by M C Beaton
“I could. But someone so young as yourself would not stand close scrutiny. What is your plan?”
“Oh, Miss James, if you could make me up to look like a dowager, I could entertain the ladies of the ton to prepare my own debut.”
Caroline looked amused. “But when you are invited to a ball or party, you will be expected to arrive with this Miss Callow. You cannot split yourself in half.”
“I shall worry about that when the time comes,” said Felicity. “Please say you will do this for me.”
Caroline hesitated, looking at the glowing, pleading face turned to her own. “You could come with me to the theater,” she said, “and we could try something.”
Felicity clapped her hands with delight. “Now!” she said. “Let’s go now!”
The Marquess of Darkwater was strolling across Hanover Square when he saw Miss Felicity Waverley emerge with Miss Caroline James.
“What is that minx up to now?” he mused, watching as both ladies climbed into a carriage and drove off.
For the marquess not only knew who Felicity was but that she was the authoress of The Love Match. He had been present at the bookseller’s when Felicity had first presented her manuscript and, unknown to her, had followed her home to find out who she was.
The marquess looked like one of the villains in Felicity’s book. He was tall and tanned, with a broad-shouldered athlete’s body. He had thick raven-black hair and piercing gray eyes. All Felicity’s villains were handsome. The hero was plain-featured to show the readers that beauty of soul was more attractive to the rakish heroine in the long run than mere good looks. The marquess had returned from the West Indies the year before, where he owned sugar plantations. He was in his thirties and had been married to a delicate lady who had only survived the climate of the West Indies a few months before falling sick and dying. He had had some vague hope of finding a new wife in London, someone strong and brave enough to travel back with him to the plantations. But so far he had not met anyone to excite his interest … except, perhaps, Felicity Waverley, whom he considered highly unmarriageable in view of her spicy book. Unlike Lady Artemis, the marquess thought Felicity had a great deal of experience that no young lady should have in order to write such a shocking book, not knowing that the more purple passages of Felicity’s prose had been culled from Greek and Roman classics.
He had hoped to meet Felicity at some society function, but it appeared Miss Waverley did not go out.
He went on his way but had only gone a few yards when he was hailed by one of his friends, Lord Freddy Knox. “Are you coming to our ball?”
“Of course.” The marquess smiled. Lord Freddy had recently become married at the great age of nineteen to an heiress one year younger. The ball was to be the couple’s first social engagement since their marriage. “Good,” said Lord Freddy. “I do hope it will be a success. Cassandra can barely sleep a wink with nerves.” Cassandra was his new wife, whose looks did not live up to her name, as she was small and plump and fair and vague, forever losing things and forgetting things. “Any fair charmer we can ask for you?” demanded Lord Freddy.
“No,” began the marquess, and then his eye fell on the Waverley house. “Well, there might be.”
“Only name her,” cried Lord Freddy.
“Miss Felicity Waverley. She lives over there.”
“I thought they were all married.”
“No, I believe Miss Felicity is still unwed.”
“There was a story going about,” said Lord Freddy awkwardly, “that the three girls were foundlings and bastards adopted by Mrs. Waverley.”
“And yet such lack of parentage did not stop either Tredair or Danger from marrying,” pointed out the marquess.
“True. If you want her, you shall have her. But this Miss Felicity might think it odd to receive a card at this late date. The ball’s on Friday, and this is Monday.”
“Try,” said the marquess.
“Oh, very well, although I don’t think my Cassandra will like it.”
***
Felicity sat in Caroline’s dressing room. “I will need to try to effect this transformation myself,” said Caroline, “for no one else must be in on the secret. Now, let me see. I think a rather nasty birthmark might answer.”
“Why?” demanded Felicity. “I want to be a sweet white-haired old lady who will be doted on by the dowagers.”
“Because if you have a disfiguring mark on your face, then people will not look too closely. Before I even begin on your appearance, you must learn to move and walk like an old lady.”
The day wore on as Felicity went through “rehearsal” after “rehearsal” until she began to feel very weak and old indeed. Caroline then drew out wigs and makeup and white wax and got to work.
“You must always sit in a bad light,” she said at last. “I have finished. You can look now.”
She held up a branch of candles, and Felicity looked in the mirror.
A white-haired old lady stared back. A purple birthmark disfigured her left cheek, and white wax wrinkles crisscrossed her brow. The huge wig shadowed her face. “Never be seen without gloves,” said Caroline, “or your hands will give you away. Do not sit too near the fire, or your wrinkles will melt. Now you will need to have all that taken off and then learn to put everything on yourself. It is a good thing Monday is the one night I do not have a performance.”
“Surely you don’t perform on Sunday.”
“I rehearse. But don’t tell anyone or they will close down the theater!”
At long last, Caroline pronounced herself satisfied. Then she said, “Before you embark on this mad scheme, I trust you are only going into society to observe. You may feel Mrs. Waverley betrayed you, but her principles were sound. It is a good thing for a woman to have her independence. It was you yourself who convinced me I should not marry.”
“And you are happy?”
“Yes, I am very happy. My success is secure; I am thrifty; I shall have enough money to keep me comfortably in my old age.”
Felicity looked again in the mirror. “This birthmark is quite repulsive,” she said.
“It will serve its purpose,” said Caroline. “Wear some of those famous Waverley jewels. All will look at those rather than at your face.”
“I hate those jewels,” said Felicity fiercely. “Mrs. Waverley enjoyed forcing us to wear them to excite the envy of the ton. I used to feel like some pasha’s favorite. Fanny and Frederica must have hated them as well, for they left theirs behind. But if you think it will serve the purpose, I shall wear something dazzling.”
Felicity returned home late, feeling weary. Mrs. Ricketts handed her a letter she said had been delivered that evening by hand. When she opened it, Felicity found a heavily embossed invitation card and a letter from Lady Freddy Knox. In it, Lady Freddy apologized for the lateness of the invitation, saying it had been dropped down the back of her desk by mistake.
“My first ball this Season,” said Felicity with satisfaction. “I shall pen an acceptance.”
“You cannot go, miss,” pointed out Mrs. Ricketts. “You don’t have a chaperon.”
“I have now,” said Felicity cheerfully, and told the appalled housekeeper of her plan.
In vain did Mrs. Ricketts argue and protest. Felicity was determined to go. She would accept for herself and her “aunt”; she would arrive alone and, on reaching the ballroom, say that her aunt was right behind her. She would make her entrance with a crowd of other people.
Mrs. Ricketts at last threw up her hands in despair. She resigned herself to the inevitable. Felicity would be found out, and there would be a minor scandal. Her hopes of a debut would be dashed, but at least the household could return to peace and quiet.
Felicity was glad of the invitation, for it meant she could put off playing the part of Mrs. Callow in society for another week.
But she had a longing to try out her masquerade on someone first, just to see if it worked. Then she thought of Lady Artemis Verity and sent a s
ervant across the square the next day with a card in which Miss Callow requested the pleasure of Lady Artemis’s company.
At one point, she thought she would not be ready in time. The whole putting on of makeup, wig, and wrinkles took much longer than she had remembered. She instructed the grumbling housekeeper to half pull the curtains in the drawing room closed and to tell the other servants they would receive instant dismissal if they so much as breathed a word of what was going on.
Lady Artemis arrived at four o’clock in the afternoon, her fine eyes sparkling with curiosity. She was ushered into the shadowy drawing room.
“Pray forgive me for not rising to greet you, Lady Artemis,” said a frail voice from a wing chair by the fireplace.
Lady Artemis walked forward and made her curtsy. She looked at the little old lady sitting in the chair and then averted her eyes quickly from that ugly birthmark and looked at the glittering diamond brooch pinned on her gown instead.
“Where is your niece, Miss Callow?” she asked, looking around.
“She has contracted a chill,” said Felicity, “and is lying down. She sends her compliments and begs to be excused.”
“Poor thing,” said Lady Artemis. “It is hard to believe such a strong character as Miss Felicity should succumb to anything. Are you but lately come to town, ma’am?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“A great surprise. Mrs. Waverley led society to believe her girls had no relatives whatsoever.”
“Maria Waverley is a sad and devious woman,” croaked Felicity. “She lied to suit what ends I do not know. The girls are in fact sisters of the name of Bride.”
“Indeed? Which county?”
“The Somerset Brides.”
“Never heard of them.”
“My lady, your manner distresses me. But, ah, then, the younger generation is mannerless to a fault,” said Felicity gleefully.
“Oh, I am sorry, Miss Callow. What you must think of me! But to more cheerful topics. Does your presence in London mean that Miss Felicity will be able to make her debut like a regular debutante? Poor Fanny and Frederica had to be courted on the sly.”
“Yes, I plan to take her everywhere,” said Felicity, “my health permitting, of course.”
Mrs. Ricketts brought in the tea things and stood about nervously until Felicity ordered her from the room.
“Tell me, Lady Artemis,” asked Felicity, “why it was that your engagement to Mr. Fordyce came to naught?”
“You are well informed,” said Lady Artemis with a little laugh. “I found I had made a mistake.”
“In what way?”
“I simply felt we should not suit.”
Her curiosity almost made Felicity forget her role of old lady. “Was his annual income not large enough?”
Lady Artemis put her teacup down in the saucer with an angry little click. “Miss Callow! I am a very rich woman. I do not need to marry a man for his money.”
“I am sorry,” said Felicity. “But, you see, love does not appear to enter into a society marriage.”
“Be assured,” said Lady Artemis dryly, “that it most certainly entered into the marriages of both Miss Fanny and Miss Frederica Waverley.”
“If I could only be sure of that,” said Felicity half to herself.
She leaned forward and picked up her own book with one gloved hand. “You told my niece that this was the work of a virgin, that the authoress had obviously no experience of the opposite sex.”
“Yes, that is my opinion.”
“You having, on the other hand, a great deal of experience?” said Felicity, enjoying all the license of being an old lady to the hilt.
Lady Artemis thought of her sexual antics with the ever-inventive Mr. Fordyce and blushed and then rallied. This old lady could not know of such goings-on.
“I am a widow,” she said.
“Oh, yes, of course, that must help,” mused Felicity. “But how do you suppose this writer could gain experience without … er … losing her virginity?”
Lady Artemis’s eyes perceptibly sharpened, and Felicity raised her fan to her face. Ladies of the ton did not talk about virginity, especially elderly ladies of the ton.
“I suppose she must be content to observe, but that is hardly a substitute for firsthand experience,” said Lady Artemis. “Tell me, Miss Callow, do you share Mrs. Waverley’s views? Or rather, as we must now assume, the views Mrs. Waverley pretended to have?”
“I believe all ladies should be as highly educated as men,” said Felicity, “and I believe more professional jobs should be open to them. Do you plan to marry again, Lady Artemis? You must forgive the curiosity of an old woman.”
“Perhaps … if I find someone to please me. I am fortunate in being able to pick and choose.”
“For Felicity’s sake,” pursued Felicity, “I must find out the marriageable, the eligible, men. Who is the top prize?”
“The Marquess of Darkwater,” said Lady Artemis promptly. “But there is a drawback there.”
“Which is …?”
“He is a widower, handsome and rich, but any bride of his would have to travel back to those wretched plantations in the West Indies with him. The climate killed his first wife. She wrote to a friend of mine when she first arrived, complaining about the heat and flies and the dreadful provincialism of the other plantation owners. Do you know some of them adopt American manners and the ladies do not sit down to dinner with the men? She was vastly shocked that Darkwater did not keep slaves but freed all the Africans and paid them wages.”
“Oh, excellent man!” cried Felicity.
“You do hold radical views, do you not? But of course there are many who are convinced that were they to wed Darkwater then they might persuade him to stay in England and send out an overseer.”
Felicity looked at her speculatively. “And are you one of the hopeful, Lady Artemis?”
“La! I have not even met the man … yet. But he is a great friend of young Lord Freddy Knox, and so we are all sure of seeing him at the ball to be held by the Knoxes.”
“Felicity has been invited.”
“Indeed! Then it is fortunate for us other ladies that she holds such strong views on the rights for women. Nothing disaffects a man more.”
Felicity stiffened. “And yet, Lady Artemis, Felicity led me to believe you shared her views.”
“For a time, for a time. But, la, one wishes the gentlemen to adore one, after all.”
“Like the Earl of Tredair, say? But, alas, he did marry Fanny without being the least bit put off by her principles.”
“My dear Miss Callow, Fanny Waverley was very beautiful, as I recall.”
“As is my Felicity,” said Felicity, thinking that being one’s own aunt had great advantages. For example one could sit and praise oneself all one liked.
Lady Artemis rose to leave. She heartily wished she had not mentioned Darkwater’s name. What if that minx Felicity should steal him away? Somehow she must contrive to see him before that ball and poison his mind against Felicity.
“Again I must beg you to forgive me for not rising,” said Felicity.
“Are you sure you are strong enough, ma’am, to face the rigors of a Season?” asked Lady Artemis, looking down at the huddled figure in the chair.
“I shall manage very well,” said Felicity. “It is my wish to see Felicity married.”
“I thought Miss Felicity was against the idea of marriage.”
So she is, thought Felicity, but I am not telling you that, or it would be all about London. Aloud, she said, “She is not against marriage, only against marriages of convenience, which, as she is very rich, she does not need to make.”
***
Lady Artemis discovered that the marquess had rented a house in Green Street. The next day, she made her way there, followed by her long-suffering maid, and walked up and down until she saw him appear, or rather she saw a richly dressed man appear and assumed it must be the marquess. As she came abreast of him, she stumbled an
d let out a scream. He raised his hat. “Have you hurt yourself, ma’am?” he asked politely.
“A little twist, that is all,” said Lady Artemis. She smiled up at him. “May I present myself. I am Lady Artemis Verity and you, I believe, are the Marquess of Darkwater.”
“At your service, my lady.”
“Oh, if you could just give me your arm to the end of the street,” said Lady Artemis, taking him literally. “My poor ankle hurts a little.”
He offered his arm, and she leaned on it. “I believe you attend the Knoxes’ ball, my lord?”
“Yes. Will you be there?”
“Of course I shall.” She dimpled up at him. “May I hope for a dance?”
The gray eyes looking down at her turned a trifle frosty and he said “Certainly,” but she realized dismally she had appeared too bold.
“I shall not keep you to it,” she said. “I was only funning. There are many pretty young ladies looking forward to the pleasure of your company.”
“I am sure none prettier than yourself,” he said gallantly.
“Oh, but London is evidently to have a new belle. Miss Felicity Waverley is emerging from seclusion.”
“Ah, yes, I have heard of her.”
“Quite farouche,” said Lady Artemis with a little laugh. “She holds strong views on the rights of women, yet she plans to marry some complaisant man and bend him to her ways.”
“Then I wish her every success.”
“Miss Waverley will no doubt be very successful. She pretends to appear helpless and feminine, but she is made of iron.”
“I gather you do not like Miss Felicity Waverley.”
“I?” Lady Artemis opened her eyes to their widest. “I admire her immensely. So strong, so ruthless, so cynical.”
“We are now at the end of the street,” he pointed out.
“So we are,” she said gaily. “À bientôt, my lord.”
She stood and watched him walk away. Such shoulders! Such legs! Really, the prospect of living in the West Indies seemed more attractive by the minute.
Chapter Two
Felicity was carried along on a wave of elation right up until half an hour before she was due to leave for the ball. Then the full enormity of what she was about to do struck her. Surely she would never get away with it!