La Perla took her time. She studied Lord Blyth. He studied her in his turn until they caused a deadlock. Eventually the lady opened her lips. “You wish to court my daughter.”
“I wish to see her,” he corrected, “and make myself known to you and your friends.”
“We know you, your lordship. We have seen you and wondered why you have not appeared before.”
“I had no wish to be inopportune or gauche, ma’am.”
The smile they exchanged was of total understanding. Now he could afford the wares, he would come. Two people who had faced financial ruin and survived smiled at each other guardedly, knowing, as others could not, just what that meant. Orlando recognized the bond, though he hated himself for recognizing it. He wanted to dislike her for dragging her daughter down to her own level, but he found, faced with her, that he couldn’t. He hated himself for his weakness, too.
“Then please be welcome. Whether my daughter accepts you or not is her choice. She is old enough to make her own decisions.” She lifted her gaze and scanned the room briefly. “However, we have a small amusement planned. You may make your choice, and converse with any of the young ladies present. At midnight, they will unmask. Except one, of course. My daughter never unmasks in public. After that time, all the ladies here are forbidden to you if you have not won the contest.”
“Forever?” He didn’t care. There was only one woman he wanted.
La Perla shrugged, an elegant ripple of white shoulders under blue velvet. “It is up to them. Certainly for tonight. If you cannot identify her by midnight we demand a forfeit.”
“Which would be?” Orlando wondered what he’d got himself into. He couldn’t leave now. If he did, Violetta could find herself in the hands of any of the gentlemen present before the night was over.
“Something simple. One hundred guineas, to be paid to La Perla Perfetta.” The lady stared at him, smiling sweetly. She could have been his maiden aunt.
Once that would have been a fortune to Orlando. Now it was the cost of an evening’s entertainment. He smiled back, his expression turning elegantly bland, an expression his brothers had learned to mistrust. “Shall we say one thousand?”
Not a twitch marred the features before him. She regarded him in silence, then lifted her hand. “Very well, so be it. One thousand pounds.”
“If we make it guineas, it might be more interesting.”
“Are any of these gentlemen joining in?” La Perla looked around challengingly.
A few glanced at each other, and one stepped forward. “I’ll take it, but only if I keep the lady I discover.”
La Perla regarded him dispassionately. “For a night, perhaps, but the rest must be up to the lady. I don’t run a bawdy house, gentlemen. The ladies here are my guests, not my employees. I will hold you gentlemen to the original stake only. One hundred guineas, to be paid to the lady. But this gentleman, who demands the ultimate prize, must pay more.” La Perla lifted her gaze to glance around the room. She received a series of nods. Orlando watched closely. “I reserve the right to substitute another lady for my daughter.” Orlando frowned and opened his mouth to protest, but she leaned forward and gently placed the closed sticks of her fan across it.
La Perla looked around again, taking in all the ladies present. Orlando watched her closely but she didn’t hesitate anywhere until her attention returned to him. She studied him for a long moment, and Orlando saw, just for a fraction of time, the mother behind the courtesan, the concern. She was worried for her daughter. It went a long way towards reconciling Orlando. Had she allowed him to see her concern? “That no longer applies. La Perla Perfetta agrees to the challenge. Whoever successfully identifies her may keep her, for the price. However, she will not be unmasked except by her own will.” Violetta’s masks were cleverly designed and no one except the people who knew her best knew her eyes true shape and colour. She had masks with heavy artificial lashes, some with different shaped eye-holes, and a few with filters made of tinted mica. She would be wearing one of those tonight, Orlando felt sure.
Disappointment murmured through the room. La Perla smiled, serene once more and leaned back. “If that is acceptable, shall we begin?”
Orlando’s stomach tightened. Did that mean that La Perla Perfetta would give herself to whoever identified her? It must. Her mother had appeared unwilling to allow this, but when she scanned the room her daughter must have given some sign of acceptance.
Someone moved. Orlando recognized Lord Ripley, garbed in splendid crimson, a startling splash against his mistress’s midnight blue. He spoke softly. “Is this wise? The game is amusing, but La Perla Perfetta is a prize beyond price.”
“Indeed she is, but she has indicated her assent to the game.”
Ripley did not look around, but Orlando caught something, an instinctive movement. He followed the direction of the movement. Three women, all in white and masked, stood in that corner of the room. They stared back at him impassively.
La Perla lifted a hand and the quartet began to play a dance tune, a minuet. The floor cleared at the sound. Orlando crossed the room, squeezing past a few of the ladies with an apologetic smile, and bowed in front of one of the three women standing in the corner. “Would you honour me with this dance, ma’am?”
The lady smiled, her rouged lips curving seductively. “It would be a pleasure, sir.”
She was too old to be Violetta, and hadn’t her sweetness. Still, Orlando enjoyed the dance. She had a grace that seemed to come naturally to her. As he guided her around the steps of the dance, he watched how she altered the steps and poses into a long flirtation. He was only allowed to take her hand occasionally, but a twist of the hand, a stroke of fingertips against his palm served to tantalize and tease. Well, two could play at that game. Orlando responded, allowing his fingers to curl around hers as though he was reluctant to release her. He let his gaze linger on her low cut bodice, as though enjoying the sight of her totally naked. A delicious game.
When the music stopped a slight pattering of applause surprised him. Ripley was leaning against the back of his mistress’s chair, smiling warmly. Orlando placed the lady’s hand on his arm and took her across to a vacant chair. “In the normal course of events,” he murmured, “I would ask to spend more time with you. You will excuse me tonight?”
With a flutter of a fan she consented, keeping her voice hoarse and low. Orlando lifted an eyebrow and grinned at her. They were even trying to keep their voices close to Violetta’s. However, he was not fooled. He went over to Ripley.
He knew the man but had no close acquaintance with him, despite the fast friendship between Perdita and Lady Judith. A generation lay between the men. Ripley nodded in greeting. “Any ideas yet, Blyth?”
Orlando regarded him closely. “No.”
“Smitten by the thought of an expensive mistress?” Ripley grinned. “You can afford one now. Might as well indulge yourself.”
“Something like that.”
“You have an advantage.”
“I’m paying for the privilege.”
Ripley nodded and straightened up. “Refreshment, my love?”
“A small glass,” La Perla replied, glancing up at her lover.
Ripley led the way to a sideboard, groaning under the weight of bottles and glasses. He picked out two and helped himself and Orlando to burgundy. He was totally at home here. Orlando had never seen his lordship so at ease, so content. “Now,” he said, handing Orlando his glass, “may I make something clear to you without you calling me out?”
“I’ll reserve judgement.” Orlando sipped cautiously. The burgundy was the best quality. He expected nothing less.
Ripley nodded and looked around, smiling, as though he was exchanging the time of day. “For various reasons, La Perla Perfetta is precious to me.” Orlando raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He had his suspicions. “If you want her and she wants you, there is no more to be said in the matter. She is her mother’s daughter and she has made her desires known. Ho
wever, hurt her, or treat her with less than kindness and I will call you out, scandal or no.”
“I have no intention of hurting her. I have come to care for her. I owe her a debt, which only you, her mother and I know of.”
“How much do you care?” The question sounded casual but was far from it.
Orlando chose his words meticulously. “She has done me a great service, but there’s more than that. How much I don’t yet know.”
“You desire her.”
Orlando sipped his wine, watching the figures gracefully disporting themselves before him in the dance. “Everyone does.”
“They desire her because they don’t know her. She’s a mystery to them. You know her better than most. That is why I will hold you responsible if you hand her to one of these people tonight.”
Orlando smiled. “Oh, I don’t think there’s any fear of that.”
“There had better not be.”
Orlando had the strong suspicion that La Perla would not give her prize away so lightly. His price might suffice, but one hundred guineas was a paltry sum for the woman who had tantalized the male population of London since her appearance in her mother’s salon five years ago. His lips tightened in denial. No, he would not allow such a thing. It must not be.
“How long have you been with La Perla?”
“Most of my life.” The reply came instantly, as though Ripley no longer had to think about it. “I would have married her, but I was already married when I first met her.”
Orlando felt an unexpected pang of sympathy for the unfortunate Lady Ripley. “Doesn’t sound as though your wife had a chance.”
Ripley turned to face him, face grim. “She had her chance. Believe me she did. I came back to La Perla only after my wife sent me away. It was not pique or temper that did it. It was her rejection of me, pure and simple.”
“Still.” Orlando took another sip. “You could not marry a courtesan at any time.”
Ripley bit his lip. Orlando knew the older man had stopped a response that might have been unwise. He decided to further his acquaintance with the older man. It might help him discover more about Violetta and her mother. He knew there was more to it than an Italian woman of remarkable beauty taking London by storm. Where had she been until then? Why had she not appeared anywhere else before?
Orlando bowed to a young lady who curtsied to him. A golden strand of hair lay on one shoulder, loosened from under the black wig. Orlando let his gaze wander the room. Perhaps La Perla was known under another name. He knew more than the rest of London except, perhaps, Ripley. He knew La Perla Perfetta’s real first name, if it was her real name.
He knew it was. She had told him without thinking, then looked regretful, as though she would take it back. Violetta.
“I would have defied convention for her,” Ripley said softly. “There has only ever been one woman for me. The pity is I discovered her too late.”
“What is it about these women?” Orlando wondered.
“Who knows? They are lovely, intelligent and accomplished, but then so are a lot of women.” Ripley put his empty glass down. “Excuse me.”
He picked up a full glass of white wine. Beads of moisture ran down the outside of the glass. Chilled to perfection, Orlando guessed. Nothing was stinted here. He wondered how much money La Perla and her daughter had salted away. Not much, he guessed. Now the mother was off the market it might be the time for the daughter to earn her living.
On her back.
What a tangle! Orlando bowed to a young lady and solicited a dance. While he knew this one wasn’t Violetta, he could watch the rest of the room from the floor. This lady had an extravagant mask made out of white feathers. That, and the decoration of her gown showed her theme was the white peacock. It was exquisite, but the way the gown was looped up out of the way made Orlando realize it had been made for a taller woman than this petite beauty. Her waist was so tiny he could span it easily with his hands, should she let him. He had no doubt she would. Her fan looked as though it was made of white peacock feathers, and if that was so, it must have cost a pretty penny. Orlando grinned. He would never get out of the habit of pricing things. He should have been born a merchant. “Something amuses you, my lord?”
He gave her a sweet smile. “Nothing, dear lady. ’Tis the pleasure of your company makes me smile.”
The lady dimpled prettily. She couldn’t be more than seventeen. Orlando was struck by the varying ages of the women in the room, as varied as the gentlemen present. The only similarity between the men was their ability to pay. The women were from a variety of backgrounds, but all had the ability to please a man. Some liked young flesh.
He smiled at her. “What is your particular talent, my dear?”
She moved closer in the dance. “I can take all of a man in my mouth, and hum while I’m doing it.”
Definitely not Violetta. A novelty welcomed by many but a pretty young girl with one particular talent would not last long in these circles. Such talents could be bought in any of the bawdy houses lining the Covent Garden Piazza.
There he was again. Money. He bowed to the young lady and immediately lost interest in her.
He had an hour to accomplish his goal, for his sake and for Violetta’s. Some of the men here would only take her over his dead body. He knew for a fact that old Lord Cheshunt was riddled with pox; certain death for anyone who entertained him. He was also filthy rich, with the emphasis on the filthy.
Orlando circulated the room, exchanging a few words here and there, as though he was searching for the one. The ladies were all lovely. Not all were beautiful, but all had something. Grace, elegance, a luscious figure, sometimes all three. None of them could compare to a black haired fairy with deep blue eyes. He guessed that Violetta’s wardrobe had been emptied for the occasion, since several women were dressed in gowns that looked to have been altered or pinned. He touched several of them casually, something society women would never allow.
As the evening progressed and the drink flowed, gazes and invitations became more blatant. La Perla stayed seated for the most part, only consenting to take one dance with Lord Ripley. Orlando was standing next to a full bosomed beauty at the time, casually conversing. “She doesn’t see anyone but him any more,” the lady commented. “She must be costing him a fortune.”
“He isn’t short of a few pence,” Orlando said absently, watching La Perla, understanding where her daughter had found her instinctive grace.
“He doesn’t look at anyone but her. I’ve heard he doesn’t even sleep with his wife any more.”
It was something Orlando suspected, but had not voiced. To hear it articulated aloud jolted him. The man loved his mistress. It was evident in his care of her, in his every look, although there was no embarrassing display between them. They could never marry, never form a true partnership. Deep sadness filled him, for everyone involved, even Lady Judith, whose attentions to him were becoming more marked every day. Orlando was finding her an increasing menace, but it didn’t prevent him sympathizing with her family situation.
With a slight effort he brought the picture of Lady Ripley to mind. A tall, elegant woman, generously made. The words that came instantly to Orlando’s mind were formidable, cold and formal.
Not a woman one would want to be shackled to for life. From what Ripley had said he had been married to her very young. Orlando shuddered.
He turned to more amusing pursuits. This was not the only salon open to visitors tonight. He went through to the smaller room. As he expected it was exquisitely appointed in the French style, with lots of gilt and light, clear colours. He liked it, graceful and elegant, a fitting setting for its owner.
Moving forward, Orlando greeted some of the people playing cards at the tables set up for the purpose. He knew, from the guineas and counters in front of some of the participants, that play on some tables was deep, but the atmosphere was not the concentrated oblivion of the dedicated card player. This was merely rich people amusing themselves. A sid
eline to the main event. There were no estates at stake here, no last minute efforts to turn fortunes.
“Thinking of something?”
He turned to see the dark eyes of Ripley gazing into his. He inclined his head. “Yes, and thanking heaven I didn’t have to try to restore my fortune that way. I tried, but money follows money. I lost too much, then won, then left. I don’t play for high stakes any more.”
“You can afford to now.”
“Yes.”
There was a short, companionable silence. “I saw you once,” Ripley continued. “Upstairs at the Cocoa-Tree late one night. You were losing. The way you held the cards, the way all the colour had gone from your face told me that.”
“I remember.” It was engraved on his memory for all time. The night he thought he’d lost everything. In half an hour he had recouped his losses, but won nothing. “After that, I left the table and didn’t game again until I could afford it.”
“Very wise.” They contemplated the room again.
Orlando wandered around the room, but was careful not to interfere with the concentration of the more serious players. Men had been called out for less. At one table a group of ladies and gentlemen was playing for small stakes, enjoying the company. At his approach, one of the ladies turned and smiled a welcome. None of them was Violetta. Orlando sat down.
“My first spring ball of the year.”
“They say the summer will be exceptionally warm this year.”
“Warm enough to encourage the ladies to wear a little less?” one of the gentlemen ventured. He received a roguish smile for his pains. “Perhaps even to discard their stays?”
A chorus of derisory laughs greeted this sally. All female. The males’ interest had sharpened. One or two looked slack mouthed, the way a man in heat could look sometimes. Orlando watched the women play them like anglers with small fish. “No stays!” one of them exclaimed forcefully. “That would set the fashionables on edge. Perhaps we should appear in public like that.”
“Oh dear me, no!” another cried. She flourished her fan before her face, glittering brilliants in the candlelight. “They might try to vie with us and then, you know, imagine the sight!”
A Chance to Dream Page 10