Corseting The Earl

by Killarney Sheffield

  “Hm…. ’Tis truly a shame the good Lord is so generous with some and meager with others. I myself think these need be a little larger. I mean, to draw the eye from my face.” Heath turned sideways in the mirror, studying his profile with a thoughtful expression.

  “I do believe you have crossed into inappropriate subject matter again, sir. I must say it is beginning to be an awful habit and more than a little disconcerting.” Pippa looked away and busied herself tidying up the room.

  “Well, I am only trying to be a convincing specimen of the female persuasion. How can I hope to cajole any useful information out of a man without a tempting distraction now?”

  Pippa made a face at him in the mirror. “You could try using your brain. Most women have those, I hear.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Women are groomed to be pleasing to the eye, create domestic peace in the home, and bear children, not to be intelligent.”

  Mouth agape, she stared at him as he stuffed another wad of material in his makeshift bosom. “I am utterly shocked you said that out loud.”

  “Why? That is exactly how society sees it. I have done nothing but state the truth, as it is perceived. I did not say it was entirely true.”

  “Well, I for one am not dull of wit, sir.” Pippa tossed a ruined stocking at him. “I do believe you should spend a few months in a dress. It might be an education for you.”

  Frowning, he settled in the chair before the dressing table to slather paint on his face. “I will have you know I am very well educated in the finest schools in England.”

  She snorted. “Exactly why women should be allowed to school alongside the men. It appears you are lacking in the female perspective.”

  “I see no advantage in learning a woman’s perspective.”

  “There, you have exposed the whole root of the notion of women’s inequality, sir.”

  “Ah, yes, some women want Parliamentary reform…and the right to vote. Why, I doubt any of them even understand what it takes to run this great country of ours.”

  Pippa narrowed her eyes. “There is a rumor of a plot to put Queen Charlotte on the throne. If such happens it will be the end to the precious Whig party as we know it.”

  “A woman in government?” Heath’s eyes widened in mock horror, whilst a cocky smile tweaked his lips. “Good heavens! That would surely be the start of the apocalypse the Bible speaks of.” He chuckled at his own jest. “A woman running our great country? Why, what a debacle that would be. All humor aside, the Whig party has served us well and fine all these years and it shall continue to do so for many more.”

  A glimmer of his intent surfaced in Pippa’s mind. “Is that what your silly disguise is all about? Are you trying to ferret out these schemers?”

  He caught her eye in the mirror with a shrewd one of his own. “What would you know of this?”

  “Apparently nothing. I am just a mere woman, remember?” Head held high she sailed from the room.

  Chapter Seven

  Heath frowned at his absurd reflection in the mirror. Perhaps he had misjudged Miss Pippa Nickle. She did indeed appear to be influenced by the covert bid to place Charlotte on the throne. Could she really be the informant he was looking for? It seemed unlikely at first the young woman could be a spy; yet after their conversation just now he suddenly wasn’t so sure. Could her story of being misused by a squire’s son be nothing more than a ruse to conceal her real identity? It was certainly possible. Mayhap she was the real spy’s wife in his stead, a convenient switch that might be used to confuse him and King George’s loyal supporters?

  He set the ridiculous wig of golden curls on his head and pinned it in place. Well, in the case Miss Nickle was a spy, his father’s advice came to mind: “Keep your friends close and your enemies even closer, lad.” Yes, it was best he keep a careful eye on Pippa, and what better way to do so than as her chaperone? He recalled her reluctance to accommodate his bizarre request. Certainly, if she was an informant for the rebels, his presence would hamper her agenda. He couldn’t ask for better circumstances. Grinning, he boosted his phony bosoms and crossed to the door. After clearing his throat, he tightened his throat to force his well-practiced feminine tone, “Let the games begin.”

  When he entered the dining room he found their hostess, Lady Allan, seated with Miss Nickle and Miss Allan across from her. The butler pulled out the vacant chair beside the lady and Heath tensed. Would the elder Lady Allan see through his disguise?

  Lady Allan stirred her tea with a dainty silver spoon. “Good morrow, Mrs. Doyle, I trust you slept well?”

  Heath took his seat. “I did, Lady Allan, thank you for asking.”

  The lady gave him a quick smile and set her utensil in her saucer. “The cook says you suffer from a little indigestion in the mornings, is there anything special you require to be served?”

  Heath glanced at Pippa. “Only a pot of strong peppermint tea first thing in the morning. It settles my stomach, you see.”

  She nodded her approval. “Yes, have you tried a little ginger in it?”

  “Ginger?” Heath picked up his tea cup and took a swallow to wet his throat, growing dry from the strain of pitching his voice.

  “Why yes, Fredrick received some as a gift from Lord Ridgeway, who had a number of spices and such brought back from the orient last month. It is said to do very well at settling the stomach. Lady Ridgeway has it steeped with the mint to aid in her daughter’s morning sickness, I hear. She swears it works well.” Lady Allan smiled. “Lady Ridgeway is simply thrilled to await the birth of her first grandchild. I myself am hoping to experience the same joy about this time next year.” She favored her daughter with a fond look.

  Marcy had the grace to blush profusely. “Mama, really, I have not even wed Kenton yet.”

  “Oh, I swear it will be the event of the season, dearest.” She leaned forward. “Oh his lordship is such a handsome young man, and very rich too.”

  It took everything Heath had not to roll his eyes. Instead he smiled and mumbled, “How lovely.”

  “Speaking of very rich,” Lady Allan paused to take a sip from her tea cup. “Sir Marshall and Lady Marshall have been gracious enough to host a small dinner and music night tonight in honor of your arrival from the country, Pippa.” She glanced at Heath. “I hear you young ladies wasted no time in hunting down the latest fashions yesterday, so I trust you will all be attired in glorious splendor at seven o’clock sharp.”

  Heath smothered a groan. “How delightful.”

  Lady Allen tipped her head in agreement. “Yes, indeed. Why, there will be many an eligible bachelor attending too. I am sure, since you are no longer wearing mourning colors, you are on the marriage mart, Percephany, as is of course my dear niece.”

  Sputtering, Heath made haste to set down his tea cup. “I—well, though my dear…Heath, has been gone little over a year now, I must say I am not quite ready to entertain the idea…of another.”

  “Nonsense, the older you get the harder ’twill be to capture another suitable swain. It is tough enough with all the…dainty young debutantes abounding these days. A…sturdy, sensible woman like you could take months to find a secure gentleman looking for a wife.” Lady Allan leaned forward. “The older ones do not like to wait on begetting an heir you know, on the account of they simply live shorter lives than us women, you see.”

  “Quite right,” Heath mumbled at his plate of toasted bread and coddled eggs. A discrete peek out of the corner of his eye proved Pippa’s delicate cough into her handkerchief was cover for a large grin and a snicker. Her amusement at the uncomfortable line of conversation didn’t seem at all fair.

  “In light of such a stimulating evening ahead, I think we should all retire to the large parlor this morning to enjoy a little of my daughter Marcy’s pianoforte play and some needle point, or reading. Thus we shall give our maids plenty of time to attend our gowns and to help us ready after tea and an afternoon nap.”

  When the two young ladies agreed Heath mentally g
roaned. Good Lord. He had never realized the life of boredom women in society lived. What I would not give for a good, stiff glass of port and a brisk gallop across the countryside on my horse….

  * * *

  Heath followed close on Pippa’s heels when they retired in search of reading material. Once their hosts left them at the library and headed off for the entertaining parlor, he dragged her inside and shut the door. “I think you were enjoying my discomfort a little too much back there, Miss Nickle.”

  A wry smile rose to her lips and she moved away to peruse the bookshelves. “You have to admit, sir, ’twas quite the spectacle. I shall endeavor to find you just the right gentleman to which to make a match.”

  “That is not amusing.” Heath stalked to the nearest bookshelf. “And quit calling me ‘sir.’”

  Pippa sighed. “Never fear. If you shall keep me from the grips of any young suitors, I promise I shall keep you from the jaws of any hungry, grey haired gentlemen looking for a broodmare.”

  “It is a bargain.” Heath pulled a book from the shelf. “Well, at least Sir Allan has a good collection of political books.”

  Pippa snatched it from his hands. “You cannot possibly take the likes of that back to the parlor to read.”

  Heath frowned. “Why the devil not?”

  With a roll of her eyes she shoved it back in its vacated slot on the shelf. “Ladies do not read the political volumes, remember?” She wandered the shelf and plucked a small red jacketed book from it. “Here.”

  He took it and read the title, “Lady Lydia’s Liveryman. A gothic romance? You have got to be jesting.” His groan echoed throughout the room. “A man such as I would never be caught, dead or alive, reading such drivel.”

  She grinned. “Ah, but Percephany would.”

  “I do not suppose you can find me a book large enough to hide today’s financial section of the newspaper in?” He glanced around the room.

  “No.” With a look far too smug for his tastes, she picked up a book on decorating and crossed to the door. “Come along, Percephany, we would not want to my keep my aunt and cousin waiting, now would we?”

  “Perhaps I can claim a headache….” Heath groused and then followed.

  Chapter Eight

  Pippa had the maid ready her for the evening an hour early so she would have plenty of time to help Heath dress. She found him clad in drawers, a chemise, and pulling on a pair of canary yellow stockings. “Not those stockings.”

  He scowled at her. “Why the devil not?”

  “Yellow stockings hardly go with a red dress.”

  After tossing them on the bed, he sighed. “Men have a valet to coordinate their attire.”

  “And women have a maid, but since we cannot possibly subject another female to your horrid sense of humor, you are stuck with me.” Pippa pulled a high cut, spinsterish red gown from the wardrobe. “Here, as awful as it is, this gown is more suited to a small evening of dining and entertainment.”

  Heath eyed the red silk cluttered with ribbons and bows. “Good Lord, I wonder how many silk worms died to make that?”

  With a giggle Pippa tossed it over the dressing screen. “It is pretty awful, but the best we could purchase ready-made. We could not very well have had you fitted, after all.” She gathered a red pair of stockings, pins, and corset from the drawer. Once Heath had the stockings rolled on and pinned to his chemise she handed him the corset made of red and black pin striping, edged in matching lace.

  “Good lord, lace too?” Heath shook his head and held the contraption to his middle with a grimace of distaste.

  Pippa hid her grin. “Be quiet and breathe out.” She laced him into the stiff whale bone contraption.

  “When parliament…recommences…I will…put forth…a bill to outlaw…these…horrid things,” he grunted when she braced and pulled the stays tight one by one.

  “Pfft! As if politics would have a say in dictating women’s fashion. The French do that.” Pippa tied a neat bow.

  “Well then, the bloody French could have killed off their enemies with corsets instead of the guillotine. We should thank them for the invention of these torture devices. It would serve us well in the event of a war. Many a man would give up their mates to be released from one.”

  Pippa giggled. “Men are such babes. Why the pain a woman experiences during childbirth would make a whole army drop arms and surrender.” She held the petticoat so Heath could step into it.

  “Do you fear it, Pippa?”

  She glanced at him. “Fear what?”

  “Child birth.”

  “No.” She looked away. Of course she dreaded it, as did all women. There was no guarantee one would survive, or the child for that matter, but she wasn’t about to admit it, least of all to him. “I have not given it much thought as of yet.” When the petticoat was in place she lowered the gown over Heath’s head.

  “My sister screamed the house down. Her poor husband was sure the midwife was cleaving her in two.” Heath gave a sympathetic smile as his head popped out of the top of the gown. “I do not suppose it is that bad with all births.”

  “Hopefully not.” Pippa pushed the thought aside and tugged the gown down in place. Once she had all the buttons done up in back she gestured to the dressing table. “Sit down and I will help you with your paint.”

  Heath sat and followed her movements in the mirror in silence as she made him look as feminine as possible. His stare unnerved her, so she concentrated on the task at hand. By the time she was done he looked a passable “she.”

  “There, now for your wig.” She pinned the curls atop his head and stepped back. “All done.”

  He stood and crossed to the full length mirror, turned a quick circle and then frowned at the extensive padding in the back. “Does this dress make my bottom look big?”

  A peal of laughter issued from Pippa’s lips before she could stop it. “Most assuredly, sir, padding does little to flatter you.”

  He lifted a brow and she stifled her laughter at the knock on the door.

  “Miss Nickle and Mrs. Doyle, Lady Allan and Miss Allan are awaiting you in the small parlor.”

  Pippa cleared her throat. “We will be right there, Patrice.”

  After Heath stuffed his feet into a pair of comically large lady’s slippers she handed him a matching fan and reticule. “There, ’tis the best I can do, Percephany, try not to get into a compromising position with any gentleman tonight.”

  “Believe me, I will not.”

  Together they headed below.

  Lady Allan eyed Heath. “Why Percephany, what a demure gown, and the color, it is so…ah…bold. Quite a contrasting design.”

  Pippa and Marcy exchanged smirks. The high necked, conservative ensemble was indeed a contrast, done in such a bright garish color as it was.

  “Thank you,” Heath squeaked and then cleared his throat as Sir Allan entered the parlor.

  Sir Allan favored them with a warm smile. “Good eve, ladies. My, what a lucky man I am to have the privilege to escort not two, but,” his smile faltered a little when his gaze settled on Heath dressed as Percephany, “four, lovely ladies, this night.” He turned to Pippa with a genuine smile that made him look half his age and just as handsome as any young swain. “Pippa, you have grown into a stunning young woman since last I saw you all pigtails and bonnets.”

  “Thank you, Uncle Fredrick.” Pippa turned to Heath. “May I introduce my chaperone, my cousin on my father’s side, Mrs. Percephany Doyle.”

  “Charmed, I am sure, Sir Allan,” Heath simpered with a slight squirm when Pippa’s uncle kissed the back of his hand.

  Sir Allan stepped back and ran his tongue across his bottom lip with a puzzled expression. “Ah, well, shall we get going?” He gestured for the girls to precede him and then tucked his wife’s hand in the crook of his arm.

  Pippa stole a peek over her shoulder in time to see her uncle rub his bottom lip. The motion intrigued her. Mulling over his reaction, she headed for the carriage. T
he footman handed Marcy up first and then Percephany. Heath clutched the hand rail, as the step wobbled under his weight. It was then Pippa noticed his hand, or rather the pale bits of hair sprouting from his knuckles. A peal of laughter spewed from her lips before she could check it. Heath frowned over his shoulder. “So rude of me, so sorry Percephany, but I thought you were about to lose your hair combs.”

  Heath ducked into the carriage and Pippa scrambled up after him. As she sat in the seat beside him, she whispered, “You have forgotten your gloves, and I fear my uncle got some of your knuckle hair between his teeth.” Her snicker was cut short by her aunt’s entrance and a curious look from her cousin, no doubt wondering what she had whispered.

  With a sniff Heath dug a pair of rumpled gloves from his reticule and pulled them on.

  How long would Heath be able to pass for a woman? Not long by the looks of things and what was she going to do when he was exposed? She would have to pretend she had no idea of course, but surely her aunt would send a scathing letter to Pippa’s mother and father. It would be a disaster of epic proportions.

  When they arrived at the mansion of Sir Marshall and Lady Marshall they were introduced and escorted to the dining room where two dozen guests awaited. Pippa found herself seated to the right of Heath beside a young Viscount Rylee. Conversation flowed, yet Heath was strangely quiet. The young Viscount, however, was a fountain of chatter.

  “How are you enjoying your stay in our fair city of Bracenville, Miss Nickle.”

  Pippa pasted a warm smile to her lips despite the nervous vibe Heath was emitting. “Very well, Lord Rylee, I find the hustle and bustle of this small city much to my liking after our tiny town.”

  “Ah, you have not seen a thriving city until you have been to London, my dear.” He cast a quick look at Percephany. “I would be pleased to arrange for you an invite to my brother’s costume ball in two nights’ time in London.”