Gilding the Lady

by Nicole Byrd

  “Next, z’e first and second couples all four take hands and move up six steps and fall back six steps—”

  Clarissa found herself a step behind and hurried to catch up, almost colliding with Miss Pomshack.

  “And first couple does a figure eight through z’e second couple, first man goes around second man and z’en around second lady, while first lady goes around second lady and z’en second man—”

  This time Clarissa did bump into her new governess, and the only way the “second man” escaped her bullish charge was that he did not exist. The music flowed on, but Clarissa paused in the middle of the figure, biting her lip and trying not to burst into tears.

  Across the room, Gemma lifted her hands from the keys. “Perhaps we should pause for a moment to get our breaths,” she suggested.

  The dancing master looked despairing, but he pulled himself together and nodded. “Of course, my lady.”

  Clarissa turned away from the others and crossed to the window, pretending to stare out although her vision was blurred by tears she tried not shed.

  Behind her, she heard Miss Pomshack making polite conversation with the Belgian tutor, and then the door opened. Clarissa turned halfway, enough to see Matthew come into the room, and Gemma rise from the pianoforte. He paused to speak briefly to his wife—Clarissa was glad she could not hear their words—then he continued across the room and paused beside Clarissa.

  “A lovely day,” he said.

  Clarissa had been staring out the window, but only belatedly did she glance toward the cloudy blue sky above the houses on the other side of the street. Not trusting her voice, she nodded.

  “You will pick it up again, Clarissa. I used to dance you around the parlor when you were four or five, before I left for the naval academy. You were as light on your feet then as a thistledown.”

  “I wish I could remember,” Clarissa told him wistfully, then wished she had held her tongue. His dark eyes showed his disappointment that the memory had not come readily to her mind.

  “Likely you will, my dear. And even if not, you will relearn the dance steps. All you need is practice. Come, let me be your partner this time.”

  Despite her reluctance, she allowed him to lead her back into position. Gemma returned to her seat at the instrument, and her hands glided across the keys. The dancing master took his place across from Miss Pomshack, and they assumed the role of first couple.

  With four people, it was easier to picture the proper form, and this time, Clarissa did a little better. Her brother guided her gently back into place when she strayed, and she didn’t actually bump into anyone.

  “There, you are making excellent progress,” Matthew told her.

  Although she thought his pronouncement a gross exaggeration, Clarissa smiled—until he continued.

  “In two weeks, you will be gliding about the floor as smoothly as any other debutante at her first ball.”

  Oh, hell, so he had been told about the dance. Her smile fading, she mumbled, “I’d much rather not.”

  But he shook his head. “Sooner or later, you must take your proper place in Society, Clarissa.”

  She would choose later, Clarissa thought, but her brother was still speaking.

  “I wish you to have your life back, the life you should have had and which was so cruelly interrupted. I know you may feel some nervousness at your first society event—most young ladies do, I’m told. But you’ll do splendidly.”

  Since Matthew had once faced down enemy ships during perilous battles at sea, she didn’t wish her brother to think her a craven over nothing more than a social invitation. How could she explain how her heart pounded and her stomach clenched at the thought of facing a roomful of strangers while she tried to mind her steps and her words? They would all witness how unfit she was, she knew it. Even as she wrestled with the turmoil inside her, for his sake she tried to be brave. She smiled through stiff lips.

  “I hope you are right.”

  Three

  “To assure the good opinion of the Ton, simply appear to disdain it.”

  MARGERY, COUNTESS OF SEALY

  When the dance lesson from hell finally ended, the Belgian tutor took his leave, and Clarissa followed her brother and sister-in-law, with Miss Pomshack bringing up the rear, down to the dining room. With the lesson behind her, Clarissa tried to eat. Her middle felt empty, and the airy souffle, one of the dishes Cook had sent up for them, tasted delicious. But she had taken only a few bites when Gemma began to tell her husband about the new gowns they had ordered for Clarissa.

  “One is a pale green, which will show off her eyes nicely . . .” Gemma continued to talk, obviously unaware of the effect of her words. Reminded yet again of her looming social debut, Clarissa felt her stomach tighten. Gulping, she put down her fork.

  “They all sound lovely,” Matthew said. “I’m sure you will present a beautiful sight, Clarissa, and dazzle the Ton.”

  He seemed determined to pamper her, Clarissa thought. It was so ungrateful of her not to be excited about her upcoming debut. Obviously, there was no way out. For her family’s sake, she must not be such a coward! Taking a deep breath, she accepted a serving of tender lamb and waited while the footman spooned on the mint sauce. Then she cut her meat, took a bite and chewed, and if she tasted the savory meat not at all, at least Matthew and Gemma would not know.

  Afterward, Matthew left for his club, and Gemma suggested that Clarissa take a short rest before they went out. “We are invited to Psyche’s—Lady Gabriel’s—for tea later,” she explained.

  When Clarissa looked up in alarm, Gemma added, “Just a few ladies, my dear. Nothing to fret about, only some light-hearted chatter.”

  “How pleasant,” Clarissa agreed. After all, she could not spend the rest of her life cowering inside the house and seeing only her own family, she told herself. She went upstairs but found it impossible to lie down. She tried to hold to her newly made resolution, but she felt suffocated. Oh, dear God, if she didn’t have a moment to be herself.

  Clarissa waited until she heard Gemma go to her own room and shut the door, then she put on her bonnet and slipped down the back stairs.

  He would drive by the girl’s house, Dominic told himself, merely to take the lay of the land. The wager had been a moment of insanity, and now he wondered if he could simply beg off . . . It really was highly improper to bet on a lady’s good name; he could always claim moral scruples.

  He told his coachman which street he wished to see, planning to continue on to his club; a game of whist should be starting within the quarter hour. It was simply bad luck that as they passed the row of neat, moderately sized houses, he should see a petite figure making her way along the walkway, a maidservant following just behind her.

  Damnation, there she was. What on earth was Miss Fallon up to?

  Luckily—or unluckily for the card game that he was not to join—a wagon partially blocked the street. His coachman had to pull up. So, unseen from outside the chaise, Dominic could easily watch as the girl paused at the corner of an alley.

  She said something to the maid behind her, and, to Dominic’s bewilderment, he saw the maid untie her apron and hand it over, then add her plain cap and take her mistress’s fashionable hat in exchange.

  A mystery, indeed. Despite himself, Dominic found he was grinning. Was she running away, the little hoyden? But she could be putting herself into a dangerous situation. Had no one warned this girl about the many dangers of London streets?

  He knocked on the front of the carriage. “I’m getting out for a stroll,” he told his startled coachman. “Wait here.”

  And he followed the fleeing figure as it turned into a side street.

  When she left the house, Clarissa had intended to take a stroll through the park. It would be little occupied at this time of day, and she had a keen desire to be away from censorious eyes. That was quite unexceptional, and she had even taken Ruby with her, just as she should. But as her brother’s house fell behind her, she
found her steps dragging, and her spirits felt as low as the usual layer of smoke that hung over the city. How would she ever turn herself into a lady?

  It wasn’t just the discouraging, confusing dance lessons. It was so much more—too many rules to remember, too many nuances, too many lost years when she should have been learning and preparing herself. The whole of Society would think her a fool, and she would never ever feel that she belonged.

  Clarissa felt the sting of tears behind her lids and shook her head, trying to throw off her self-pity. She should be counting her blessings . . .

  She looked up to see two maids walking side by side, chattering as they carried baskets of produce and foodstuffs back to the household which employed them. They looked so at ease, so sure of their tasks and their place in the world. Clarissa could remember the time when she could have walked up and fallen easily into conversation with these servants. Would she ever be able to do that in “proper” Society?

  She had a sudden wild impulse, and she turned and glanced back at Ruby, just behind her. The maid wouldn’t walk side by side with her mistress, though Clarissa had urged it.

  “It wouldn’t be proper, miss,” the maid had explained earnestly.

  For a little while, Clarissa was ready to be improper. “Here, give me your apron and cap,” she instructed. “You take my hat back to the house.”

  The girl’s eyes widened. “What are you about, Miss Clarissa?”

  “Only a little joke on a lady I know,” Clarissa lied quickly. “I’ll be back home very shortly.”

  “But your brother—” The serving girl twisted her hands.

  “Won’t know a thing,” Clarissa promised. “Please, Ruby.”

  The maid obeyed her instructions, though she looked bemused. Once the girl had turned her back, Clarissa slipped on the apron and cap and turned up the side street, hastening her steps to catch up with the other two maids. Those two were still deep in conversation and had been paying no attention to her quick and impromptu disguise.

  “A good day at the market?” Clarissa asked, coming up behind them.

  The stout girl looked over her shoulder. “Not bad. The geese were nice and fat, but I wouldn’t touch the cod, if I was you, it’s been out of the water too long.”

  “Unless you want to give your master a good case of the runs,” the second maid added, giggling.

  Clarissa joined in the laughter. Miss Pomshack would tell her this was disgraceful, she knew, but she felt so much freer here, chatting with girls who would not judge her or wrinkle their noses when she dropped a fork or missed a dance step.

  They were curious, though. The thin one looked her over. “New on the street, are you? I ain’t seen you in the courtyards or the market.”

  Clarissa nodded. “I’m at the house down by the end,” she said, hoping the two wouldn’t ask for more detail. “Just come last week.”

  The thin maid seemed about to ask another question, but a new figure came out of a side entrance, and the girls paused. A young man with a spotty face and rough clothes eyed them.

  “Don’t pay no attention to ’im,” the stout girl muttered. “ ’E’s the under groom at the colonel’s ’ouse, and thinks ’e’s God’s gift to females. ’E’ll have ’is eye on you double quick, ’e will.”

  “ ’E’s wasting ’is time, then,” Clarissa told them. “I’ve got no use for a man who thinks too ’igh of ’imself.”

  The other two girls giggled, but the young groom had already changed his path to accost them.

  “Lo there,” he said, eyeing Clarissa with appreciation. “You’re a bonny bit of goods. New to the street, are you?”

  “Too bonny for the likes of you, Jack,” the thin maid told him.

  He made a face. “I ain’t talking to you,” he told her, his tone sharper. “You can let this un speak for ’erself.”

  He reached out as if to grip Clarissa’s shoulder, but she slipped out of reach.

  “You don’t ’ave to be so coy,” Jack complained. “I just want one little kiss. Welcome you to the neighborhood, eh?”

  He reached again, and Clarissa kicked his shin.

  He swore, just as a male voice spoke abruptly from behind them. “Here! What you think you’re doing?”

  Clarissa whirled.

  Looking annoyed, Jack turned as if to dispute the stranger’s right to interfere. But the handsome man who stood there, his expression arrogant, his clothes expensive, looked him up and down, and the groom’s anger smoothed away. “Nothing, sir. Just going, sir.”

  “Then be on your way.”

  The two maids had already slipped off, disappearing into one of the back entrances. Clarissa tried to efface herself as well and was annoyed to find the man step in front of her.

  “Don’t you know it’s dangerous to wander about on your own?”

  Confident in her anonymity, she raised her brows. “Nothing ’ere I can’t ’andle,” she told him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, sir—”

  “I know who you are,” he said, his voice calm, its patrician tones unmistakable.

  For the first time, Clarissa felt a qualm pierce her. “What do you mean?”

  “You are no serving girl. Why are you playing at this silly—and dangerous—game?”

  Of all the arrogant, interfering—Clarissa drew a deep breath. “And who are you, the emperor of—of—Australia?”

  He raised a dark brow. “Actually, I don’t believe that Australia has an emperor.”

  “Now you’re a geography tutor?” Lord, as if she needed another teacher, Clarissa thought, fuming. Her few moments of escape from the prison of propriety, and this officious stranger had to step in!

  In fact, he stepped closer. Before she could stop him, he reached to lift the maid’s cap from atop her fair hair.

  “Why,” he repeated, “are you dressing below your station?”

  Arrogant he certainly was, Clarissa told herself, trying to hang on to her anger. But a new and unfamiliar emotion seemed to have replaced it. The stranger was also tall and well built. Standing this close, she could make out the hard muscle that shaped his arms and chest and even his legs, clad in those close-fitting, well-tailored pantaloons. Was she allowed to say legs? Or pantaloons? Probably not, one corner of her mind thought absently. She could ask Miss P.

  But, bloody hell, even without looking at his face, which could grace a statue in the park, the bossy stranger had the most amazing body. It was better than the head groom’s at her brother’s house, and the groom had arms sturdy with muscle from shoeing horses and rubbing down the carriage team every day.

  This stranger . . . She was staring. Clarissa swallowed against the treacherous shiver of feeling that had turned her anger into—something else.

  His expression had altered, as well, and she saw something in his dark eyes she couldn’t identify.

  They were only a few inches apart. The narrow street seemed to have receded, and she could see his chest rising and falling . . . perhaps more rapidly than before. There was a buzzing in her ears.

  Clarissa felt dizzy. Did he take a step closer? Was he going to kiss her? One kiss, the groom with the spotty face had said. Clarissa could have evaded the groom’s unwelcome advance easily. If this man wanted to kiss her—

  But he’d said he knew who she was!

  The sudden memory of his words pulled her out of the strange fog that had, for a few moments, befuddled her wits.

  If he told her brother—She stepped back.

  The stranger drew a deep breath and seemed in control again. The look of restrained arrogance returned—not an improvement—he looked colder now, less appealing.

  “I will see you safely home,” he told her. “There could be more impudent rascals ready to trouble you.”

  “You bloody well will not!” Clarissa blurted. Return home under his escort and have the household learn what she had done? She turned and took to her heels, running as fast as she could, and propriety be damned.

  Thankfully, he didn’t try
to stop her. Unhindered, she made it to the back courtyard of her brother’s house, slipped through the gate and was soon inside the house. She pulled off the apron—the cap was gone, she would have to get Ruby another one—and Clarissa hurried up to her own room.

  The maid was there, and she sighed in relief when Clarissa came into the room.

  “Oh, miss, I was that worried. What was you about? If your brother had come asking for you—”

  Clarissa saw that the servant’s expression was genuinely distressed, and she felt a stab of guilt.

  “Just a little joke,” Clarissa said. “Forget it, please. I won’t ask you to do it again, I promise.”

  But after Ruby was reassured and the maid left to fetch hot water before Clarissa changed for their trip out, Clarissa went to the window and peeked out, hoping for one more look at the mysterious man who had cut short her masquerade.

  The street was empty, of course.

  Would he tell her brother what she had done? Matthew would be hurt and angry. Perhaps the stranger had been bluffing. Did he really know who she was? How could he?

  She would probably never seen him again, Clarissa told herself.

  And if that was in some ways a pity, well, never mind . . .

  When Gemma came to fetch her, Clarissa was changed and ready. The two of them took the carriage to the handsome square where Gemma’s brother and sister-in-law resided. When they were shown into the house and up to the drawing room, Gemma drew a deep breath as the footman announced their names.

  Psyche, Lady Gabriel Sinclair, stood up at once and came forward. “Gemma, how lovely to see you. And how nice to see you again, Clarissa.”

  Clarissa curtsied and tried not to blush. Lady Gabriel’s tone was warm and her smile welcoming. But nonetheless, Clarissa found her a somewhat intimidating figure, so elegant in her blue silk gown. Her fair hair was swept into a simple twist, and her face could have graced a fairy tale. Clarissa had never seen anyone so beautiful.