CHAPTER 5
The Midsummer Ball
Long before Jenny hooked the back of her dress, Alix had resolved to hide behind the first curtain she found at Clarence House, and not to emerge until it was time to return home.
"I'm worried about this neckline. Milady won't have an evening gown with anything but bare shoulders. It's a pity about this scar, but I still say enough paint could cover it."
Alix tugged at the plunging bodice to conceal a bit more cleavage and adjusted the shoulders before her bodice was too snug. The scar on her shoulder was the singular physical dissimilarity between her and Lily. "If your paint smudges, I'll not be in a position to repair it."
"It's a pity; you've such a fine and delicate complexion. There're some who'll have their maids paint blue under their powder for this milky appearance."
"You know a lot of beauty tricks."
"Well, I've been around, haven't I? Some people don't even look the same when their maids are finished. How did you get such a terrible scar?"
"I don't remember," Alix replied truthfully, but noted the maid's skeptical glance in the mirror. Even if she could reveal her identity to Jenny, she would hesitate to share her uncle's story of the day that was the secret behind her mad gap in memory. She had always considered their past a fable to compensate for his inability to provide for her by working in Lord Griffon's stable. Alix had never really questioned why she was living with the Gordons; she was constantly busy with the horses. Now that she was in London, she understood her uncle was trying to save her from taking a position in a household like this. She may have ended up working as a scullery maid while her sister lived as her mistress.
"'Tis for the better, I guess, but still, it's a shame." Jenny paused at a gentle knock on the dressing-room door. "Now, who's that?" the maid murmured as she hurried to answer it.
Alix remained behind the dressing screen but peered over its edge. Jenny straightened her cap before opening the door. The gentle baritone of Albert Frisk's response explained the reason for Jenny's crisp response. "Thank you, but it's unnecessary. Good-bye."
Alix winced at the definitive snap of the door latch. "Does he still have a nose?"
"If he doesn't, it'll serve him right for putting it where it doesn't belong."
"Albert Frisk seems steadfast in his interest."
Jenny briskly returned to the work of finishing the back of Alix's dress. "It'll last only as long as he thinks he wants something. Don't forget, I know a thing or two about men."
"Not everyone is the same," Alix ventured carefully, but far be it from her to offer advice about men. Her experience was limited to her uncle and the men working around the farm. Ozzie Gladstone was the youngest of the butcher's family, and Finghin Dunnigan was typically as good-natured as he was hardworking. The stableman and smithy was the resourceful Big Tim Riley, who was married and lived down the lane. Jeremy Parker and his wife, Mabel, worked in the house. Everyone was respectful and congenial; it left Alix poorly equipped to suggest anything about Jenny's opinion of the elegant Albert Frisk, beyond noticing that he found Jenny interesting.
She thought at the very least he must realize that Jenny could turn herself out stylishly if she wished. The maid's auburn hair had luxurious copper highlights, and she had her own share of milky skin. To complement such pleasant coloring, her heart-shaped face would be lovely with a less austere hairstyle, and anyone would notice her green eyes were luminous, if she did not squint with disapproval. But Alix reminded herself that it was none of her business, and that soon she would be gone from here.
"Now then, let's take a look at you," Jenny proposed, with a startling smile eclipsing her habitual frown. "My oh my . . . I have a feeling that Minnie and I will go mad tomorrow giving out her cousin's name!"
"MILORD, MILADY IS ON HER WAY DOWN," Winston advised through the parlor door.
Nicholas drained his scotch with relief. The oddity of leaving on time might be a promising sign, but Lily was undoubtedly anxious to display her delicate new image after a fortnight of confinement. "After you," he said, waving her ahead, so as not to have to look at her. Using his watch for distraction on his way to the curb, he scarcely had time to reach for her elbow before she flashed her slender ankle in a show of black lace and climbed adroitly into the coach without assistance.
"Make haste, if you will," he responded to Quincy's dutiful greeting, and settled onto the white leather seat beside his wife, determined to make a connubial show.
Her hand trembled when smoothing her cloak away from him. Did she think he wished to touch her? Nicholas smothered a laugh at her absurdity and propped his topper so its brim blocked her from his vision. While they rolled through the neighborhood and past the park, he posed with a congenial smile and studiously looked anywhere but in her direction. Occasionally, he caught a whiff of a pleasantly different rose- scented perfume. It mingled with her newfound silence and made for an enjoyable drive, for a change. When Clarence House came into view, doormen swarmed around the incoming coaches, and in a manner of minutes they were making their way through the crowd.
Just as soon as they were announced, Nicholas made a break for the bar. He heard his wife's name behind him, but John Wesley came to his rescue with a fistful of scotch.
"Ah, there you are, old chum! We're in for a jolly show tonight," his friend laughed. "Two more here," John called to the nearest waiter, moving Nicholas from the walkway with a friendly nudge. "How now," he wondered as he stared at the crush of people. "What've you done to Lily?"
"Why, nothing, old man-you should know better than anyone."
"Don't look now, but she's stealing the show."
Nicholas sipped his scotch with annoyance. "When doesn't she?"
John elbowed him meaningfully. "There's Newton; I'd say he's forgotten all about his cousin Mary. Maybe you'd better have a chat with him."
"About what?"
"About that," John counseled, with a wave of his glass toward the gaggle concentrated on Lily's appearance.
Sam Newton hurried over and pumped hands with them jovially. "Good show, Griffon, old boy. What're you and John doing, just standing around? I came over hoping for permission to take your wife out on the dance floor."
Before Nicholas could respond either way, Millicent Fabersham's shrill voice trumped the noisy room. "Lily, don't you look fabulous!"
As her declaration parted the crowd, necks craned to see the cause of excitement centered on a woman wearing a gown of flowing color. Whenever she moved, it transformed from wine red to black with a rippling effect so transfixing that Nicholas found himself staring, too, until he realized he was looking at Lily. Her elusive gaze faltered when slipping past his. She turned into her minions and left him gazing after her in puzzled silence. He could barely stand to look at her, and yet he was as dazzled as if he had glimpsed the sun eclipsing the clouds in her eyes.
"LILY, WHAT A LOVELY GOWN," said a willowy woman, as she forged a brave alliance through the snide sighs of impatient greeting rising from Lily's followers. The woman wore a gown of celadon satin, a striking complement to her fiery hair and milky complexion. A veneer of powder