’d even completed that thought, she was kicking off her scuffed old shoes and sliding her stockinged toes into the elegant garnet slippers.
At once, a feeling of happiness flowed through her veins. She sprang up from the stool and twirled around, marveling at how gloriously comfortable the shoes felt. The weariness of standing for hours during the play vanished completely. It was as if her feet were enveloped in the softest cotton batting.
“They fit perfectly, my lady! How did you know my size?”
A hint of mystery tinged Lady Milford’s half smile. “It was good luck, I suppose. They shall be yours until you no longer need them.”
&n
bsp; Until she no longer needed them?
The conversation had taken another peculiar turn as Maddy sensed an underlying message that she didn’t quite understand. It was rather like reading a play with a page missing from the script.
Lady Milford arose from the chair and glided to the doorway. There, she turned to give Maddy a keen look. “I do hope you’ll grant me one more wish, Miss Swann.”
“What is that?”
“You’ll wear the slippers tomorrow while you accept your bids.”
With a flick of her rich plum cloak, the woman vanished into the corridor, leaving Maddy with her lips parted in unspoken refusal. Lady Milford asked the impossible. It would be folly to wear such beautiful shoes on the following evening. Not that Maddy dared to explain why.
No one must know about her secret plan for the auction.
Chapter 4
In her dressing room the following evening, Maddy stood in her petticoats and corset. She held her arms extended straight out while Gertie tied thick padding around Maddy’s slender waist. The wool-stuffed burlap sack was a vital part of her disguise. But the task of fastening it in place seemed to be taking forever.
Craning her neck, she peered over her shoulder at the maid who was stooped down, fussing with the strings. She could see only the woman’s salt-and-pepper hair. “Is something amiss?” Maddy asked, controlling the urge to fidget. “We really do have to hurry. The gentlemen will be arriving in half an hour.”
“If ye don’t wish t’ lose yer fatty bits on stage, ye’d best be patient.” Gertie gave one final pat and straightened up. “There, ’tis done.”
“Thank goodness. Now the dress, and quickly please.”
With Gertie’s help, Maddy drew the black bombazine gown over her head and stuck her arms into the long sleeves. The maid tugged the skirt down over the heavy padding. While Gertie fastened the buttons at the back, Maddy adjusted the severe bodice. Next, she stepped to the dressing table and donned a wig made of coarse gray horsehair, tucking every last strand of her own blond locks firmly out of sight.
Only then did she peer into the age-spotted mirror to assess her transformation.
A portly old biddy with sausage curls and a thick waist stared back at her. The drab gown was perfectly suited to an ancient servant. She had applied a good deal of makeup earlier, and her face felt heavy from the layers of putty she’d used to create numerous wrinkles.
Pleased with the disguise, Maddy spun around toward the maid. “What do you think, Gertie? Shall I add a wart to my chin, perhaps?”
The woman glanced down at the sparkly garnet slippers that peeped out from beneath Maddy’s black skirt. “Them shoes. They ain’t fittin’ fer a servant. Where’d they come from, anyhow? I don’t recall ever seein’ ’em in the costumes room.”
Maddy was loath to explain the particulars of Lady Milford’s visit, or her own strange compulsion to wear the gorgeous slippers no matter how risky it might be to give away her real identity. She simply couldn’t bring herself to exchange them for the sturdy pair of half-boots she’d intended to wear. “Never mind, they’re just for luck,” she said evasively, arranging her hem to hide the shoes. “No one will notice them.”
Gertie harrumphed. “Don’t see why ye need any o’ this,” she grumbled as she turned to gather the discarded clothing from the floor. “’Tis a right load of foolishness, that it is.”
“You know why.” Maddy sat down at the dressing table, dipped her forefinger in the jar of putty, and began to sculpt a wart on her chin. “I explained it all to you before. I want to scrutinize the gentlemen without their knowledge.”
The masquerade was a way to separate the wheat from the chaff. If she went out there as herself, they would all be toadying to her and vying for her attention. So she had decided to pose as a servant assigned to gathering the bids. That way, it would be easier to judge each man’s character by observing how he reacted to an old crone. It was all part of her strategy to acquire a benevolent man as her lover, one who treated the underclass with dignity and respect.
“That ain’t what I meant,” Gertie said, hanging a petticoat from a wall hook. “’Tis this whole scheme o’ yers that’s folly. Sellin’ yerself t’ the highest bidder! As if ye was a milk cow! Why, yer dear sweet mam must be turnin’ over in her grave.”
As Maddy leaned forward to examine the new wart in the mirror, she could see Gertie reflected behind her, a husky, broad-faced woman who had grown up on a farm and had once labored as a maid at the Duke of Houghton’s estate in Hampshire. When Maddy’s mother had run away to marry a traveling actor, Gertie had loyally accompanied her. The faithful woman had been a fixture in Maddy’s life forever, and her criticism felt as horrid as disappointing her own mother.
But they had been through all this before, and Maddy didn’t want another quarrel, not when her stomach was already tied in a knot.
“Mama came from a different world,” she said. “I must make my own way in the world in which I was born.”
“Ye should stay on as an actress, then. ’Tis a worthy calling. And they want ye here, girl. Poor Edmund was about to weep his eyes out last night.”
The troupe had held the farewell supper at a local pub, with cast and crew members alike making toasts to her. Maddy had shed a few tears, too. But it was time for a change of scene. Time to set her life onto a new and exciting course.
“And how long would it take for me to save enough money to open my shop? Another ten years? Twenty?” Maddy added a touch of gray soot to her eyebrows. “Besides, I need a protector, as well you know.”
Hands planted on her sturdy hips, Gertie shook her head. “Tell Lord Dunham ye’re his cousin, then. Mayhap he’ll quit pesterin’ ye.”
“No. It wouldn’t matter to him. You didn’t see the look in his eyes last night.” Maddy shuddered at the memory of him forcing his kiss on her. Next time, she might not be so successful in fending off his attack.
She had another reason for keeping their kinship a secret. If he knew, Lord Dunham would tell his grandfather—their grandfather—and that would ruin her opportunity to catch the Duke of Houghton by surprise. Once this auction was settled, she would have the leisure to formulate a scheme in which to confront the duke before all society …
But Gertie needn’t know all that.
Maddy arose from the stool and went to the woman, patting her big chapped hand. “Everything will go well tonight, you’ll see. I’ll have a fine town house in which to live. It would be a tremendous help if you’d accompany me as my personal servant.” Maddy paused, searching those familiar weathered features. “Unless, of course, you’d rather stay on here with the troupe.”
“Bosh, I wouldn’t leave ye, not ever! I promised yer mam on her deathbed.”
Gratified, Maddy hugged the robust woman. “Thank you, dearest. You can’t imagine how much that means to me.”
Gertie harrumphed again, her brown eyes tender with concern. “Ye’ve made yer bed an’ ye’ll lie in it, then. Let’s hope ye don’t come to regret it!”
* * *
A short while later, leaning heavily on a walking stick, Maddy shuffled out of the wings and onto the stage. Only a few gas lamps had been lit along the edge of the stage. With the cast and crew taking a night off, she had been allowed to use the premises this one last time.
Already a score of gentlemen occupied seats on the benches in the pit of the shadowed theater. They looked up as Maddy appeared, then lost interest at once. To them, she was merely a creaky old maidservant to be ignored.
So far, so good.
Pausing as if to catch her breath, she used the opportunity to scan the crop of contenders. Several men chatted among themselves, but most were busy eyeing each other like rival cocks in a fighting pen.
As well they should be. Only one of them would become her lover.
Her insides clenched with anxiety. Would she make the right choice? Who among them would submit the most lucrative offer? Who would be most suited to her? Who would be e
liminated?
The first name already had been crossed off her list. Lord Dunham sat in the first row, his marine-blue coat a perfect foil for his flaxen hair and narrow aristocratic features. A diamond stickpin winked in his lapel and his foot tapped impatiently. Her cousin could offer her the crown jewels, and she still wouldn’t have him.
Nearby, ginger-haired Lord Netherfield turned a folded paper over and over in his hand, brushing it almost lovingly. Behind him sat Mr. Stanford, the boyish heir to a baronet, cradling an enormous bouquet in his lap. A short distance away, the scholarly Marquess of Herrington had his nose in a book, though he slid wary glances at his fellow competitors from time to time.
Only one arrival remained standing in the gloom at the back of the theater. He was leaning against a pillar in a casual pose of attention. With the gaslights shining in her eyes, Maddy couldn’t identify him. But she had the impression of a tall, well-built man.
Was he Viscount Rowley?
Lady Milford’s godson was the only candidate who was a stranger to Maddy, for she knew all the others present. But she couldn’t be certain it was him because there were two gentlemen on her list who were not among the throng.
It was just past eight o’clock and she wouldn’t wait for latecomers.
Using the cane, she tottered to the front of the stage and cleared her throat with a rusty, rattling noise. She was forced to do so a second time, even louder, before the men deigned to look up at her. “Ye’ve all come to see Miss Swann, then,” she said.
Murmurs of assent rippled from the group.
“Where is she?” Mr. Gerald Jenkins called out in a hearty tone that matched his stout form. “We’ve laid wagers as to which of us will win the prize, so run along and fetch her. We want to see Beauty, not the Beast.”
A few men chuckled at the crude quip, while others were polite enough to refrain. Mr. Jenkins slipped down a few slots on Maddy’s list.
“I fear me mistress is indisposed,” she uttered in a quivery voice. “She cannot be with ye this night.”
A buzz of protests erupted from the gentlemen. Several of them shook fists in the air. The Marquess of Herrington clapped his book shut, while Lord Netherfield cried out, “This is most inconvenient. I turned down a dinner invitation to be here!”
