After a moment, Amanda squeezed her hand. “Elf, I haven’t seen you like this since we were children. I always thought Cyn was the ringleader in all our pranks.”
“Perhaps Cyn and I are very alike.”
“Perhaps you are, indeed.”
“Amanda, I need to do this.”
“So I see . . .” But Amanda frowned in concern. “I am responsible for you in a way.”
“I’m six months older than you!”
“But I’m the married woman.” She eyed her friend, brown eyes serious. “You promise we’ll stay together?”
“Of course. Where’s your adventurous spirit? You were never so timid when we were children.”
“Because we were children. I don’t think it will be fun. I think it will be crowded, sweaty, and noisy.” She studied Elf for a moment, then smiled. “But if you want to have an adventure, my dear, an adventure you will have.”
Ten hours later, Elf raised her silken skirts high to step out of the boat and onto the stone of Vauxhall Stairs. Excitement bubbled in her in a way she’d not experienced since she and Cyn had been wild youngsters together.
Both she and Amanda were dressed en grand domino—hooped gowns hidden by loose silken cloaks, white-powered hair concealed by deep hoods. Molded white leather masks covered their faces from hairline to lips. Even if they were unfortunate enough to encounter a close relative, they would not be recognized.
Amanda’s domino was silvery blue, Elf’s a vivid scarlet. In fact, they had switched for the night.
Elf suspected this might be her only chance for wild adventure and she was determined to make the most of it. Chantal—a tyrant supported by everyone Elf knew—insisted strong reds were impossible with pale skin and gingerish hair. Even if Elf purchased red clothing, it always disappeared.
Tonight, however, with her powdered hair and anonymity, Elf had persuaded Amanda to switch dominoes. Then she had insisted Chantal find a certain scarlet-striped dress with coquelicot-red petticoat. Of course Chantal—the wretch—had protested it was stained beyond hope.
“And how,” Elf had demanded, “could it be soiled when it has never been worn?”
Chantal, despite her unadventurous taste, was impeccably honest. She had eventually found the gown and petticoat in a box in the attics of Malloren House. When commanded, she had even found some red-and-white striped stockings and a certain stomacher of black-and-red satin trimmed with gold lace. But there had been tears in her eyes as she unwrapped the latter. “Not with the coquelicot, milady! Please!”
Elf had been resolute, though even easygoing Amanda had blinked at her ensemble and suggested that perhaps the stomacher might be de trop.
Elf, however, had worn it all. She might never have another opportunity to dress just as she wished. She might never have another opportunity for adventure. She intended to enjoy tonight to the very last drop.
Tonight she was not Elfled Malloren, well-behaved lady, but a new creature entirely.
Lisette, she had christened the scarlet lady in the mirror. Lisette Belhardi, which translated roughly to bold-and-beautiful. Mademoiselle Lisette, visiting from Paris, and bolder by far than Elfled Malloren could ever be.
So now Elf felt wonderfully like a newborn person in a mysterious land. Even Vauxhall Stairs was different, being specially ornamented for Midsummer Night. Hanging lanterns glinted rainbow reflections off the dark, rippling waters of the Thames. Over nearby chatter and the impatient calls of the boatmen lined up on the river behind, she could hear the orchestra in the Grove.
“Welcome to Vauxhall, ladies!” cried the grinning young man who assisted Elf and Amanda up the steps and received a penny from each for the favor. With a wink he added, “I’m sure two such lovely darlings’ll soon find gallant escorts on a night such as this.”
Amanda pulled her blue hood farther forward. “Elf,” she whispered, “are you sure this is wise?”
“Ne craignez rien, Aimée,” Elf said, reassuring her friend but also reminding her that they were to speak in French to further avoid recognition.
She tugged Amanda forward, continuing in French, “And anyway, we cannot leave. There are so many boats waiting to land passengers there’s scant chance of one leaving for a while. Come along.”
Elf guided Amanda into the stream of visitors heading toward dark Vauxhall Lane. She’d visited the gardens many times and knew the lane was a mock danger, too short and crowded to present any hazard. Its real purpose was to make the glittering splendor of the illuminated gardens burst dramatically upon the eye.
Even so, her heart beat a little faster as she entered the shadows, for this was an adventure because they were unprotected. Amanda had insisted on carrying a very serviceable knife in her pocket, and made Elf wear a bodice dagger, but they had no man with them to scare off other men.
This novel situation didn’t make Elf at all nervous. In fact, she was relishing it like a fine wine. Secretly, she hoped to meet an exciting rascal tonight now that her brothers weren’t around to scare such men away.
After all, there had to be exciting men somewhere in the world.
In moments, she and Amanda spilled out of the dark lane into the light of a thousand lanterns. Colored lamps festooned tall tress, garlanded high arches, and snaked around Grecian temples and ancient grottoes. Nearby a fairy glade had been created, with costumed actors posing as characters from A Midsummer Night’s Dream, including a donkey-headed Bottom.
“ ‘I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows . . .” ’ Amanda quoted, at last caught by the excitement. She did not resist being swept up by the chattering, laughing throng of masked and costumed merry-makers. “Oh, you were right, Elf. This is great fun!”
“Lisette,” Elf reminded her.
“Lisette, then.”
“And you are Aimée.”
“I know, I know. Though I think using made-up names is taking this to extremes.” Amanda made the complaint in an offhand manner, however, being far more interested in everything around them. “I declare, I wish I had worn a costume rather than a domino. Look at that Titania!”
The lady in question was having trouble managing large, floppy wings, but her costume was remarkably pretty. Elf admired the imagination but did not regret her choice. She had not abandoned all caution, and even the most inventive costume gave less disguise than the Venetian domino.
After all, they said the domino was designed so a man could dance with his wife and never know it. And vice-versa. There were many men here in dominoes tonight.
Letting the noisy crowd carry them along, Elf wondered how many members of Polite Society were here, how many gentlemen were in danger of seducing their own wives. Or vice-versa.
Intrigued, she wondered at what point such lovers recognized each other, and if they were pleased or disappointed. Could an enchanting partner become distasteful when the mask came off?
What then created the enchantment?
Perhaps just the adventure, the wickedness.
Something wicked, she had said to Amanda. Of course, she didn’t intend to do anything truly wicked. She merely wanted change.
She became aware of Amanda tugging at her cloak.
“Elf . . . Lisette. The Grove is that way.”
In the Grove, the heart of Vauxhall, an orchestra played and refreshments could be purchased. It contained booths and pavilions in which guests could sit to eat and observe others. Rothgar had a private pavilion in the Grove and on previous visits Elf had spent most of her time there. She could use it tonight if she wanted to.
Safe.
Bored.
Oh, no. Tonight would be different. Elf put an arm around her friend’s waist to steer her firmly down the wide South Walk and away from security. “How can we have an adventure in such a place?” Just to tease, she added, “Perhaps we should seek out the Druid’s Walk?”
Winding away from the well-lit main walks were ill-lit paths known to be the resort of all sorts of wickedness.
At Amanda�
�s shriek, Elf laughed. “Be easy, dearest. I don’t think I intend to be so rash.”
“Elf—”
“Lisette,” Elf reminded her. “Stop being such a mouse, Aimée! You have to admit that preparing for this escapade and escaping your servants has been quite the most diverting sport we have enjoyed in years.”
“Indeed, it has been fun,” Amanda admitted, but she again pulled her hood forward. “But the Druid’s Walk—?”
“I was teasing, love.” Elf pushed her friend’s hood back. “You’ll walk into a tree like that. Amanda, your mother wouldn’t recognize you at the moment! You’re the married lady here. You should be bolder.”
“You’re the Malloren. I always thought you were unlike your brothers, but now I wonder.”
Elf drew her friend to the side, into a quiet spot beneath a spreading beech tree. “Do you truly want to go home? We will if you must.”
After a moment, Amanda shook her head. “Of course not. I sometimes yearn for adventure, too.” Her full lips set into a pout. “And I want to pay Stephen back for neglecting me.”
“You shouldn’t have married a political man, love. But at least he is completely devoted to you.”
“I know, but . . . I just miss him. Even when he’s home, he’s so busy . . .” Then she shook her head and pushed her hood completely off her powdered hair. “On to adventure, then! But do let us be a little cautious, Lisette—see, I remembered! I’ve seen a number of men eyeing us.”
“Indeed, I hope so.” Elf led the way back into the crowd. “I don’t consider myself past ogling yet. Why, look over there! Is that not Lord Bucklethorpe? He must be sixty if he’s a day and he seems to think himself a very dashing fellow still.”
The elderly earl was costumed as Charles II.
“Do you think he hired the Nell Gwyns with the costume?” Elf asked, staring at the expanse of naked bosom showed by the two orange-sellers hanging on the earl’s arms.
“I think he’ll be paying them a fee for the night one way or the other,” muttered Amanda. “Do let’s be careful.”
Elf flashed her friend a soothing smile. “I promise not to hang on any man’s arm for money, dear. In fact,” she declared, “I vow not to attach myself to any man here unless I find the hero of my dreams.”
Amanda glanced wryly at the boisterous crowd. “Then we are surely safe. Pray tell, my dear Lisette, what kind of hero haunts your dreams?”
As they strolled along, Elf pondered the question. “A knight in shining armor? Or perhaps a dashing cavalier in a long-plumed hat.” She studied an illuminated Chinese dragon. “Perhaps a dragon slayer . . .”
“Lud!” Amanda raised her entirely ornamental quizzing glass and surveyed the crowd. “You will certainly never find such a man here tonight.”
“I never expected to,” Elf lied, knowing Amanda was right. Anyone with the fee could attend Vauxhall, and this public masquerade clearly attracted a particularly wild set. She looked around at bosky young bucks, city adventurers, and furloughed soldiers.
Not a dragon slayer in sight.
“I don’t suppose any lady meets a dragon slayer,” Elf said, “unless she first meets a dragon.”
“And who would want to do that?” Amanda demanded.
A lady who wanted to meet a man like her brothers, thought Elf, but she kept it to herself.
Chastity, desperate to get her sister Verity to safety, had played the highwayman and held up Cyn’s coach. Then the three of them had dashed cross-country, avoiding enemies and even the army.
Portia, Bryght’s bride, had been auctioned off in a brothel to pay her brother’s gaming debts, and only been rescued by quick-witted Bryght. Then she’d been imprisoned by her relatives and had to escape by the window.
Elf knew both ladies had been in real danger, and very frightened at times. She certainly wouldn’t want to be hunted by the army, or sold in a brothel . . .
But she wanted something, and she wanted a dragon slayer.
There were no dragons at Vauxhall, however, except gaudy Chinese ones, and the heroes—the would-be heroes in costume—were just as ornamental.
Despite her disappointment, Elf had no intention of backing out of her adventure now. Just being anonymous in such a crowd provided amusement, and there was no real danger. Even those four wet-behind-the-ears, would-be rakes over there, calling out suggestive invitations to herself and Amanda, could be ignored.
She noticed the group of drunk and glint-eyed gallants steering a course toward them, and instinctively gave them a frigid Malloren stare, the look she’d direct on any encroaching mushroom. Even through the mask it had its effect, for they halted, sniggered nervously, and went in search of more willing game.
Elf laughed at herself. How was a lady to have an adventure if she frightened off any man who showed interest?
A very tall, broad-chested military man stepped forward to block her way. “Hello, my pretty poppy. May I buy you some wine?”
Because of her thoughts, Elf stopped herself from glaring, consciously lowered her standards, and smiled. “I am not thirsty, sir, but—”
Amanda pushed between them, snapping in French, “Come, Cousin, we will be late for our appointment!” She seized Elf’s arm and dragged her onward.
Elf permitted it but complained, “How am I to have fun if you won’t even let me speak to a gentleman?”
“That gentleman wanted to do more than speak, believe me!”
“Aimée, I might be unmarried, but I’m not stupid. I know what he wants. I know, too, that he cannot force it as long as I remain in the principal walks. In fact, staying in the principal walks promises to be rather dull . . .”
Amanda confronted her. “Elf . . . Lisette . . . oh, whatever! I am no hand at these deceptions! But there I draw the line. We are not going into the side walks. Have you not heard the stories of those places? The crudest improprieties. Robbery, rapine—”
“Exaggerations, I’m sure,” retorted Elf, being deliberately perverse. “After all, no place here is far from a public spot. Screams would be heard.”
“But would they be attended to?”
Elf cast an acknowledging look at her friend. Amanda was no fool. It hadn’t occurred to Elf that people might deliberately ignore cries for help, but in this shallow, tinsel-glitter crowd, she could believe it.
“So,” said Amanda, pushing her point, “we stay on the main paths, or we return home.”
Elf huffed out a breath. “You’re no better than my brothers.”
“And despite outward appearances, you’re the same wild tomboy who used to create mayhem when we were children.”
“But of course,” said Elf. “I’m just in disguise as a lady.” She sidestepped a drunken, weaving couple. “But I’m not a child anymore. It would be pleasant to find out who I really am.”
“Ma’am . . .”
Elf assessed the young man trying to introduce himself. Weak-chinned and probably a merchant’s sale clerk. She gave him the Malloren look and he slunk away.
“I’ve said it before, Elf. You need to marry. It can’t be for want of offers.”
“You’ve said it too often. I’ll only marry the perfect man.”
Elf realized they’d lapsed into English, but she didn’t protest. Amanda was clearly uncomfortable in the foreign tongue, and this whole enterprise began to seem foolish.
“Lud!” declared Amanda. “If you’re waiting for a man like your brothers, you’ll rot on the shelf. And trust me, an ordinary man will be a great deal more comfortable.”
Elf stopped to confront her. “Are you saying there’s something wrong with my brothers?”
Amanda raised her hands. “Pax! Of course not. I’ve made up some pretty daydreams about them myself. But they’re strong meat, Elf. When it comes to reality, there’s a lot to be said for a comfortable man by the fireside. Of course,” she added, as they strolled on, “I have wondered what it would be like to have a Malloren in my bed . . .” Then she covered her mouth in alarm.
<
br /> Elf chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’ll never tell Stephen.” She saw a booth selling lemonade, and steered toward it. When they had a glass each, she asked, “Which would you choose, Amanda? An exciting bed partner who was a bother the rest of the time? Or a steady, comfortable man who was merely steady and comfortable in bed?”
“If you’re implying that Stephen—”
“I’m implying nothing. So,” she asked wickedly, “which is he?”
Amanda glared at her, but her lips were twitching. “He’s entirely wonderful. The trouble with the man is he’s too rarely at home, and too often tired after long hours at Whitehall. That’s when my mind starts wandering to forbidden fruit. Like Rothgar.”
At that wistful mention of her oldest brother, Elf’s brows rose.
“He’s not exactly handsome,” Amanda mused, “but there is something about him . . .”
“Probably the fact that he doesn’t intend to marry,” said Elf practically. “The sense of being unattainable is a powerful attractant.”
Amanda chuckled. “True enough! But now, since I’ve told my darkest secret, you should tell me one, too.”
“Darkest secret?” Elf drained the lemonade, which had been thin and much too sweet. Did she even know her own darkest secrets? Aware that trouble lurked in the deeper corners of her mind, she consciously kept them closed off.
“I’ve told you of my restlessness,” she said. “Of my dreams about a dragon slayer.”
“And what exactly is that?”
“A dragon slayer? Oh, he’s Saint George, I suppose . . . No. No, he’s not saintly at all. He’s a dark, dangerous man. A man who would kill to defend me, but who is, of course, no danger to me. Except to my heart . . .”
Amanda made a purring sound of approval.
“Really, Amanda! For a sensible matron, you can be extremely foolish.”
“As a sensible matron, I am allowed to be a little foolish. It’s unmarried ladies who must be impeccable. I still don’t think I’ve heard your darkest secret. Is there not some particular man about whom you think wicked thoughts?”
Jo Beverley - [Malloren 03] Page 2
