The man levered the top from the other barrel and extracted an identical parcel. “Both barrels appear to be packed tight with them. There could easily be two hundred such small delights in each. I bet someone was smuggling them out of France and they got confused with the actual brandy shipment.”
She dipped a fingertip in the powder and rubbed it between her fingers. It was smooth as silk, not gritty like the cheap stuff at the market. “What good is a load of face powder?”
The man tapped his chin as he thought. He picked up one of the containers and held it to the light. “Look at these, this is delicate porcelain. That’s why they are all wrapped to keep them from breaking. I bet that is real gold around the edge, and those paintings are quality. This isn’t your cheap penny-a-pottle face stuff that’s half sand. This is quality.”
She rolled her eyes and finished washing her face. “Still doesn’t do us any good, does it? We run a theatre, not a shop.”
He set down the container with the others and placed a kiss on the back of her neck. “Oh my turtle dove, don’t you realise the fates have finally smiled upon us? This is far more valuable than a barrel of brandy.”
“How do you figure that?” She rubbed the spot on her neck. He was still a fool.
“You and I are going to London. Then we’re going to buy you a pretty dress, you’re going to put on that fancy Russian accent you do, and we’re going to sell this to the toffs. We’ll say it’s the same face powder used by the tsarina smuggled out of Europe.”
His idea was mad enough to work. They could charge as much as a guinea a container. The more expensive and exclusive they made the powder sound, the more the wives of wealthy men would clamour to own a pottle.
She let out a sigh and held a hand to her breast. London. At last. And she’d get to perform for the finest ladies and gents in England. She could say she was an exiled Russian noble. “Tatiana, I want to be called Tatiana. It sounds Russian and noble.”
He took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “This is finally our moment in the sun. Soon, all of society will know the name Tatiana!”
About the Author
Tilly drinks entirely too much coffee, likes to watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer and wishes she could talk to Jane Austen. Sometimes she imagines a world where the Bennet sisters lived near the Hellmouth. Or that might be a fanciful imagining brought on by too much caffeine.
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Souls to Heal Page 26
