Belle nodded. Again, gallantly said. But she wanted help sooner. “You said you’re looking for a business partner . . . ?”
Kit raised an eyebrow, no doubt wondering about the sudden change of subject. “That’s not entirely accurate. I’m looking for a suitable investment.”
“Would—would it help if I obtained you an interview with my father?” Kit looked slightly taken aback, so she added quickly, “He’s very wise when it comes to money. I thought he might be able to help you find an investment.”
Kit gave her a thoughtful look. “He might at that. Yes, I would be most obliged if you could arrange an interview.” He paused, then added, “And I suppose I could help you with part of your plan at least.” Striking a pose, he said, “Miss Sullivan, would you do me the honor of accompanying me to Dr. Bell’s garden party the week after next?”
Belle smiled at him. What a perfect way to start her campaign, with a visit to the home of one of society’s leaders. And Mama would be ecstatic. “I would love that,” she said truthfully.
“Wonderful.” Then, digging in his pocket, Kit added, “I just remembered, I received a card from a new dressmaker in town, who would probably be glad of your custom and who promises total discretion. . . .”
She took the card, reading the promise there. Miracles performed daily. . . . “She sounds perfect,” Belle said. “See, I knew you could help me.”
Kit let that go without comment, then took his leave.
Belle turned to her sisters once she was sure he was out of earshot. “What do you think?” she asked, full of anticipation but not quite sure if this was the right thing to do.
“Oh, Belle,” Grace said with a sigh. “He would be perfect. I hope he decides to help you.”
“What if he doesn’t?” Charisma asked.
Disappointment filled Belle at the thought, but it was quite possible he would refuse. “Well, I guess I shall just have to find a woman to help me then, as he suggested.”
Grace nodded. “But who?”
Belle thought for a moment, then said with sudden inspiration, “How about Miss Keithley?”
“The spinster with the cats?” Charisma asked in surprise.
“Well, what’s wrong with that?” Belle asked. “I heard the reason she’s unmarried is because her fiancé was tragically killed on a hunting expedition, and she’s remained true to him ever since.” And Miss Keithley had all the attributes the Sullivans lacked. Besides beauty, charm, and grace, she had entrée to the social set that Belle needed to achieve her revenge.
“Belle’s right,” Grace said. “And Miss Keithley has always been very nice to us. It wouldn’t hurt to ask.”
“Very well,” Charisma said, apparently cross because they’d disagreed with her. “But what if she agrees to help, then Stanhope says yes?”
Belle shrugged. “Then I’d have two people to help me. There’s nothing wrong with that, either.”
“Very true,” Charisma conceded, then smiled. “You know, with both their help, you just might be able to pull this off.”
Belle’s heart beat a little faster. It was just because her dreams of revenge were about to come true, she assured herself. And it had nothing to do with the thought of working with one Kit Stanhope and his sinful lips. . . .
Chapter Three
The next morning, Belle was happy to discover that Miss Keithley was not only amenable to helping her, she was positively delighted with the challenge. Insisting that Belle call her Alvina, the blond thirty-year-old woman claimed she had had little to interest her in the past few years and enthusiastically began to plan Belle’s transformation from an ugly duckling into a swan.
The only part Belle had left out was her plan for revenge, suspecting her new friend wouldn’t approve. She had said only that she wished to attract the attention of a gentleman. Three, to be exact, but she didn’t mention that either.
Now, that same afternoon, Belle sat anxiously in the back parlor with her sisters, waiting for Mama to join them so they could put their plan into effect. Belle, her sisters, and Miss Keithley had all agreed upon one thing—Mama was a liability.
Oh, Belle loved her mother dearly, but Mama simply didn’t know enough about the society she was so anxious to join and she floundered about, not having anyone to guide her. If Belle was to do this properly, she needed someone who understood it—and understood it well. But she also didn’t want to hurt Mama’s feelings, especially since Mama was a bit down in the mouth lately after her quarrel with Papa.
Belle sighed. There was no getting around it. If she was to achieve the revenge she sought, she would have to take Mama out of the picture.
And here she was now.
Belle cast warning glances at Charisma and Grace, reminding them of their roles.
And Grace obliged. “Oh, Mama, isn’t it wonderful? Belle received a gentleman caller yesterday.”
Mama glared at Belle with a stern expression. “This is the first I’ve heard of it. What were you thinking, entertaining a man alone? You must have a chaperone at all times or your reputation will be ruined. And if you don’t have a good rep—”
“It’s all right, Mama,” Belle assured her, cutting short the lecture they’d all heard at least a thousand times. “I wasn’t alone. Charisma and Grace were with me.”
Mama looked a little mollified, but not much. “You should have asked him to return when I was at home.”
“But Mama,” Charisma said in a guileless tone, “Mr. Stanhope didn’t seem to think there was anything wrong with us receiving him.”
“Stanhope?” Mama clutched at her bosom. “You mean to tell me Lord Stanhope was here?” As the second son of a viscount, Stanhope was only an honorable, not a lord, but Mama and many others persisted in calling him Lord Stanhope.
“Yes,” Belle confirmed. “He came to apologize for what he said the other day.”
Mama positively beamed. “Did he? I knew he was a proper gentleman. Is that all he said?”
“No, he also said he wants to escort me to Dr. Bell’s garden party the week after next at Briarhurst Manor. I told him I would ask you. May I go?” Belle waited politely for an answer, though she knew there was little chance Mama would refuse. Dr. William Bell and his wife Cora were the leaders of society in Little London.
Mama clasped her hands in ecstasy. “Of course you may go, dear child. Briarhurst Manor? Why, imagine that.”
“But what shall I wear?” Belle asked. “I’m not sure I have anything suitable. . . .” Belle watched in amusement as her mother’s eyes lit up. Mama had despaired of ever getting Belle interested in what she wore and to see her doing so was one of the fondest wishes of her heart.
And, right on cue, Alvina was announced, looking splendid in a pink tailored dress and a dashing toque hat. Mama looked surprised to see her, but welcomed her cordially. Belle glanced sharply at Grace, giving her sister her cue.
“Oh, Miss Keithley. welcome,” Grace exclaimed, throwing out her hands and causing a lamp to teeter dangerously. Charisma righted it as Grace continued, “We were just discussing what Belle should wear to Dr. Bell’s garden party.”
“And have you come to a decision?” Belle’s coconspirator asked.
Belle stared down at her pale blue dress. “Something like this, perhaps?”
Alvina regarded her critically. “Hmm, bustles are going out. this season and . . . not that shade of blue, I think. Do you?”
“What’s wrong with it?” Mama asked indignantly. “Why, that color looks lovely on you. Belle. That is, it would if you would just take care with your dresses.”
Naturally, Mama would defend the color. Since Belle didn’t care what she wore, Mama had always chosen Belle’s clothes. And Mama always picked those that looked best on the blonde she had always wanted to be.
Charisma regarded her sister critically. “I think Miss Keithley is right. That pale color makes her look sallow. It does nothing for her complexion.”
“Nonsense,” Mama said briskly. “It�
��s the light in here.”
Alvina was undaunted. “Do you think so? You know, I was discussing colors the other night at the Opera House with Rose Kingsley and Queen Palmer. . .”
Belle hid a grin as Mama perked up at the mention of the two women who had been influential in the founding of Colorado Springs. “Oh? And what do they have to say?” she asked eagerly.
“We all agreed that while a frosty shade of blue may look splendid on a blonde, it’s disastrous on a redhead. The colors of nature are more suited to Belle’s coloring—green, rust, brown.”
“But they’re so dull,” Mama said, obviously weighing her distrust of a spinster’s judgment against said spinster’s social standing.
So Belle added the clincher. “Mrs. Palmer said Miss Keithley is the most elegantly dressed woman of her acquaintance.”
That did it. In Mama’s eyes, the wife of the founder of Colorado Springs could do no wrong. “Well, if she says so. . . . We just won’t buy you anything more in pale blue then. Maybe a lovely pink.”
Oh, dear. That wasn’t what Belle had intended at all. She floundered about for a way to save the situation, and Alvina came to the rescue. “Belle wants so much to make a good impression at the garden party, I thought I might offer her a bit of advice.”
“Well, that is very kind of you, I’m sure,” her mother said, beaming. It was obvious she liked the idea of someone of Miss Keithley’s social standing taking an interest in one of her daughters.
“Oh, Mama,” Belle said with enthusiasm. “She offered to come with me to the dressmaker to advise me on styles, fabrics, and colors.” She hesitated a moment, then added, “Tomorrow.”
“Well, all right,” Mama conceded. “But I’m not sure what Mrs. Pinchot will think. . . .”
“Oh, but I don’t want to go to Mrs. Pinchot again.” The elderly dressmaker was too influenced by Mama’s taste, and Alvina had pronounced her old-fashioned. “There’s a new dressmaker in town—Madame Aglaia, from Athens.” Belle handed her mother the card Kit had left with them.
Mama sniffed, holding the card as if it might bite her. “And what do you know about this woman?”
“Just that she advertises she’s quick and discreet—and can perform miracles, even on someone like me.”
“I don’t know. . . .”
“It’s worth a try,” Alvina said, smiling. “Since she’s so new, she’s probably not busy yet and can make something up very last.” When Mama still hesitated, she added, “And if we feel she won’t do justice to your daughter, we will go elsewhere, of course.”
Mama sighed. “All right, then. What time shall we go tomorrow?”
Oh, no, this was what Belle had feared. Mama would insist on coming along and that would spoil everything. She cast a pleading glance at her sisters.
“But Mama,” Charisma exclaimed, “Grace and I planned on going on a picnic with the Applebaums tomorrow. Does this mean we can go by ourselves?” Crafty Charisma let her eyes sparkle at the thought of attending an event unchaperoned, especially since there were so many attractive young Applebaum sons.
“Certainly not,” Mama declared. “We shall just have to find you a chaperone.”
“Can’t you come with us?” Grace asked in a sweet tone. “Miss Keithley can chaperone Belle to the dressmaker. And we’d miss you so if you didn’t come.”
Belle hid a smile. In her own way, Grace was just as crafty as Charisma.
Mama wrestled with the decision for a moment, then said, “Oh. I suppose it will be all right.”
When Belle beamed at her, Mama gave her an admonitory frown. “But if I don’t approve of what you’ve chosen . . .”
“You will, Mama,” Belle promised. But it was hard to hide her jubilation. The first step in her plan for revenge had gone just as she’d hoped. With any luck, the rest of the plan would go as smoothly and she’d show the threescum just how foolhardy they’d been.
No one insulted the Sullivan sisters and got away with it.
From the heights of Mount Olympus, Aglaia smiled. She had managed to get Bridey Sullivan’s agreement to let Belle come to her shop with only the tiniest bit of magic on the card.
“Congratulations, sister,” Euphrosyne said. “But do you think you can continue to work with so little magic? Belle is going to be a tough challenge.”
They had already agreed that each would work within her own specialty. The beauty, Aglaia, would concentrate on Belle, charming Thalia would help Charisma, and graceful Euphrosyne would work on Grace. And, to keep from interfering with each other or attracting unwanted attention from the other denizens of Mount Olympus, they had agreed to work on one sister at a time.
Aglaia shrugged. “I’ll have to, won’t I? If we use too much, it might attract Zeus’s attention and then who knows what would happen?”
Thalia shuddered. “There’s no telling—he can’t stand women who are less than beautiful. He might turn Belle into a heifer or something.” Euphrosyne nodded. “Aglaia has the right of it, then. We’ll just have to use as little magic as possible.” She grinned. “That will make it even more fun.”
Kit strolled up the avenue, ostensibly admiring the view of Pikes Peak, still snow-capped this time of year. In reality, he was debating whether to get involved in Miss Sullivan’s scheme.
He had been not only rash, but boastful when he’d promised he could turn Belle Sullivan into a beauty. Could he pull it off? Oh, he knew she wasn’t really homely—he had been unnecessarily harsh in condemning her looks to the others. She just needed someone to show her how to make the most of her assets.
Unlike her sisters, Belle had grace and could be charming when the occasion suited. And she certainly had a great deal of backbone—look at the way she’d stood up to him. He admired self-confidence in a woman, though it wasn’t one of the traits he necessarily looked for in a wife.
No, the most important trail his future wife would possess was trust. Since it was the one thing he lacked most in his life, it was the one he longed for the most.
Money wouldn’t hurt either. And, though Belle Sullivan’s dowry and personality were pleasing enough, he doubted he’d ever be able to earn her trust after what she’d overheard. So she was out of the running as a prospective bride, but . . . should he help her improve her appearance?
He didn’t really want to take on the job her mother should have handled years ago, but he was strapped for cash. And perhaps if he helped her, she would be kind enough to introduce him to some of her wealthy friends, or at least not give them a poor account of his actions. One of them might prove suitable to become Mrs. Christopher Stanhope.
Then again, if he spent too much time on Belle, he might not be able to find the investment he needed. What to do?
As he contemplated his options, he turned up Cascade Avenue and an item in a shop window full of feminine fripperies caught his eye. Good Lord, that looked like his family crest on the handkerchief. How could that be?
Even odder, it appeared the shop belonged to the woman who had sent him the card. Curious now, he turned into the dressmaker’s establishment As he entered, three women turned to regard him in surprise—Miss Sullivan, Miss Keithley, and a third very handsome older brunette who must be the owner of the shop.
Feeling conspicuous in this bastion of femininity, Kit tried to bow out, promising himself to return at another time to resolve the mystery. But the owner would have none of it.
“Mr. Stanhope,” she exclaimed with a smile. “I am Madame Aglaia. May I help you?”
Embarrassed now and wondering how she knew his name, he said, “It was nothing. I just saw a handkerchief in the window and wondered how you acquired it.”
“Oh?” She crossed to the window and picked up the dainty lace-edged confection. “This piece?”
He glanced at it, then did a double take. “No.” But there was none other in the display. Strange—it had nothing but a bouquet of forget-me-nots embroidered on it. How could he have mistaken it for his family crest?
&nb
sp; He glanced at the other two curious women in embarrassment, then turned back to the shop owner with a sheepish grin. “That is, yes. I’m sorry, I mistook the design on it for . . . something else.”
Smiling, Madame Aglaia returned the handkerchief to the display window. “I see,” she said archly. Then, glancing at the two women with a smile, she made it plain she thought he was there for another reason entirely.
And it appeared Belle thought so, too. “Have you changed your mind about helping me?”
Dear Lord, was he to make a decision now? At a loss, he stuttered, “I—I—”
Miss Keithley’s expression turned frosty. “What is this about, Belle? Is this the gentleman . . . ?” She trailed off delicately, making Kit wonder how she would have finished that sentence.
As Madame Aglaia moved away to provide them privacy, Belle flushed, her cheeks rivaling the color of her hair. “Oh, no,” she muttered, looking anywhere but at Kit.
Kit wasn’t sure what to make of it, but Miss Keithley apparently had her own ideas. “If you are using me to meet this gentleman without your mother’s knowledge—”
“Not at all,” Belle assured her quickly. “I didn’t know he would be here.”
“It is pure happenstance,” Kit confirmed.
“So why did you ask if he was to help you?” Miss Keithley asked with a lifted eyebrow.
“Well, I asked him to help make me beautiful first,” Belle confided. “You see, he . . . owes me a favor.”
“Yes,” Kit said, glad she had explained. “But since I didn’t see how I could assist her without a chaperone, I declined.”
“Oh? And did you consider asking her mother to chaperone?” Miss Keithley asked dryly.
She had him there. How could he explain that any successful beautification of Belle needed to be done without her mother’s interference? Then, realizing Mrs. Sullivan was nowhere to be seen, he smiled. “No, for the same reason you did not.”
Belle of the Ball Page 4
