A Chance to Dream

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A Chance to Dream Page 11

by Lynne Connolly


  A chorus of light laughter followed. “They are fortunate,” a young voice said from the edge of the group. Not Violetta. “They can afford to let themselves go to seed. We cannot.”

  There was a brief silence, but a sharp voice cut in. “It may be true of the lower sections of our little community, but not of us. Ladies, we are the best. We are here because we are the best. We can entertain, amuse and divert, but we can also question and challenge. Pity the respectable woman, forbidden to enter these doors!”

  The short silence that followed this expressed sympathy rather than animosity. “I will convey your sympathies to them,” Orlando said smoothly. “I’m sure they will be most amused.”

  “Lord Blyth, even you cannot achieve such a feat,” said a girl, her green eyes alight with laughter behind her half mask.

  “I know it. Ranked against respectable woman, every man must quail.”

  The girl deployed her fan, gently wafting it before her face, disturbing the lace covering her bosom. A clever ploy. She saw Orlando look and her smile became more intense. “I cannot imagine why you gentlemen waste time with your wives when we are here for your every need. The poor ladies must have their own amusements, you know.”

  Orlando got to his feet and managed a charming smile. “Of course. I do hope you will excuse me. I was distracted from my task by your delightful company, but there is a stake and I trust you will pardon me. Hopefully we can resume our acquaintance at another time.” He shot a look at the green-eyed beauty who nodded in acceptance and he moved away.

  He hated it. All of it. At that moment he would have left this house, thrown the thousand guineas in La Perla’s face and left. Except that, if he left, Violetta would be at the mercy of someone else. He could not allow that. A society that considered marriage a business arrangement was not for him. He had always nurtured a hope, deep down in his darkest soul that he would find a mate. Someone to love, someone who was his, and only his. At the least he wanted a companion and partner, a woman to share with. At best, a love he knew he would never find. He’d seen his elder brother fall in love with his wife, only to suffer when his wife gave birth to his sons, births that nearly cost her life. Now Daniel wouldn’t touch his wife. He burned for her. Orlando saw it every moment he spent with them and he ached for them both. Still, his romantic soul told him it was worth it, that they had known some measure of happiness before disaster struck them. He had discussed Daniel’s problem with Corin, his younger brother, but no plan had occurred to them yet.

  A world that condoned adultery, even encouraged it, was a sad state of affairs. Orlando had to admit his hands were not completely clean. Until a few years ago he had not been able to afford to buy his amusements, and seducing young virgins was out of the question, although he knew men who made a pastime of doing just that. Widows and wives whose husbands were out busy with their own amusements had provided some experience for him.

  Now it was different. His years of poverty, existing on the charity of his mother’s third husband, had taught him the value of observation, of thought before action, but it had been a hard journey and not easily learned.

  It lacked half an hour to midnight. Orlando, his choice made, danced with one young lady and then drifted from room to room, ostensibly studying the company, but in reality waiting.

  At ten minutes to midnight Orlando went back to the salon, and waited for La Perla to orchestrate the next act.

  “Lord Blyth!” La Perla had hardly raised her voice, but at her tones the quartet abruptly ceased its playing and everyone stopped, turning to the lady expectantly.

  Orlando gave her a cool smile and walked unhurriedly to her side. He stood by the gilt chair, and waited. The room filled slowly, as the occupants of the other rooms drifted in, all facing the chair. The scene resembled a royal audience, Orlando thought wryly. With himself as supplicant.

  “The unmasking!” La Perla exclaimed. Several hands went up to the strings of masks. “However, first we have some unfinished business. Will my daughter be richer for one thousand guineas, or will she take this charming gentleman?” Orlando didn’t like the implications of that, or the publicness of the announcement. “We shall see. Have you made your choice, Lord Blyth?” She turned her head to fix him with a steely glare.

  “I have.” Orlando met the expression, waiting for a fraught moment. La Perla was not the only one who knew how to build anticipation. While he waited he noticed something deep in her eyes. Fear, perhaps, or worry. Something he didn’t expect to see in this woman of the world. He turned back to the room. “I have gifted the lady of my choice. She will find, pinned to her sleeve, my sapphire cravat pin. It has my monogram on the reverse.”

  All the women turned their heads to examine their sleeves, a number of gentlemen joining them. There was a general disturbance, a breaking of the tension that Orlando and La Perla had built up.

  There was a movement at the back of the room and the company parted to allow the lady through. She stood before Orlando and her mother, her face, what could be seen of it, still and serene. She wore an artfully uptilted mask, edged with brilliants, and a gown decorated heavily with brilliants and lace. “I found this earlier. I removed it, because I didn’t wish it to tear the silk.” Her accent was tinted with Italian, but she was the lady he’d chosen. Her words were steady, and strangely flat, as though she was hiding emotion.

  She held out her hand. In it was Orlando’s cravat pin.

  The room exploded into applause and delighted laughter. All except four people. Orlando stared at La Perla Perfetta, no trace of a smile, and she stared back, impassively. La Perla visibly swallowed and Ripley placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

  La Perla cleared her throat. “I could not have wished for it, but I cannot be entirely sorry. Well done, my lord. You have won the prize. By her own wish, my daughter is now yours.”

  Orlando held his arm out. Silently, La Perla Perfetta came to stand by his side and placed her hand on it. They had not taken their gazes away from each other, for all the world as though they were deep in love.

  Orlando heard a murmur, deep and low. “Take care of her.”

  “I will,” he promised Lord Ripley.

  He took her out of the room.

  Chapter Nine

  Orlando let Violetta take him upstairs and upstairs again to a floor where he knew the public wasn’t normally granted access. She said nothing, but he felt the hand on his arm tremble and knew she was nervous. It was to be expected. So was he.

  He said nothing until she closed the door of her bedchamber behind her and stood to face him. “This is new to me,” she confessed, her voice low. “You’ll have to tell me what to do. It’s a lowering thing for someone in this house to have to admit.”

  “Not for you.” He didn’t move to take her in his arms, but rather, moved away. He had to get himself under control if he were to keep to his resolve, reached a couple of hours earlier downstairs. “Have you, then, decided to enter the Muslin Company?”

  She shrugged, but there was no elegance in the gesture. Rather, it was an uncomfortable action, that of a young girl not sure of her own mind. “No. I can’t bring myself to do that.”

  He folded his arms. “Why not?” He tried to make it a polite query, but it was not. On the answer to this question lay the future of this night, and perhaps many nights to come. If she wanted to make her own way, take a lover, then it might as well be him. The decision held much melancholy for him, as well as happiness. He could not deny that he wanted her, with a strength of feeling that surprised him, but this way he would condemn her to years of lovers, like her mother.

  “I don’t want it. I don’t want to be the cause of dissension between man and wife. I don’t want to rely on a man for my livelihood.” She stumbled on the last word. Orlando looked up, at her face, still covered by the mask except for her ruby lips, unrouged but more inviting than any others he’d seen tonight.

  “Then why do what you did tonight?”

  The eyes be
hind the mask glittered. “You challenged me. You know you did. Was I to take it lying down?” She bit her lip.

  Orlando grinned. “If and when we make love, I sincerely hope so. However, that is not the case.” He paused. “Take it off.”

  “Oh!” Her hands fluttered to her bosom. “Yes—yes if you wish it.”

  “The mask, fool!” his voice grated. “I want to see you face to face.”

  “Oh.” Her hands rose to the ties of her mask, but she fumbled.

  With a sound of exasperation, Orlando strode across the room to stand behind her. “Keep still.” He undid the ties and found the pins firmly fastening the mask to her hair, drawing them all out. There were six. He refrained from uncoiling her hair, but now, so close, he smelt the fresh scent, and felt a sudden need to undo the elaborate coils and bury his hands in the thick, shining mass. He breathed deeply and stood back. “There.”

  She turned, the mask in her hands. They stared at each other and Orlando came to a realization. Her gaze was strangely blurred. She was drunk, or not far off it. “Well? Do you like what you see?”

  “I’ve always liked it. Even under a mousy wig and spectacles.” He made no move towards her. She stayed where she was. Without her mask she was breathtaking, enchanting. The brilliants on her gown twinkled whenever she moved, so that Orlando found himself waiting for her next breath, to see the bows on her bodice shine. “You must know you’re lovely. Especially dressed like that.”

  “Like what?” Her chin went up a little, as though she was challenging him to say “wanton”.

  She was not wanton. “Exquisite. Delicate. As you should be dressed.” He frowned. “Do you intend to continue to wear those appalling gowns in my house? I would much rather see you in something like this.”

  She arched her brows. “Do you want me back? Attending to Lady Perdita in the daytime and in your bed at night? Is that it?” He watched her take a step so she stood wide-stanced under the expansive skirts of her gown. He was sure now. She was unsteady.

  Reluctantly, drawn by the thought she had put in his mind, Orlando shook his head. “That’s what I want to talk to you about. Come and sit down.”

  He held out his hand. She put her own in it. She still trembled. Ignoring it, he took her to the daybed at the foot of the large, elaborately draped four-poster bed. At least, with her back to the bed, she might be less nervous, but the daybed itself was an invitation to dally. Violetta would look wonderful against that pale lavender silk, naked and welcoming. He felt a stirring below and sternly suppressed the image from his mind. He kept hold of her hand. He turned it in his, and stared at it, frowning, like a gypsy fortune teller seeing a life within.

  “Violetta, I’ll try to explain something. It’s difficult, because it’s something I feel rather than something I know, but I’ll do my best.” He paused, gathering his thoughts. “First of all, I want to assure you that nothing will happen in this bedroom tonight that you do not want. I’ll not force you, or try to seduce you against your better judgement. I promise.”

  Her shocked surprise could almost be felt. “Why? You won me, in a fair competition.”

  “There was nothing fair about it. No one has eyes like yours. Even behind that mask, I couldn’t mistake them. I knew you as soon as I saw you. I put my marker on you early on, you know.”

  “No one has looked at me as closely as you do.” She paused. “I haven’t allowed it. I would have won the game had you not been here. I felt you put the pin on me and I took it off to prolong the game. If anyone had seen that sapphire on an all white dress, the game would have been up there and then.”

  Her soft voice came steadier now. Orlando hoped his assurance had helped her to come to terms with this. He meant it, every word. “If and when we come together, I want it to be on the bedrock of friendship.” He lifted his head and met her gaze. “I don’t want a mistress, a woman I only think of for one thing. I saw them tonight. For all the sophistication, they were all behaving like ravening animals.” He grinned. “Don’t misunderstand me. It’s the same in polite society, and at least your mother’s salon has the saving grace of honesty. I think it’s more honest to pay for sex than to try to buy someone, body and soul.”

  “Yes.”

  Her quiet assent told him she understood. Not just superficially, but completely. “More than anything else I want a friendship with you, Violetta. I don’t want to sound maudlin, but I’ve never had a female friend before. I find I can talk to you, and you understand. As though there was a link between us.”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s precious to me, because I’ve never known it before.” He grinned. “If you hadn’t agreed to that silly stake, you’d be a thousand guineas the richer, you know.”

  “You would have reneged?”

  “I had every intention of doing so. I owe you much for the way you’ve helped Perdita. I know she isn’t easy, but you did what was needed. You bullied her into taking an interest. It’s not just that. I want to know you’ll be secure. Friends do that for each other. They share.”

  “A thousand guineas?”

  “It’s enough to buy you a comfortable annuity. Then you can make your own decisions. I won’t miss it. May I still give it to you?”

  “No.”

  “Why not? A gift, free and clear, in gratitude for helping my sister? Surely you can accept that?”

  She shook her head. A small curl was dislodged from the elaborate coiffure, and fell onto her shoulder. She didn’t seem to notice, but Orlando did. He swallowed a fresh wave of desire. “I don’t need it. Did you think we were penniless? My lord, my mother comes from an intensely practical race. Ever since she began her career, she has salted away half her earnings. Investments have increased it. I have no need of your money.”

  This shook Orlando. In his experience, courtesans spent money like water, and he’d seen nothing to disturb that conclusion since he had stepped into this house. “A clever woman.”

  “Indeed she is. She knows what I plan to do, and approves of it. I was never meant to follow in her footsteps, you know. She is very upset about tonight, but she knows better than to interfere with my decisions.”

  He stared at her. “Upset? I thought this was her triumph?”

  “Lord no!” For the first time the tragic look disappeared to be replaced by a mischievous grin. “She doesn’t want me to do this.”

  “Then why did you?”

  “A moment of madness,” she said shortly. “That is all.” She glanced away and then back to him, a new determination in her eyes. “And perhaps I wanted you too.”

  He couldn’t help it. He drew her to him, and slipped his arm around her. “Do you?”

  “I did. Now I’m not so sure.” She didn’t resist, but rested her head on his shoulder. “I like the idea of being friends. I’ve never had a male friend before, not really.”

  She felt good to him, the weight on his shoulder perfect. “I want the friendship more than the loving. At least, I thought so a moment ago. I want it to last. Tell me your plans, Violetta. Tell me what you want to do with your life.” He knew that sober she would never be telling him these things, but drunk, or rather, a little the worse for alcohol, her tongue was looser.

  She spoke softly, but he heard her perfectly well. “I want to be my own woman. I have enough money to set up for myself. I’m going…away soon, and when I come back, if I do, I want a small house, perhaps on the other side of Tottenham Court Road. Harley Street or somewhere like that.”

  Another role, he thought, wondering why she felt the need to take on other parts, other roles. He suspected it went very deep. Perhaps she wasn’t aware of the need, but he had noted the way she immersed herself into whatever character she was playing, an actress taking on a part, trying to convince others and perhaps herself, too. “You want to shut yourself away?” He moved his hand gently on her shoulder.

  “No. I want to be respectable.”

  She had difficulty with the last word. Orlando ignored it for the
present. “Why would you want that?”

  She jerked away and sat up straight. Eyes blazing, she faced him, every word crystal clear. “I don’t want men to look at me the way they look at my mother—with calculation, wondering how much she would cost. I don’t want women to move their skirts when I pass by them, I don’t want them to stare at me and look away when I try to meet their eyes. My mother is worth more than that and so am I.”

  Much struck by her statement, he agreed without pause. “Much more.”

  He watched the fire fade from her eyes and was a little sorry. She looked magnificent like that. Perhaps he could make her angry again. Not tonight, though. He had something entirely different planned for tonight. “I’m sorry, but you did ask.”

  He wanted to pull her back into his arms. She felt good there, but he had promised he wouldn’t force her to do anything she didn’t want to do. “You want respectability. Quiet obscurity.” He smiled. “You think you have any chance of having that, looking as you do?”

  “I’m a little different, that’s all.”

  “You’re remarkable.” She opened her mouth to reply, but closed it again. “I’ve never seen eyes your colour before. I never even imagined such a shade existed. Your hair gleams blue sometimes, and sometimes red. You’re the epitome of elegant, assured, graceful—”

  She gave a sudden laugh. “Assured? I’m a turmoil of confusion inside. I never know who I am, what I’m doing. No, not assured. Never that.”

  “You look it.”

  “Would you like some brandy?” She stood up in a sudden, jerky movement that was untypical of her.

  It was on the tip of his tongue to refuse, but he guessed she needed the respite. Her response to his compliments surprised him. He had thought her impervious to them.

  She brought back two glasses of brandy, one larger than the other.

  Orlando didn’t want the brandy, but he took the glass and sipped, watching her carefully. In her state he didn’t want her drinking any more, especially strong spirits. She sat down again, but a little further away from him. She eyed him, her face shuttered once more.

 

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