by Jo Beverley
“I’ll trust your word.”
Thea felt a spit of rain in the chilly wind. She didn’t think it was the first. She simply hadn’t noticed before. “Very well,” she said. They should hurry home, but she had one more question while he was in a mood to answer. “What will you do when this campaign is over? Marry?”
“Too far a horizon. It’s going to pour. Let’s get out of the park, at least.”
He raced toward the gates and she had to follow. They made it into the street before the true rain began, and to the Yeovil House stables before it poured. Grooms ran out to take the horses and one helped Thea down; then she and Darien ran into the coach house to catch their breath, both laughing.
She stared at him. He was such a different person when he laughed, but she didn’t know which person was the real one.
“Would you like to come in for breakfast?” she asked.
“And drip all over the house?”
“If you ride home from here you’ll get even wetter.”
“It won’t be the first time. Let me know if your mother permits the masquerade.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
“Then we’ll have to renegotiate.” He smiled at her as if he’d say more, but then dropped a quick kiss on her lips before striding out into the rain and remounting to ride away.
She watched him, touching her lips. His had been cool and rain-damp, but the sizzle had been hot. Unfair, unfair, that he was able to do that.
There were umbrellas in the stables and she used one to hurry into the house by the scullery door. Once in her room, she stripped off damp layers, trying to recall the morning, but catching only fragments.
Challenge.
Victory.
Laughter.
She didn’t truly want him to spend his time with the Rogues instead of with her. Then there was the new bargain they’d made. She picked at her breakfast, wishing her mother would rise sooner, but unsure whether she wanted permission to go to the masquerade or the protection of refusal.
Impossible man!
Chapter 23
As soon as her mother had breakfasted, Thea went to her room.
“You were out in this rain?” the duchess asked, looking at windows running with it.
“It only started toward the end of the ride. The masquerade, Mama?”
“Did you meet Darien by accident again?” her mother asked, clearly knowing it wasn’t so.
“I asked him. I wanted to persuade him to use the Rogues’ help. I knew he’d be reluctant.”
“Really? You’re coming to know him well.”
Thea couldn’t interpret that, but she returned to the question. “May I attend the Harroving masquerade with him?”
“I don’t see why not. Much more amusing for you than dinner at the Frogmortons’ and then the Ancient Music Society. And Darien will enjoy being anonymous for once.”
Thea hadn’t thought of that. Was anonymity his main reason for insisting on a masquerade?
“He’ll have to unmask at midnight,” she pointed out.
“After being admired by many ladies. It’s hard to return to frosty disapproval after a thorough flirtation. He must wear the right costume, though. Something romantic but respectable. Do you think he will?”
“I place no reliance on it. He might not be vile, but he is undoubtedly wicked.”
Her mother’s brows shot up. “I thought you wanted to do this.”
Thea sighed. “I do. I do. To an extent. But I’ll need to order a costume.”
“A good costume takes time. There are a number of mine in the attics here.”
“You’ve attended masquerades, Mama?”
“Of course. I’ll just send a note to Darien about his choice and then we’ll see if any suits.” She sat at her desk to write a note. As she sanded the ink, she said, “A delightful entertainment when properly organized.”
“Which Lady Harroving’s might not be.”
“Maria Harroving is not quite as she should be, but I doubt she allows extremes in her house.” The duchess folded and sealed her letter and then turned to look at Thea. “I’m very sorry, dear. You truly have missed a great deal. I did think of bringing you to London in 1814, but you seemed young then and I never anticipated the problems to come.” She tapped the letter with one finger. “Do you think perhaps that our troubles have made you overcautious, dear?”
Criticism from her mother, too? Thea’s cheeks heated, partly with anger. “If you mean that I prefer to act with propriety…”
“I mean that you restrain yourself at an age where a little exuberance would be more natural.”
“In other words, you wish I were like Maddy.”
“Good heavens, no.” The duchess rose to hug her. “Never that, dear. But I fear that needing to be safe will trap you in a sad life.”
“It seems to me that seeking danger would toss me into a sadder one.”
Her mother grimaced in what might even be irritation. “You don’t understand, but perhaps a masquerade will show you. Let’s find you a costume.”
The duchess sent a footman off with her letter, then summoned Harriet and two other maids. Thea trailed after, feeling abused. She behaved with good sense and propriety and gained the name the Great Untouchable. It had never been a compliment.
Maddy was outrageous and she was popular.
Now her mother, too, implied that she was overcautious and dull. Very well. She’d pick the most outrageous costume her mother had. She laughed at herself. As if her mother would ever have worn anything even close to outrageous.
But, she resolved, if she did enjoy the Harroving masquerade she’d keep her promise. She’d sneak out of her house and go to a scandalous Opera House one with Vile Viscount Darien. And if it all came to disaster, it would be entirely her mother’s fault.
Her mother unlocked a door in the top floor and entered a room stacked with boxes, many labeled “Costumes.”
“So many,” Thea said, amazed.
“Some are your father’s. And some Dare’s. Gravenham has never cared for masked events.”
“Gravenham’s a dull dog.”
“Thea!”
The protest was probably only for saying it in front of the servants. Her oldest brother, who had the heir’s title of Marquess of Gravenham, was dull. She’d once pointed out that calling a child Gravenham from birth might be an oppressive influence. Her mother had replied that the duke had borne the same burden and not been dull at all.
Thea remembered doubting that, but looking at the costume boxes she wondered if her parents had been exuberant when young.
Had they kissed like…?
Did they still kiss like…?
She pushed those thoughts aside and helped the maids lift down the top boxes, beginning to be excited. This was like a treasure hunt, especially when she found gold coins.
“What on earth is this?” she asked, seeing gold among the unbleached muslin wrapping in one box. She peeled back the muslin and blinked at a bodice of gaudy yellow and green satin with spangles of gold. The coins—light and false—were part of a belt.
“Oh, my pirate wench’s costume!” the duchess said.
“A pirate wench?” Thea echoed.
“There was a buccaneer ball at Long Chart. Such a long time ago. That was where I met your father.” The duchess sighed happily. “A very sprightly costume—it even has a dagger. Would you like to wear it?”
Thea took out the scarlet satin skirt with golden trim but saw that it would reach only halfway down the calf. “I don’t think so,” she said and rewrapped it, knocked for a loop by this glimpse into her parents’ younger days.
“What about Good Queen Bess?” her mother asked, showing some brocade.
“That sounds hot and heavy.”
“Yes, it was, even for a winter event. Ah, what about this?” She pulled a length of white cloth out of a box with one hand and a large silver shape with the other. “The goddess Minerva.”
Goddess. That immedi
ately appealed to Thea.
“What is this?” Thea asked, taking the lumpy silver tube. It was surprisingly light and she saw it was made of felt with a very thin layer of metal foil on top.
“Armor,” her mother said. “Roman style. For the upper body. You know—Minerva sprang fully armed from the brain of Jupiter?”
Now that Thea knew how to look at the object in her hands, she could see that it was indeed a sort of corset made to fit a woman’s upper body—curved to every detail.
“Mama, you wore this? Visibly?”
Her mother turned pink, but her eyes were sparkling. “The robe goes over it.” She displayed the white cloth, which was a long sleeveless robe with a Greek key design around the hem.
“The almost transparent robe,” Thea pointed out, “and I’ll be naked from the waist down.”
“You wear a shift beneath, of course, but there’s a metal skirt.” The duchess found another garment, this time made of strips of silver.
“That can only come down to the knee!” Thea protested.
“This is a masquerade, Thea, not Almack’s.” The duchess looked around and pointed at another stack of boxes labeled “Heads.” “There’s a helmet,” she told one of the maids. “Large, silver, and with an owl on top.”
“An owl?” Thea echoed.
“Minerva’s symbol. For wisdom. I should have been carrying it, but there’s a spear to manage as well. Perhaps in that corner,” she said to another maid. “So we had the owl put on the helmet. It’s well designed. Once on, one hardly notices it.”
Thea looked at the bosomy silver torso, the metal skirt, and the filmy fabric that would not hide much. She’d promised herself the most outrageous….
Be careful what you promise. When would she learn?
“Sandals,” the duchess said, digging into the empty muslin in the original box and finding them—Roman sandals with long silver ribbons that must wind all the way up to the knees. Which would, of course, be exposed by that ridiculous skirt.
Thea put the armor aside and held the robe against herself. When she looked down it trailed on the ground.
“Belt,” said her mother. “There’s a chain of silver in the safe.”
The robe would cover her, and at least veil the armor and her legs, but it would leave her arms bare. “No gloves, I assume.” She said it wryly, so her mother laughed as if it were a joke.
“But bracelets and armbands,” the duchess said. “They’re in the safe, too. The costume will suit you, dear, for you have natural dignity and are wise as Minerva.”
That was meant as a compliment, but to Thea it sounded like dull, dull, dull. There was only one possible decision. “Very well. Let’s take it downstairs and have a dress rehearsal.”
“You truly did wear this, Mama?” Thea asked, staring at herself in the mirror.
“Twice,” said the duchess, still carrying the long spear as if she liked the feel of it.
Or was it a halberd? There was a hatchet blade as well as a point.
“I have sweet memories of the pirate costume,” the duchess said, “but the Minerva was my favorite. So much easier to play the part. You must memorize some clever advice for when people ask you for Minerva’s wisdom.”
“Beware of duchesses wielding blades?”
Her mother laughed. “I never had to attack anyone with it. That does look very well. Believe it or not, my figure was much like yours when I was young. Such a tiny waist I had.”
And a generous bosom, Thea thought. Thea was grateful the bodice fit a little loosely there. It lessened the feeling that her breasts, her shape down to her waist, might as well be naked. To her, accustomed to high-waisted gowns, this appeared much more shocking than the lowest of her low evening bodices. She didn’t repeat, You wore this, Mama? but she thought it.
Of course in her mother’s younger days ladies were accustomed to showing their shape down to their waist, but even so….
She was wearing the skirt now, and the shift beneath, but both came down only to her knees. Could she really go out in public showing her lower legs?
She sat so Harriet could put on the sandals, but when she stood and looked, the cross-woven ribbons did not provide much decency. She grabbed for the robe. Once she had the flowing robe over all it wouldn’t be so bad. Then she realized it was open down the front.
Her mother fastened the silver chain girdle, but the flimsy cloth still fell open above to reveal part of her silver torso and below to show her lower legs as she walked.
You wore this, Mama?
Thea felt shaky, as if solid ground had turned fluid under her feet. She’d always tried to behave correctly, but now she didn’t know what that meant.
Maria Harroving had a shady reputation, but she was still accepted everywhere.
Maddy shocked people, but she wasn’t excluded.
The Duchess of Yeovil—the epitome of respectability—had attended masquerades as a gaudy pirate wench and a half-naked Minerva.
Very well. It was clearly time for change.
A maid presented the helmet—a ridiculously large silver bowl that would cover her hair and even incorporated a mask of sorts. Bits flared out from the sides to cover her cheeks and met a nasal that ran down to the tip of her nose.
And on top sat a small, silver-feathered owl.
Her mother settled the helmet in place. It must have been made of cork, and it was thickly padded inside so it was surprisingly comfortable. Comfortable, that was, for a large, enclosing bowl crowned with an owl.
“It will be horribly hot. And how do I dance in this?”
“With difficulty, but you take it off for the unmasking and there will be hours of dancing after that.” The duchess put the halberd into her hand. “There. What memories it brings back.”
Thea turned to the mirror again and suddenly felt like someone different. Someone who could have adventures and perhaps even a little exciting insanity. Someone worthy of another fiery kiss. She realized she was disappointed that Darien hadn’t attempted to kiss her since that first time.
Did he not want to?
She wouldn’t allow that thought. In fact, she’d demand a thorough kiss as her reward for doing this. Why should he always get to set the terms?
She wished there wasn’t nearly a week to wait.
And a very frustrating week it was.
That evening, she and her family went to the theater, with Cully, Avonfort, and his sister Deborah as guests. Darien was present, but in other company. The plan was already in operation and he was in the box belonging to the Duke of Belcraven. It sat on the opposite side of the stage to the Yeovil box, which meant a large distance but an excellent view.
The Duke and Duchess of Belcraven were there, as was his heir, the Marquess of Arden and his marchioness. Arden was a Rogue, though if the plan was working, few would think of that. They would merely see Darien in the approving company of another elite family.
Darien was affably keeping his part of the bargain, and when his eyes met hers across the theater, he bowed slightly, as if saying, “See? I keep my promises.” If his teeth were gritted, it wasn’t obvious. Hers were because Avonfort kept making snide comments about rabid dogs and bloody doorsteps.
“Gads,” he said as they rose at the second intermission, intending to stroll in the gallery. “What’s Ball doing there?”
They glanced back to see Sir Stephen and Lady Ball entering the Belcraven box, clearly to speak to Darien. Another Rogue, and this time a respected politician.
“Perhaps he hopes to recruit Darien to the reformist party,” Thea said as they continued out of the box.
“Dangerous nonsense,” Avonfort said.
“Recruiting him?”
“Reform.”
“All reform?” she asked, genuinely surprised.
“With riot and mayhem in every quarter, it’s the worst possible time to be changing anything.”
“Perhaps there’s riot and mayhem because things need changing,” Thea pointed out.
“Typical of a woman to come up with a silly idea like that.”
With difficulty, Thea accepted that this wasn’t the time for a raging argument. “Bonnets and trimming are so much more important,” she simpered.
He didn’t catch her sarcasm. Instead, he smiled indulgently. “Anything that makes you prettier, my dear.”
If her fan were a pistol, she might well have shot him. Darien would have understood, but Darien would never have expressed such narrow-minded ideas. Yes, despite his many faults, he had a quick understanding and an open and flexible mind.
She knew then that she wasn’t going to marry Avonfort, but that didn’t fill her with joy. It wasn’t as if she could marry a Cave instead. Her future had recently seemed solid, stable, and orderly; now she faced uncertainty and even chaos.
She fired the thought in Darien’s direction. My life was all in good order before you came on the scene, you wretched man!
When they returned to their box, two men were taking their leave of Darien in the Belcraven one. One was silver-haired and slightly rotund, and the other was much younger, dark-haired, and elegant.
“Isn’t that Charrington?” Thea asked, pointedly. The Earl of Charrington, an epitome of fashion and sophistication, was more Avonfort’s type.
“With the Austrian ambassador!” Avonfort exclaimed. “He won’t be pleased at having to talk to Darien.”
As if in direct contradiction, the silver-haired man laughed and slapped Darien on the back.
“Probably knows him from the war,” Thea said, managing not to smirk.
She was truly impressed. The Earl of Charrington was a Rogue. He’d been raised in diplomatic circles, but even he wouldn’t be able to force an ambassador to go where he didn’t want to go, or to show genuine warmth when there. It was genuine warmth. As she took her seat, she could see it reflected in Darien.
At the next intermission, three military officers with a great deal of gold braid indicating high rank crammed into the Belcraven box and carried Darien away, chatting and laughing.
Thea glanced at her mother and they shared a smile.
“Very satisfactory,” the duchess said.
