A Lady in Disguise Read online

  “No, no! I saw the way you were flirting with Thorpe, making eyes at him as if you two were the only ones in the room! Haven’t you at least the decency to hide your feelings like a respectable woman should? I know my Emily would never have thrown herself at a man as you are doing.”

  “Your Emily ... !” Lady Genevieve began. Then she stopped and drew herself upright. “It is not meet that we should brangle so. Close that trunk, Ben, and we shall continue to look for my wedding dress. You must see the lace piece that crossed the bodice, Mrs. Grenshaw. A miracle of workmanship, by my blind aunt, Mathilde.”

  “I don’t care about your aunt,” Mrs. Grenshaw said. “I don’t understand how you can expose my innocent grandchild—”

  “Really, Mrs. Grenshaw,” Lady Genevieve said. “I believe you are overwrought. It is rather warm up here; perhaps you would be more comfortable returning to the floor below.” One finger negligently indicated Addy, standing by with wide, interested eyes.

  “Yes, yes, perhaps I should,” Mrs. Grenshaw said in a low voice. She turned about as if to go and then said, “Although I should like to see that gown you spoke of. May I stay?” Her hysterical outburst over, Mrs. Grenshaw almost seemed like another woman, mild and sensible. She took an intelligent part in searching for the correct trunk and was actually the person who found it.

  “Perhaps it would be better if it were carried down to another room,” she suggested, straightening after peering at the legend on a tattered paper. “It is rather dusty up here.”

  Lady Genevieve agreed. “Bert, John, carry this trunk to my chamber, if you’d be so good. Let us all tidy ourselves and meet there.”

  In her room, Lillian was relieved to find that the dust brushed easily off her dress as her wardrobe could not afford the ruination of another one. She poured water into a basin and sponged her face. Raising her head to meet her eyes in the mirror, she saw her hair was festooned with cobwebs. Plucking them off, she removed the pins from the dark coil and brushed it until it was soft and curling. Pausing after putting down the brush, she looked at herself again in the wavy reflection.

  What expression had Mrs. Grenshaw seen in her eyes when they regarded Thorpe? Were her accusations not merely the ravings of a woman, jealous of the memory of a dead child, but rather a sharp observation? Lillian conjured him in her mind but did not see any great change in her face. Of course, she reasoned, there might be an alteration if Thorpe were to enter her room as he had once before, when she wore very little more than she did now. Quickly, Lillian peered again in the glass. No, she looked as certain men had told her she always looked—calm, serene, and not entirely unattractive.

  At least Lady Genevieve’s actions presented no riddle to be puzzled over. Obviously, Lillian was to be thrown at Thorpe’s head as an alternative to Nora Ellis. Though his grandmother was adamantly against Thorpe’s remarrying—so much being blatantly clear—it was equally plain that any other wife would be preferable to a resurrection of his ties to the Grenshaws. Lillian did not feel flattered to be the lesser of two evils.

  Despite having to redress her hair, Lillian was the first down. Knocking at Lady Genevieve’s door, she heard a soft voice bid her enter. Lady Genevieve had changed her costume and once more sported an elegant fichu of soft lace and cambric. Hoping she was being brave, not foolish, Lillian said, “Forgive me for saying it, my lady, but I wonder if you are wise to let your dislike of Mrs. Grenshaw show so.”

  “Are you attempting to teach me to suck eggs, Miss Cole?” Lady Genevieve asked in a surprisingly mild tone.

  “I am thinking of Addy, Lady Genevieve. It cannot be good to let her see that you... are not in sympathy with Mrs. Grenshaw’s feelings.”

  “I will tell you. Miss Cole, that I enter into Mrs. Grenshaw’s feelings more than you are aware. I too have lost children, and my husband. There is little I do not understand about grief and what it may do to the mind. But I do not think it seemly for a woman of mature age to play at puppets, as she wishes to do with Addy.” Lady Genevieve’s back was exceedingly straight. “Besides, there are matters involved here of which you know nothing, Miss Cole. I am not likely to permit the same mistake to happen twice. That is all I wish to say.”

  “If you mean Miss Ellis—”

  “Yes?” said a third voice from the open door behind Lillian. The slender blonde entered the room, no longer in riding dress. “Someone told me my aunt would be here.”

  As Lady Genevieve seemed unable for the moment to speak, Lillian said, “She should be joining us in a moment. Won’t you come in?”

  “Thank you. Did—did I hear my name?” The girl hesitated, as though afraid of her own temerity.

  Lillian answered smoothly, ton diplomacy coming to her aid, “Yes, I asked Lady Genevieve if I should invite you to join us.” She explained what they were doing.

  “I should like to see that. My sisters and I often dressed up in our grandparent’s clothes. It was one of our favorite pastimes. We’d act out scenes from different plays. Otway, Steele, Sheridan, you know.”

  Without her aunt there to watch and criticize, Nora’s face relaxed into a natural smile, displaying a wholly unsuspected dimple. Lillian wondered if that grace note had appeared for Thorpe as they rode together. Surely the girl could not still be frightened of him after partaking of his undivided attention? Lillian found she was closely inspecting Nora to find some flaw to balance her beauty.

  “Though Otway and Steele are somewhat before my time,” Lady Genevieve said gently, “I well recall the first performance of The Rivals. It was not a great success, though I believe it later had another, more profitable run.”

  “You were there, my lady? Oh, do tell me of it. I have never seen a real performance of any play. Is it very wonderful to go to the theater? Have you ever been, Miss Cole?”

  ‘Tolerably often,” Lillian said indulgently. “Much depends on the vigor of the performance.”

  “That is so often true,” Lady Genevieve said quite as if she were thinking of something else. “But, tell me. Miss Cole, what did you last see? It has been some years since I was in London. I fear I am not au courant.”

  So, to pass the time, Lillian told her about the last play she’d seen, a work known as The Ingrateful Wife, featuring the lovely and agile Miss Tovey, the latest rage. Nora listened with hands clasped in fervent interest to the description of the play itself while Lady Genevieve nodded at audience activities she recognized from her own play-going days.

  “Ah, that would be the actress Thorpe told me of. He said she was tolerable when he saw her performance in some other play the last time he visited London.”

  “When was this?” Lillian asked. Hadn’t Paulina said something about Thorpe never going to London?

  “In March, I believe. Yes, first he visited a friend’s home ... the Duke of Grantor, I think. He then went to visit his man of business in the City and while there, indulged himself. He returned with a virtual cartload of trinkets and toys for Addy. Is that not when he arranged for your coming, Miss Cole?”

  Lillian was saved the necessity of answering by Nora. “Mr— Mr. Everard seems very kind,” she said in a faltering voice. “I wonder...”

  “Yes, Miss Ellis?” Lady Genevieve asked, leaning forward.

  “He’d never be, well, cruel to anyone, would he?”

  There was an expression of such frightful anxiety in her eyes that Lillian responded without thinking. Putting her hand on Nora’s arm, she said, “I cannot imagine him being harsh toward anyone. Miss Ellis. Put your mind at ease. Whatever the difficulty we will help you.”

  The girl’s smile broke out again, tremulous and timid. “If only you could! My aunt—”

  “Yes, Nora, what about me?”

  Lillian saw the girl freeze at the sound of that whispery voice, exactly as though a chilling wind had sprung up. Though she supposed it was none of her affair, she hated to see the animated Miss Ellis turn once more into the automaton of last evening. She said, “Miss Ellis asked me to
go to fetch you, Mrs. Grenshaw. We could not imagine what was keeping you so long.”

  “I take my time while dressing, instead of hurrying into my clothes and looking all hurly-burly.” If that were true, the result did not speak of it, or perhaps Mrs. Grenshaw’s curls never lay smooth no matter how rigorous a brushing she gave them.

  Once Addy came in and was seated, more or less comfortably on her grandmother’s knee, Nora and Lillian opened the trunk under Lady Genevieve’s orders. A cloud of pink satin, slightly lighter in tone than old rose, lay as though barely heavy enough to be subject to gravity.

  “Yes,” Lady Genevieve said softly yet triumphantly, “that is it.”

  Casting her eye upon the assembled ladies, she said, “I could hold it up, but you would not be appreciative of the total effect. One of you must put it on. Lillian, I believe I was more or less your size then. I was taller as a girl. One shrinks with age.”

  “Surely Nora—” Mrs. Grenshaw said.

  “No, no. It would hang on her like an old sack. I could not bear to see it. Come, Lillian, divest yourself of your gown. I still recall how to lace the bodice.”

  Perhaps Lillian should have passed the honor on to one of the other ladies, or tried to persuade Lady Genevieve that she’d not shrunk so much as all that. But she was still in shock from hearing her Christian name twice on her ladyship’s lips. Also, she knew a sneaking longing to attire herself in the fashion of another age. Her father’s family had not been the sort of people who wore silk and lace to their nuptials, and her mother’s heirlooms had been sold in the poor days long before Lillian’s birth.

  “I shall be delighted,” she said, starting to untie her wrap-front muslin dress. In a little less than half an hour, she was once more dressed, this time in a billowing skirt with a very tight bodice. It felt quite odd to look down and see a bell of satin around her hips, where before she was able to look down a straight column of fabric to see her shoes whenever she chose. Now, she could only vaguely realize that she wore them somewhere beneath a plethora of petticoats and an abbreviated farthingale that puffed out her skirt at the sides. The creases and wrinkles from the gown’s long slumber in the trunk were stretched by this contraption so that the skirt looked as if newly pressed.

  “I regret that the Greek styles ever became so common,” Lady Genevieve said with a sigh. “The costumes of my girlhood were so much more comfortable. I do not find these new fashions at all conformable with the older figure.” She lifted her hands in a helpless way. “Fluff out those frills at your elbow, Lillian, my dear. Yes, like that.”

  Countless ruffles of Aunt Mathilde’s lace foamed and cascaded from beneath the elbow-length sleeves of the outer gown. They were attached to a high-necked chemise which, though an adequate covering, was nearly transparent over her breasts, raised and separated by an iron busk. About her waist, a sheer apron, embellished with more lace, hung in a great sweep across the front of the gown.

  Walking somewhat awkwardly toward Lady Genevieve’s cheval glass, Lillian laughed to see herself such a guy. “I’m sure you were very elegant on your wedding day. Lady Genevieve, but. ..”

  “Yet it is very becoming to you,” the older woman said.

  Lillian faced the others. “What do you think, Addy?”

  But the voice that answered her was not that of the child. “I have never seen anyone so beautiful in all my life.” Thorpe stood in the doorway, lounging against the frame, one booted foot crossed over the other. How long had he stood there, watching her primp and fuss? Lillian flushed hotly as his clear green gaze flicked down over her body, the upper portion so inadequately veiled. The others seemed a long way off, their voices muffled as by a mist.

  He walked toward her, his eyes never leaving her face. Lillian could not avert hers to free herself from the spell he wove. Thorpe took her fingers and raised them to his lips. He pressed an ardent kiss upon the back of her hand. Lillian could only pray that the others did not see either his impropriety or her response. She half closed her eyes and swayed, feeling as though she might swoon.

  “A veritable goddess,” he murmured.

  Lady Genevieve laughed and clapped her hands, echoed by Addy. “Prettily done, my dear. You should have been a courtier; you are quite wasted as a mere country gentleman. I should like to see the pair of you dance a minuet.”

  Tossing up her head, Lillian rallied enough to lisp in the most affected accent she could muster, “La, ma’am, would you make a game of me? All the world knows this ... gentleman is naught save a cruel flirt of the worst description.” Only later did she realize how much she sounded like Paulina Pritchard.

  “It’s as good as any play,” Nora declared, only to shrink once more into silence under the furious glare of her aunt.

  “I also would like to see you dance, Thorpe,” Mrs. Grenshaw said, recovering a silky tone. “You really ought to give another such party as you did for Emily all those years ago. I’m sure the castle is quite longing to hear music and laughter once again, if I’m not being too sentimental.”

  Lillian thought she was. But Thorpe only flourished another in his arsenal of devastating smiles. ‘Then you’ll be elated to learn that I have given in to your husband’s odes on the subject and am sending out invitations this afternoon to a social evening, with dancing, to take place on Tuesday.” His gaze returned to Lillian. “Perhaps I should have made it a costume ball.”

  “Thorpe!” Mrs. Grenshaw breathed ecstatically. Then her face fell. “We haven’t brought a single suitable gown between us. Come, Nora, we must search through our dresses at once.”

  “Me, too!” Addy echoed.

  “Pray borrow the carriage,” Thorpe said, “if you wish to go into town. I believe Fenniman’s has a fine selection of ready-made clothing for ladies.” He addressed himself to empty air. Even his daughter had scurried off, caught up in a sudden whirlpool of alarmed femininity.

  Turning to Lady Genevieve, Thorpe said, “Grandmother, Becksnaff wishes to speak to you.”

  “I should think so!” Taking her skirt in her hands, Lady Genevieve hastened from the room. She either did not see or she ignored the hand Lillian thrust out to stay her.

  “Now what am I to do?” she said, sighing. “I can’t get out of this without...” With a blink of disbelieving eyes, Lillian realized that she and Thorpe were quite alone.

  “I’d be more than pleased to help you. Miss Cole,” he said, one wicked eyebrow rising.

  Chapter Nine

  “I’d prefer to ring for a maid, Mr. Everard.”

  “I’m sure you would, but as you can see, the bellpull is all the way across the room.”

  “Are you flirting with me, sir?” she demanded in a glacial tone. Dimly, she recalled this tactic working with importunate London gentlemen. They would instantly deny any such intention. But they had not a smile that would melt the most arctic woman.

  “Yes. Yes, I believe I am. I can understand your asking. I’m not very good at it. You’ll have to teach me to improve my skills in that area. You are a governess, are you not?”

  “Not yours,” Lillian said, retreating further. She felt the chill of the mirror against her back. If she could have turned to look at her face, what expression would she see now? Why, a mentally deficient cow, her baser self answered, laughing.

  “I wasn’t playing a game when I said that you are lovely in that dress. It reminds me of the first day you were here. When you were up in that little room my grandmother first said was yours.” The laughter in his green eyes was not at all hidden by his lazy eyelids.

  “I—I don’t know what you mean!” she said, knowing it was a stupid thing to say, but she could think of nothing safer. For she recalled all too clearly the shattering thoughts that had filled her when he’d seen her half clothed in her room, with only a cloth between them. Now she was protected by another cloth, but this one was transparent.

  “Shall I remind you?” He lifted his hand, his forefinger extended. But he touched nothing save her cheek,
drawing his touch along its curve. Lillian felt her lower limbs weaken and tremble. She could not keep her head from dropping back as he slowly drew a line to her mouth. He murmured her name and she felt his breath stir on her lips. This could not be kindness!

  At the memory of his other attentions to her, Lillian stiffened and pulled back. She caught a fleeting impression of his face, changed by some ardent power. That expression made her breath come short, even as had his touch. But regaining her self-control, she said, “Please... I don’t want you to. Let me go.”

  Lillian pushed past him. He caught her arm and said her name in a low chuckle. Fire seemed to flash through the material of the sleeve to her skin, staying her steps and leaving her gasping at the overwhelming fever. She dared not lift her eyes to meet his, for she knew he’d see into her heart. Thorpe said her name again, lower, more intently, without laughter.

  In the single instant that remained before Lillian felt she could no longer resist his enchantment, Burrows pushed open the door to pop her head around. Her eyes went big to see the master and the governess suspended in a most suspicious stance. The door closed. Guffaws came from behind it.

  Lillian found herself abandoned. Thorpe released her arm and walked to the other side of the room, by the windows. Her mind leapt to the delusion that his breath came as rapidly as her own, and that he was finding it every bit as difficult to maintain the semblance of civilization. Drawing back from this fantasy, for his body could not possibly be experiencing the same disorder, she managed to croak, “Come in, Burrows.”

  The guffaws dwindling to giggles, the hefty maid entered. Flicking looks at the master from beneath her lashes, and giggling, she said to Lillian, “Hey, miss, Mrs. Becksnaff asked me to ask you if you’d mind helpin’ us all in the kitchen the night o’ the ball?”

  “I should be hap—” But Thorpe interrupted her compliant answer.

  “Miss Cole will be attending the ball. Tell Mrs. Becksnaff she may hire whatever extra help she requires from the village.”