Masquerading the Marquess

by Anne Mallory

  James kept his face unchanged, but he mentally chastised himself for the slip. Stephen was too observant.

  "Don’t know what you mean."

  Stephen’s eyes narrowed and James diverted the conversation. "Isn’t it too soon after your return from the continent to make such an acquisition? Are you sure she’s legitimate?"

  Stephen’s face abruptly softened and his eyes twinkled. "Oh, I have nothing to fear from that quarter."

  His expression disgruntled James and made him uncharacteristically press the subject.

  "Something strange is going on. There is something odd about the situation and how you two met."

  "This is a first." Stephen grinned. "The Marquess of Angelford, jealous."

  James frowned. "I’m not jealous. I’m concerned about you."

  "As you will."

  James’s frown deepened and his voice rang with emphasis. "Believe me, women are not worth the trouble. Getting foolish over them makes a man weak."

  Stephen continued to smile at James, but his voice was directed past him. "My dear, did you find anything interesting?"

  James turned to the box entrance and saw the chestnut-haired beauty shooting daggers at him. He hadn’t heard her approach and wondered what the hell was wrong with him.

  He was off his game.

  She had obviously overheard his last remark, and he wondered why he felt a twinge of regret. He had meant every word. What was it about her that made his conscience rear its ugly head?

  She turned to Stephen. "I had hoped we could leave. I’ve had enough of Rossini’s opera for the evening, and I think we can find better ways to occupy ourselves." She threw him a saucy look and moved her body invitingly.

  James’s own body flared, as did his temper, but Stephen was staring at him so he schooled his face into lines of boredom.

  Stephen was clearly enjoying James’s discomfort.

  He rose and took her hand. "Yes, darling, a wonderful idea. Good night, James, and say farewell to Stella for us when she returns."

  Stephen drawled the darling and each new syllable grated more than the last. They exited the box and left James inside, perturbed.

  He willed his body back to normal. His reactions were always unpredictable around her. The only predictable aspect was there would be a reaction.

  There was something strange about that girl. He had never been able to resist a puzzle, and he had never encountered one he couldn’t solve.

  He would expose her secret.

  Chapter 3

  "I didn’t realize you and James were acquainted," Stephen said when they were safely ensconced in the carriage.

  "We aren’t," Calliope responded. The words came out more tightly than she had planned.

  He gave her an assessing look. "I thought our plan was to remain for the second act."

  "After the exciting intermission I thought the second act might seem interminable. All of those ideas racing around in my head with no outlet."

  Stephen leaned forward. "What are some of your ideas?"

  Calliope launched into a description of the various sketches she had planned, successfully distracting his attention from the subject of Angelford. She still hadn’t figured out how she was going to tell Stephen that she had slaughtered his best friend in the papers.

  Stephen laughed at her opera descriptions and offered suggestions of his own. They tried to one up the other’s ideas all the way back to the Adelphi Theatre.

  The ride was merry until Stephen said, "Like you, James has a keen eye for observation. Someday I think I’d like to hear the two of you plotting sketches together."

  A pounding noise caused the carriage to shudder as lightning split the sky. Calliope tried to laugh at Stephen’s comment, but failed. A nervous sound rolled from her throat. Luckily the carriage stopped and she was saved from the conversation.

  Stephen threw an old greatcoat over her shoulders and hurried her to the theater’s back entrance just as the rain began. "I will come by tomorrow afternoon so we can plan our strategy. Good night, Calliope. It was quite an interesting evening."

  She turned and placed her hand on his sleeve as she handed him the coat. "I’m sorry for any rudeness in our abrupt departure from the opera, Mr. Chalmers. Tonight was a bit overwhelming. I truly appreciate your part in this mad scheme. You must let me know when it becomes tiring for you."

  Stephen smiled. "You needn’t concern yourself with me, Calliope. And please, call me Stephen."

  She returned his smile. "Good night, then, Stephen."

  He sketched a dashing bow and kissed her hand.

  Calliope entered the theater and headed to the dressing room, unnoticed by the busy stagehands. Deirdre breezed into the room a second later. "I want to hear everything! Absolutely everything. How was it? Tell me about the people, your grand entrance, the performance .... "

  Calliope collapsed into a chair. "I suppose it was a success."

  Deirdre’s brows drew together in a frown. "Suppose?"

  "I believe this new pursuit will serve extremely well if I can keep Stephen Chalmers on my side. Unfortunately, I will encounter many of the same arrogant people."

  Deirdre’s eyes danced. "Might I remind you that you created the position for that very reason?"

  Calliope shot her a dark look. "No, you may not."

  She received a knowing glance from Deirdre. "You encountered your deliciously haughty lord, didn’t you?"

  Calliope scowled. "He's not my lord."

  Deirdre rubbed her hands together in glee. "I can’t wait to see your next drawing of Angelford. They are some of your best—I can practically taste your feelings."

  Calliope stilled. "I will sketch no more of Angelford for a time. Robert warned me against doing so, and I find myself wanting to heed that particular piece of advice. Especially now that there is an added complication, which I’ll tell you about in a moment."

  Calliope _rose and began removing her guise. "Besides, the first of The Travails trilogy should be published tomorrow. If Angelford deserves another comeuppance, I can think of the future ones with anticipation."

  James glared at the paper.

  "What has you so irritable?" Stephen said as he dropped into a wingback chair across from James at White’s, a snifter dangling in his hand as he surveyed the club.

  James’s frown deepened as he glanced at Stephen, whose eyes were suspiciously cheerful. He thought about ignoring his friend, but instead pointed to the sketch and tossed him the paper.

  Stephen sipped his brandy and picked up the paper. He scanned the illustration and started choking. The paper bunched in his hand.

  James rose and pounded heavily on his back. Stephen gave him a devilish glare, putting James in somewhat better humor. Stephen’s color returned to normal and he opened the paper again. James looked over his shoulder at the caricature drawn of him, and then returned to his seat, signaling for another scotch. "It’s a ridiculous drawing. I’d like to wring that man’s neck."

  Stephen continued to study the paper, saying nothing. When he finally looked up, he appeared to be laughing at some hidden joke.

  "Stephen, you’re getting damn irritating."

  Stephen chuckled, causing several heads to turn their way. "This is too good. This artist has been featuring you?"

  James did not know what his friend found so amusing about the situation and gritted his teeth. "Yes."

  Stephen glanced back at the drawing, and although he vainly tried to hide it, another smile crossed his face. "How do you define irony? This is certainly an interesting turn of events."

  An attendant appeared. James grabbed his drink from the frightened man. "And how is that?"

  "The artist who composed the drawing put a great deal of effort and feeling into it, don’t you agree?"

  James shrugged. When the first illustration appeared, he had known the aspersions were personal. "I suppose."

  "Personal grudge, I’d say. What did you do?" Stephen sent him a considering look and took
a tentative sip of his brandy. Satisfied, he took a larger swallow.

  "Absolutely nothing of which I’m aware. You know I play a discreet role. I’m the epitome of the boring nobleman. I suppose I may want to employ runners to investigate this fellow. He seems a bit too interested in my business and may pose a threat."

  Stephen began choking again but recovered quickly and wheezed, "Do you really think that’s necessary? No harm has been done, no secrets uncovered."

  James smirked. "Can’t hold down the drink, old boy? It reminds me of our days at Eton."

  Stephen glowered and muttered an expletive.

  James grinned, his mood lightening.

  Stephen looked at him and sighed. "It appears the individual who created this cartoon sought retribution through the pen. Perhaps you inadvertently insulted the caricaturist. What’s his name? Thomas Landes? I doubt you’d find anything physically harmful from the man."

  He seemed awfully sure of himself. Suspicion took root. "Is this your work, Stephen?" He pointed at the paper. "Or do you have knowledge of the artist?"

  Stephen looked at him in surprised amusement. "You know I have no talent for drawing. " He smiled as he gazed at the picture again. "However, I can’t say it isn’t a grand thought."

  James could have cheerfully strangled his friend. "I believe I’ll head over to Jackson’s. You look like if you could use the exercise. Care to join me?"

  Stephen continued to grin. "I certainly know better than to box with you when you’re in such a foul mood."

  "Tell me about your new ladybird."

  A shuttered look fell over Stephen’s face, and he put the paper on the table. “She is a lady of unusual talents and has an engaging sense of humor. I enjoy her company."

  "Did you two really meet in Vauxhall? She reminds me of a lady’s companion who circled the ton several weeks ago. You wouldn’t happen to be chasing the ton wenches, now, would you?"

  Stephen gave him a horrified glance. "I would as soon chase a lady of the ton as you would marry."

  James smiled in satisfaction. "Then I think you’d better save your hide and give up this particular lightskirt. There’s something shifty about her."

  "I am quite content with the way things are at the moment, but I appreciate your concern." Stephen absently rolled a cigar through his fingers, pausing to smell its aroma. " However, I am curious to know why you’re so interested in my lady friend."

  The conversation was heading into territory best avoided. "You have recently returned from a serious situation on the continent. Is it wise to give your trust to a new acquaintance?"

  Stephen visibly relaxed. "Times are changing, James. Perhaps it’s time you let down your walls a bit."

  James stiffened and changed the subject.

  They fell into a comfortable discussion and the tension diminished. This was Stephen. It was inconceivable that something as trivial as a woman should ever come between them.

  "Stephen, I really don’t think new clothes are necessary. I have many to choose from in the wardrobe department, and I’m not above making modifications if a garment doesn’t suit."

  Stephen had been nattering her for the past week about purchasing new clothes. He swung the curricle wide of a large rut in the road and frowned.

  "Calliope, it’s not just evening gowns you require. There are day dresses, morning dresses, bonnets, turbans, gloves, fans—"

  "Yes, yes, I’m well aware of what constitutes fashion." She tried to keep the disgruntlement from her voice.

  "In your previous post with Lady Simpson weren’t you required to dress for the occasion?"

  Calliope shrugged. "Yes, but I could service the same unexceptional frocks and accessories for many occasions. Black, gray and brown are rather easy to use over and over. "

  He grimaced. "Those obviously won’t suffice."

  "Where are we headed?"

  "Madame Giselle’s."

  Calliope went rigid. "She is the most exclusive modiste in London."

  "And she will make you gowns damn well better than serviceable."

  She mentally tallied her savings. She could not afford more than a few gowns from the renowned French émigré. Calliope looked down at the only gown she possessed that passed for a fashionable day dress. Stephen was right, her wardrobe needed updating.

  She sighed. Two gowns. She would purchase two outrageously priced gowns and consider it a necessary expense.

  They reached Madame Giselle’s shop in time to see Lady Simpson and Lady Flanders exit.

  "I can’t believe the nerve of that woman. I will have Flanders speak to her right away. Refusing us both, the gall!"

  Calliope ducked her head as the two angry ladies entered the waiting carriage in front of the shop. It was more of a reflex, because she knew they would never connect Esmerelda to Margaret Stafford.

  Calliope grabbed Stephen’s arm as the ladies’ carriage navigated into the street. "Stephen, Madame Giselle will never outfit me with so much as a bolt."

  Stephen grinned. "I’m confident if Giselle knew you were the recent companion of Lady Simpson and ready to take the ton by storm she would instantly lend a hand. Notoriety is good for business."

  He assisted her from the curricle and handed the reins to his tiger. They entered the hallowed dressmaker’s shop.

  Whatever Calliope had expected, this was not it. The shop looked like a storm had been unleashed inside. Bolts of cloth, sketches and measuring implements were strewn about, and several half-finished dresses lay discarded on the floor near a back room. Three harried girls scurried around trying to tidy the endless mess.

  "Ah, Monsieur Chalmers, so nice to see you."

  Stephen took the hand of a tall, severely dressed woman with upswept hair. "Madame Giselle, your beauty is a light in these dark times."

  "Bah, I am not one of those half-wit females you like to chase. Hurry and tell me what you want. The Duchess of Kent was here today, and she thinks she runs the country already. It was a trying enough day ministering to her whims with-

  out you and your empty flattery."

  Calliope noticed Madame Giselle smoothed her hair and skirt during her caustic reply.

  "Madame, I have brought you one of the half-wits." Stephen winked at Calliope. "I wonder if you might have one or two suitable outfits."

  Ah, so it was his charm that would win the day. For a moment she had entertained the notion that he had some secret hanging over the seamstress’s head. Stephen did some sort of intelligence work for the government, although she hadn’t been able to piece together exactly what that entailed.

  Madame Giselle’s attention shifted to Calliope. She stared at her for a long moment and then circled her, making Calliope feel rather like a rack of beef being inspected. She filed the visual for future use. One caricature idea already. Maybe this trip would pay for itself.

  "Yes, I do believe I might have a gown or two for her."

  Madame Giselle stared intently. Calliope was sure something had gone unsaid, but she had no idea what it was.

  The shop door opened. Madame Giselle’s eyes moved past Calliope and lit up. Her hand rose to smooth her hair again, repeating the movement twice this time. Calliope turned to see who had caused the reaction.

  Angelford stood in the door looking directly at her, a rakish top hat perched on his head. He maintained eye contact as he removed it.

  "Lord Angelford, please come in."

  Calliope managed to keep her mouth from gaping at the sweetness in Madame Giselle’s voice.

  This was the woman half of London feared and the other half groveled at any chance to curry her favor?

  "Giselle, I couldn’t stay away. You have the best pastries in all of England."

  The woman blushed. She actually blushed. The amused irritation caused by Stephen’s flattery escalated into a simmer over Angelford’s.

  "Two of my favorite men. Give me Roth and I’d have the trio complete. Come with me."

  She hustled them to the back room and i
ssued sharp commands to the girls to serve tea and cakes.

  "I must do a fitting, but please enjoy the refreshments in the interim. What do you require, my lord?"

  "A lemon day dress, hold the ornamentals."

  Madame Giselle nodded briskly. "It will be delivered tomorrow."

  Angelford nodded and helped the gawking assistant with the tea tray before her excited hands could pour it all over him.