“It sounds wonderful. But you have other plans, do you not?” Cerisot had seen the determination in Violetta’s face.
Violetta shrugged. “I’m a little old to be a debutante. My only sorrow is that they won’t accept Mama because of what she’s done. They say she has put herself beyond the pale. She wants me to go to Italy, but I won’t turn my back on her even if I do go.”
“I should think not!” Cerisot regarded Violetta through narrowed eyes. “Though the sooner you get rid of that gown the better. Come to me when you can. I’ll make time for you.”
“Thank you.”
They turned to leave but Cerisot turned back. “I know you won’t take this amiss. Your mistress, Lady Perdita. Lady Judith is paying her a great deal of attention. Do you know what she is, what she does?”
Trust Cerisot to notice. “I was beginning to suspect something. I don’t know what Lady Perdita’s desires are in the matter.”
“Lady Judith prefers women to men. Any man she marries will have to share her with her women friends. Just make sure your mistress knows. I don’t think she was very happy for a few moments in there.”
Violetta nodded her assent and they returned. Crossing the salon, Violetta consciously took on the demeanour of the humble companion again. She did not find it difficult.
Preoccupied with her own thoughts Violetta followed the sedan chair out of the salon. Lady Judith kept Lady Perdita busy gossiping and Violetta was completely unaware until she collided with a large, solid male body. “Oof!”
Strong hands on her shoulders prevented her from tumbling. The sedan was some distance away now. Violetta looked up. “Uncle Lucius!” A deep blush suffused her cheeks at her error.
Thankful her mistress was out of earshot, she lowered her head at his warning “shh!”
He put her back and regarded her. Out of the corner of her eye Violetta saw that Lady Judith had noticed the interlude, and had turned back. The sedan bearers had laid their burden on the floor. “Your mother is right,” he remarked, staring at her. “You look terrible.”
Violetta laughed. “I feel wonderful. I’ve been able to see without being seen.”
Ripley frowned. “Don’t stay too long. I thought you weren’t staying more than a month?”
Violetta shrugged. “I want to help Lady Perdita. She needs someone on her side. I don’t think she’ll need me much longer.”
He blew out a long breath of relief. “You’re playing with fire, girl.”
Violetta was tongue tied, wondering just how much she should tell him. Perhaps she should let the marquess and her mother know that Blyth knew her identity. It might just make them worry, though, and after all it was her problem, not theirs. She had a strong inclination to cope with her problems her way, not run for help the moment she met a snag.
“Father!”
The sound made Ripley start in surprise. He turned round and essayed a smile. “Judith, my dear, how pleasant to see you!”
Lady Judith regarded her father, her large blue eyes speculative. “You look very pleased with yourself, father.” Her sharp glance went from Ripley to Violetta and back. With a start, Violetta realized what she was suspecting. Not the paternal relationship that was the reality, but something more intimate. She lowered her head in a submissive pose. “Lord Ripley and I had some previous acquaintance, my lady. He visited the house of my previous employer. He was surprised to see me in town.” It was the best she could do at such short notice.
“Showing her about, Judith?” Ripley’s voice gained a hard edge when he addressed his daughter. Violetta hated to hear it. “She’s a remarkable young woman. Has a deal of learning in her head.”
“Really?” Lady Judith’s smile turned into a sneer. “I’ve never noticed it.”
“Miss Lambert may not have been called upon to demonstrate her learning in her present position.”
Violetta winced. Lord Ripley had just made clear his opinion on his daughter’s intelligence, and that of her friend. He might be right. The problem had not taxed her, since her main consideration was with Lady Perdita’s health, not the state of her mind. She frowned in abstraction. She hadn’t thought of that before. Perhaps Lady Perdita might appreciate a little mental stimulation. She would have to discuss it with Lord Blyth.
From his vantage point across the street, Orlando watched the scene with more than a little interest. He had begun to cross the road to greet his sister, and congratulate her on her fortitude but as he had wavered he saw an old acquaintance approach the inhabitant of the sedan chair, and from her reaction, it was clear she had been welcomed.
He waited and saw Violetta and Lord Ripley. While aware of the connection between the two, it was interesting to see the ease they took in each other’s company. Then Lady Judith joined them and Violetta had recalled her role as Miss Charlotte Lambert. Her pose carefully resumed that of the humble companion, and Orlando watched Lord Ripley stiffen. He seemed more comfortable with Miss Lambert than he did with his daughter.
At the thought, Orlando straightened up. He studied the two females with sharpened interest, noting the similarities and differences. The ladies were of a height, slightly smaller than average. Lady Judith was built on generous lines but with her deliberately loose, ill-fitting clothing, Miss Lambert seemed to be similarly proportioned. That was an illusion, Orlando knew, but not the other. There was a similarity, something reminiscent of each other in them. He wondered. What if Lord Ripley’s well-known devotion to La Perla was more than devotion to the mother? What if—what if Violetta was his?
This deserved investigation. Orlando turned away, no longer interested in making himself known to them, and sauntered up the street.
Having ensured that Lady Perdita didn’t need her that evening, Violetta slipped out of the house and headed for her mother’s establishment. There were some advantages to being a respectable servant. She needed no attendant, no one to accompany her. It was a fine evening, spring fast moving into summer, and she could enjoy the journey. It took her past no dangerous spots, and if she tired, she could hire a hackney. Money in her pocket, but not too much, dowdy appearance that didn’t draw attention to herself.
Pondering her good fortune, feeling at peace with the world, Violetta didn’t notice the steps behind her until someone touched her elbow. Turning her head sharply she saw her employer.
He didn’t look happy, a forbidding frown creasing his brows. “You should take a maid with you.”
“I’m only going to my mother’s. It’s not far.”
“I know where you’re going. I know it’s broad daylight. I also know there’s a man following you at a distance, waiting until you reach a quiet corner. No, don’t look.”
Violetta obeyed, looking at him instead. “I can take care of myself.”
“Don’t be foolish. The next time you leave the house, even to walk in the square, I want to know.” He gave an exasperated sigh.
Violetta knew her protestation had been foolish. She was no match against a man with a knife, or even an unarmed man, but she had loved the quiet walks she took to her mother’s house each Thursday. “I enjoy being on my own. Just to walk and watch.”
“The attendant can follow you at a distance.”
She bowed her head. “Then he’d know where I was going.”
“Then call a hackney. I’ll pay.”
She knew he was right, but was loath to give her walks up. However, perhaps it was true. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to give you any worries.”
“No!” He sounded sharp. “Don’t be sorry. I can understand some of your concerns. It would irk me almost beyond bearing to have to take a servant with me everywhere I went. If you prefer it, I’ll walk behind you, or keep silent. I want to make sure you reach your mother’s house safely, that is all.”
“Thank you.” Violetta was deeply touched by his understanding. “Perhaps if I lived in the country it might be possible.”
“Have you ever lived in the country?”
She c
onsidered. “No. Only when I went to Italy to see my mother’s people.” She stopped on a gasp.
His look was perceptive. “I won’t tell.”
Violetta cursed her foolishness. She had let herself relax too much. Her mother’s deepest secret was not known in London. She slanted a sideways look at him.
“Who are your mother’s people?”
The last question she wanted to answer. She tried to shrug it off. “No one in particular. At least, no one special. I visited them two years ago. I was fortunate enough to have my own Grand Tour.”
“Something few women can boast of.”
Relieved, Violetta realized she had hit on a topic of innocuous conversation. “I was very lucky. I went to France and Italy.”
“Your mother’s profession must be very lucrative.” His bitten off curse made her smile. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”
“Why not? I know what she is, what she was. She is still my mother.”
His lips firmed to a thin line, but he said nothing because they were turning a corner into another street of prosperous houses. When it was clear there was nobody within earshot he continued. “I feel responsible for you, while you’re in my house, under my protection. I think I may be taking too much on myself.”
“What do you mean?” This speech left Violetta entirely perplexed. She smiled up at him, then turned to stroll along the street, enjoying the walk.
“I find it difficult to tolerate your living in such a house.”
“What sort of house is that?”
“Do I have to say it?” His voice rose slightly. She knew the pause was while he regained control of himself. “Very well. A house of ill-repute. A house where demi-mondaines are found.”
“And you don’t see these women as anything but receptacles, do you?” The thought came to her, but as she said it Violetta realized this must be the truth. It was true of so many men. “The women I know have taken men as their lovers for money. It doesn’t mean they didn’t care, and it doesn’t mean that they know nothing else. They have to have more than bedroom skills to attract and keep clever men. Equally, they have the right to refuse a man their bed, which is more than a prostitute does.” She heard his sharply indrawn breath and smiled to herself. She had hit a nerve. “My mother’s friends and colleagues are at least honest. I have met many women of fashion who have had more lovers than any of the women I know, but because they accept the occasional gift and not filthy lucre for their efforts, they consider themselves superior. None of the women I know commit adultery.”
“Many of the men I know do. If it weren’t for these women they might not.”
Too late, Violetta remembered his history. His father had ruined the inheritance by extravagant spending on women and gambling and by the time the present Lord Blyth had reached the age of five, he was fatherless and nearly penniless. “Forgive me. I spoke out of turn.”
He stopped walking and turned to her with a frown. She turned to face him. “Now it’s my turn to ask you what you mean.”
She met his gaze fearlessly. She had thought it, she might as well say it. “My mother never had anything to do with your father. I know his history but I never met him.”
“What about Lord Ripley and your mother? Isn’t that a clear case of adultery?”
She bit her lip. “That’s different. One day, perhaps, I’ll tell you their story.”
“Why not now?”
She turned away and resumed walking. He easily kept pace by her side. “I can tell you some of it. I don’t know the whole myself.” They walked for a while in silence. They were getting close now. Violetta knew she could spin the story out until they got there, so she wouldn’t have to tell him anything else. He was altogether too perceptive.
She told him what she wanted him to know. “They met while his lordship was on the Grand Tour, when they were both young. They fell in love, but his lordship had married before he left. His family wanted the alliance and he accepted it. When he returned to England he tried to forget my mother and she him, but there came a time when she desperately needed his help. This did not include his taking her as a lover. He helped her without that. However, my mother decided to make her way in the world in the only way that was open to her.”
“As a courtesan.”
“Yes.” If he had wanted to discommode her, he was foiled. She had heard that word, and worse, too often to be worried by the name. “They became lovers after that and have remained so ever since. They could almost be married.”
“Except that he already had a bride.”
“Yes.” Violetta would not expand on that.
“And she had other lovers.”
She shrugged. They had arrived at the house. “So she did.” She gave him a bright smile. “I have to leave you here.”
“I’ll go back and change. I intend to make good your challenge.”
Her heart sank. She wished he would not. However, if he insisted, then she would meet him. It was a matter of honour. “I shall see you later, then. See if you recognize me. I think we will all be wearing masks tonight.”
“I’ll know you.”
A small plan began to form in Violetta’s head. She smiled sweetly. “Very well, my lord. Arrivederci.”
He sketched a small bow. “Addio.”
He left. Violetta went into the house of ill-repute.
Chapter Eight
“It will do.” Violetta studied her reflection and bit her lip nervously. She was too honest to deny the reason. To her knowledge Lord Blyth had never visited the salon, and now he was coming. One man tonight would know what lay behind the mask La Perla Perfetta always wore. “I wish I could be sure I’m doing the right thing.”
Violetta’s maid smiled and added a silver clip to Violetta’s unpowdered hair. Black and glossy, it was the feature that prevented people from looking at her other features too deeply. It was coiled into an elaborate style, some of it pinned around her head, some flowing down her back. “Your mama has made sure the game will end without trouble.”
The rest of her was white. White satin gown, robings and hem gleaming with brilliants, white half mask, slanting up above the eyes to distort the shape of the face, the eye holes cut on a slant. The mask was edged with brilliants at its upper edge. Violetta flicked back the triple lace ruffles at her sleeve and picked up her fan, a pretty lace affair. Her own grandmother wouldn’t know her. Not tonight, at any rate. She turned to the door, her skirts shushing gently around her.
Quietly, just before she left, she murmured, “I’m not sure I want it to end without trouble.”
Orlando paused just inside the doorway of the large, elegantly appointed salon. Another man walked past him, affording him a cursory nod of greeting.
Orlando had dressed in his best tonight. He wore dark blue with an ivory waistcoat and matching blue breeches, the coat heavily embroidered down the front and on the pocket flaps, the waistcoat a masterpiece of the embroiderer’s art. A large sapphire rested on the second finger of his right hand. He was determined to make an impression tonight, and to give Violetta a kind of tribute. His kind of tribute.
He had never been here before. He felt uncomfortable, entering a room like this where desires were so blatant, so straightforward, and he wondered why he had come. If it had not been for that foolish challenge, instantly accepted, he would have stayed away.
The women at La Perla’s were at the top of their profession but Orlando could only feel dull anger as he watched the practised flirting. Miss Lambert had no place here. He could not accept that she would be happy or that she could hold her own with such women. Or be expected to. Orlando suspected she had been trained, and the thought of her being used in such a way made him seethe.
He wasn’t sure why. He was aware of the anger, but shied away from the reasons, or the possible reasons. Instead he moved into the room and went towards the figure that commanded all attention. It must be a masque, because every woman and some of the men sported masks of varying elabor
ation.
Blatantly gazing around, Orlando’s attention sparked when he realized exactly what he was seeing. Every woman except La Perla wore white. Every woman sported a white mask, but they were all different. All of them wore a shiny, black wig. Except, he guessed, one woman.
She was fighting back. She would not let him have things all his own way. Good for her!
Well used to keeping his inner emotions private, Orlando showed nothing to the world. He crossed the room at his leisure and bowed before the woman seated between the windows in a gilt chair. She was almost regal in appearance. Appropriate, since this woman was the queen of the demi-monde.
She awarded him a gracious nod. “You are Lord Blyth, I believe.” Her voice was deep and soft. Orlando caught echoes of it in her daughter’s, but unlike Violetta’s pure tones, La Perla’s was laced with her origins, the accent a lilting Italian.
“I am, ma’am.” He looked up and received a smile. It felt as though he had been awarded something special. This was the woman who trained sweet Violetta in the ways of sexual attraction.
La Perla was glorious. She must be fifty, or thereabouts, but her face was a work of art. Out of a smooth complexion gazed a pair of huge, violet eyes, topped by thin, arched black brows. He would have known that pointed chin anywhere, the full, rosebud lips and the high cheekbones. He had expected a lavish use of cosmetics, but he was surprised to find a light, artful touch, enhancing naturally piquant features instead of obscuring them into fashionable blandness. It would be a shame to conceal such an individual personality. Reluctantly Orlando was forced to admit he could see why La Perla had reigned for so long and so effectively. Her daughter was no doubt trained to take over, when the time came.
“I see you have heard of me.”
“Who has not?” The stories of her were legion, and it was difficult to discern fact from fiction, they were so intertwined.
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