After Cerisot had helped her into the plainer, but still white, gown she arrived in, Violetta adjusted the plain white half mask over her face. It was in almost every respect the same as many women wore to keep the dust off their complexions in the street, but it was white, where the usual colour was black. White was an extravagant, wasteful colour and the reason why Violetta insisted that most of La Perla Perfetta’s gowns were easily laundered. Her mother employed a laundry-maid to keep her linens and La Perla Perfetta’s gowns clean and what could not be washed was treated with fuller’s earth.
The weather was warm, and Violetta had brought only a light shawl to drape over the gown. White of course, with white embroidery. She was heartily sick of white. Even Miss Lambert’s gowns became a welcome change. There was little in her wardrobe that wasn’t white.
Violetta arranged her white hat, pulled on her gloves and left the shop, her maid trailing behind her.
Only to collide with a solid male body. She sprang back. “Good Lord!” rumbled a voice she knew. The owner of the voice bowed slightly. “Miss—ah you are La Perla Perfetta, are you not?”
Violetta made her voice lower, huskier and added the Italian accent she customarily used almost without thinking about it. “Indeed, my lord. Good day.”
“One moment, if you please!”
She turned back to him, surprised and a little worried. Had he recognized her? His dark eyes stared into hers, altogether too perceptive for her liking. “Does your mother hold an open evening soon?”
“I believe so, sir.” Never had Violetta felt guilty about her mother’s evenings before. However, he might want to come for the conversation. Only her self-restraint prevented her snort of derision finding its way to the surface. The conversation was good, the play was deep, but Lord Rosington had never been known to seek out either. Nor, she had to admit, had he sought out the demi-monde before. It might be his first time. She hoped so, for his poor wife’s sake, but unlike his brother Lord Blyth, Lord Rosington had never been under any financial constraint. He could afford an expensive mistress if he wished for one. Such arrangements could be very discreet, the mistress not even a professional woman.
Violetta told herself it was none of her business. Then she saw a closed carriage turn the corner of Bond Street. She had come to know the crest of the Blyths very well by now, on an armament above the door of the town house, decorations on some of the other items in the house. Two swans as supporters, very distinctive. The carriage bore the crest on its highly polished black doors.
It might be Lady Perdita in the carriage, but she doubted it. Lady Perdita had declared her intention of resting that afternoon, preparatory to attending a small soirée that evening. Nothing like the great balls and routs she planned to attend later in the year, or the house parties she wanted to go to that summer, but a good start. So it was probably Lord Blyth in the carriage. And he knew who she was.
Without thinking further, Violetta put her hand on Lord Rosington’s arm and leaned up to press her lips on his cheek in a brief salute. The carriage swept past. She caught sight of some sort of commotion inside, and Lord Blyth, leaning over a blonde woman she couldn’t quite see. Lord Rosington remained ignorant of the occurrence, his back turned to the road.
Violetta gave him a bright smile. “I shall look forward to seeing you, my lord.” With one last glance she left him and walked away, her maid trotting after her.
Violetta knew she would not get away unscathed with her behaviour, but she was unsure how Lord Blyth would react. Later that afternoon, back in the costume of Miss Lambert, she returned to the house for dinner. She did not want to face him, but she was no coward, and it was better got over with quickly.
Lady Judith waited with Lady Perdita in the salon. Violetta bowed to them and sat behind Lady Perdita. The ladies chatted, totally ignoring her until the door opened to admit Lord Blyth, dressed for the evening in dark red velvet.
He glanced at Violetta once, his gaze hard, and she knew his reaction. He was furious. She felt a tremor of regret, and perhaps fear, but quelled it firmly and followed behind with Lady Perdita. It was only the four for dinner. Lady Judith made a comment about Miss Lambert. “It seems Miss Lambert is the honorary man this evening. Do you mind, Miss Lambert?”
“Not at all.” Violetta would not feed Lady Judith’s malice by showing any reaction to her. The taunt was becoming a favourite one with Lady Judith. She’d heard it twice since that fateful evening at the opera, and suspected Judith repeated it because she knew it upset her. Her resentment rose when Lord Blyth did not come to her defence, as he might ordinarily have done.
What did she expect? Her action with Rosington had been impulsive, a defiance born of the fiasco earlier that day. She didn’t regret it. It was only a light kiss, after all.
Violetta knew her thoughts to be disingenuous. She kissed Lord Rosington in the persona of La Perla Perfetta, and however innocent the gesture, it carried implications for all who saw it. She hoped it would have no repercussions for his lordship, but Lord Blyth deserved it. If she were to be a courtesan, it would be on her own terms. Not his. That afternoon, she had staked her claim, as far as her world was concerned.
She wondered if Lord Blyth knew it. After that one glance at her, simmering with rage held firmly under the surface, he ignored her and devoted all his attention to his sister and her friend. Lady Judith was in her element, teasing and flirting. Violetta was struck yet again by the similarities between the polite world and the demi-monde. A different set of women, that was all, with different expectations. The same men.
Was it really worth it, this striving for respectability? Men still looked at her mother with open desire, still made her offers despite her declared intention to retire. They made offers to Violetta, offers that never included marriage, but frequently included houses. They took for granted that she would be expensive.
Not expensive enough. Violetta wanted more. She wanted it all. If she couldn’t have that, she would go her own way and do without men in her life.
Looking at Lord Blyth at the other end of the table, his long fingers curled around a glass of red wine, she could almost regret her decision. His pose was studied, his smile practised and polished. Then she heard something that brought her a measure of relief.
“You are escorting us tonight, are you not?”
“Of course.” Lady Perdita and her friend were attending a small soirée, one that Violetta hoped would ease her mistress back into her old life. “I’ve ordered Perkins in his best livery to turn out for you.”
“He may seat me and return later.” So Lady Perdita wasn’t going to walk tonight. She was so good she hardly needed the cane any more. Lady Perdita put down her fork and turned to her brother with an eagerness she rarely showed in public. “What are your plans for the summer, Orlando?”
He took his time answering her, smiling slightly. “I hadn’t decided yet. Later, we’ve been invited to stay with Daniel and his family. We must look in at the Court, and I would like to spend more time there. Why do you ask?”
“Lady Judith has asked us if we would like to visit her at her home in a week or so. Lady Ripley has planned the most delightful party!”
He regarded her, twirling his half empty glass absently. Not a drop spilled over the rim. “I can’t see any reason why you should not.”
“Would you come?”
He turned to face Lady Judith, his most charming smile in place, but Violetta didn’t miss the flash of anger he turned on her on his way past. No one else seemed to notice. “Would you like me to? Aren’t you afraid I’ll cause havoc amongst your friends?”
“Why no, my lord, of course not! We would be honoured to have you!”
She said it too hastily, too eagerly, but it was doubtful that anyone but Lord Blyth and Violetta noticed. “I would be honoured to come, in that case.”
Violetta knew he was doing it to annoy her, and she felt childishly pleased. At least she had some effect on him. He was not indifferent
to her.
“Will your father be there?” he enquired mildly, but by the way he kept his gaze carefully away from her, Violetta knew that the comment was for her, rather than for her ladyship. Judith’s face stiffened. “I have no idea. He tends to go his own way. He even had the effrontery to seek me out at Lady Masham’s last night, but I was very cool to him. Very cool. Society cannot say there is a breach between us, but I will not encourage him.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I thought the decision was your parents’ alone.”
She didn’t notice the reproof, or chose to ignore it. “My father distressed my mama by his recent appearance at the opera. He claims it was an accident, but he should have listened more attentively when my mama told him she would attend.” She sniffed. “Respectable women have little chance next to those creatures.”
Violetta lowered her head and attacked her food. If this was revenge, it was effective, but she thought it unkind of him to take advantage of information she had given him in a weak moment. She would know better next time.
Relieved that he planned to accompany the ladies, Violetta excused herself and went up to her room. She could spend the time reading.
Reading had always been a solace to her. Violetta read anything, from complex text books to the most scandalous novels, finding something of interest in every one. It seemed a long time since she had an evening at leisure with her books.
Wanting to make herself comfortable, Violetta changed into a loose sacque gown of antiquated style. Modern sacques were tailored to the waist at the back, but this one had its back pleats sewn down to the shoulders only. It meant she could remove her stays and relax, but would be decent if Lady Perdita should require her presence on her return. She settled down with an old favourite, Robinson Crusoe.
In the meantime, Lord Blyth, in full, hot formal attire, was sitting in an elegant salon fending off the attentions of the numerous young ladies who seemed to insist on his opinion about anything. It was a relief to see his brother Corin present, not just for the support of another male, but because he badly needed to discuss the matter of Daniel with him, which had suddenly, given the events of earlier in the day, become urgent.
He managed to convey to Corin his need of a private word and after two of the most tedious hours of his life, obtained his sister’s permission to leave. “I shall be quite comfortable,” she told him loftily. The few gentlemen present all congregated around her chair. Most gratifying, and delightful to see her back at her old flirtations. Or it would have been delightful, had Orlando been in a mood to be delighted.
No longer worried about her re-entry into society, Orlando and Corin took their leave, although the arch comments about their future destination made Orlando grit his teeth in annoyance.
“I’m in no mood for socializing tonight,” Orlando remarked. “Will you walk with me?”
“Willingly. I’m for White’s afterwards. I’ve no mind for female company after tonight.”
Orlando slanted a look at him. Corin’s face was as smooth and untroubled as always, but Orlando felt there was something new about his brother. A restlessness, perhaps. “What made you go there in the first place?”
“Perdita, of course. Mama couldn’t attend, so she sent me.”
Orlando made an exasperated noise between his teeth. “I might have known. I’m quite capable of caring for my own sister.”
Corin stuck his hands in the capacious pockets of his dark green dress coat. “My sister too.”
“Haven’t you enough of your own?”
Corin grinned, his teeth a white flash in the moonlight. “Oh yes, but Perdita is my big sister. I’ve been worried about her. I couldn’t tell you before because Mama insisted we make as little fuss as possible. When we knew she wouldn’t die after the accident, that is.” Orlando remembered the terror of that time, when Perdita was brought into the house lying on a door, used as an impromptu stretcher. She was white, and bleeding, and the extent of her injuries was far from certain. He had been so terrified of losing his only sister that all the blood had drained from him. He never wanted to feel like that again. “A bad time,” Corin said softly, “but she looks well on the road to recovery now.”
Their footsteps echoed up the empty street. They were nearly home. Orlando slowed. “I have to speak to you about Daniel.”
“Daniel?” Corin didn’t hide his surprise. Obviously he expected to discuss Perdita.
“I saw him today with La Perla Perfetta. You know who she is?”
“Aye. La Perla’s daughter.” His eyes narrowed in speculation and Orlando knew his brother well enough to realize he’d recalled the time Daniel connected La Perla Perfetta with Miss Lambert. But he said nothing about that. Not yet, at any rate. “A pretty piece. I’ve thought of making an offer for her myself.”
“No, you won’t.”
Corin turned in some astonishment and too late Orlando realized he’d revealed too much with his vehement words. “Want her yourself, do you? Is that it?”
It wasn’t worth trying to deny it. He’d wanted her—quite badly—for some time now. “Not just that. If you wanted her, I’d say ‘let the best man win,’ but not Daniel. Miranda saw them together today. I took her shopping, but that was all abandoned when she saw them. It’s obvious she still loves him very much.”
“Oh Lord.” Corin frowned. “Daniel’s only a man. He’s been impeccably behaved for years now. He must be feeling the need of a little—feminine company.”
“If any woman graces his bed, it should be Miranda.”
“She can’t, you know that.”
“She might be able to.” Swiftly Orlando outlined the situation with Dr. Sewell and his sister. He concluded; “I think he was holding Perdita’s recovery back deliberately. When he pays his next visit I intend to tell him what I think of his methods. He’s Miranda’s doctor, too. What if he were doing the same there?”
Corin gave a long, low whistle. “My word, yes. And I always wondered.”
“What?”
“Well—it’s obvious that Daniel and Miranda are still in love. There’s more than one way to skin a cat.”
Orlando grinned briefly. “Precisely. We need a plan, something to get Miranda and Daniel away from Dr. Sewell and thrown into each other’s company without the distractions of society.”
Speaking in low voices, there in the street before Orlando’s house, the brothers concocted a plan. Once Orlando recalled the derelict inn he owned in Melton Mowbray, it didn’t take long. Corin finished with a low crow of laughter. “That will do splendidly. White’s tomorrow night, then?”
“White’s it is.”
Corin waved an airy goodbye and strolled away while Orlando went in.
Chapter Thirteen
Orlando stood in the hall, breathing deeply. He felt he’d stepped through to another world. All his resentment and anger returned in force, as though he left it behind, only to pick it up again on his return. He glanced upstairs. He would not ask where Violetta was, but would find her himself. No sense rousing the household.
Having searched the first floor, closing the doors behind him with an exaggerated carefulness that amply demonstrated his attempt at self-control, Orlando went upstairs to his own room and removed his evening coat and formal wig. He put the wig on the stand put ready on his dressing table, a puff of rice powder rising from it when he twitched it into place. The coat and wig might look magnificent, but the weather was far too hot today for velvet and powder. He wanted to confront Miss Lambert—Violetta—with no encumbrances. He stopped only to brush out his dark hair and fasten it with a black ribbon at the nape of his neck, the way he wore it during the day. No sense in scaring her with an unkempt appearance, so unlike him she might think something was seriously wrong, perhaps with Perdita. Instead, tonight he wanted to clear the air. He’d reached the end of his patience, and something had to happen, though he was not clear what it would be.
She was not downstairs. There was always the possibility that she had re
turned to her mother’s house, but he thought that unlikely. She was not someone who would renege on her responsibilities when matters became difficult. He was so sure of it he knew he would find her in her room. She wasn’t anywhere else.
He knocked, purposely quiet so she had no warning who it was. It could be a maid with some tea. When he heard the command to “Enter!” he went in. That was the end of his consideration for her. Or so he told himself.
She looked up, eyes wide and startled. He caught his breath. Her loose gown, flowing about her slim body wasn’t her usual drab colour but a rich, dark blue. The fine fabric did nothing to hide the luscious contours underneath. “Your spectacles are going under your wig,” he pointed out.
Lifting her hand, Violetta pulled off the wig. Her hair, fastened in a thick braid, tumbled over her shoulder. The spectacles came off with the wig to lie forgotten at her feet. She sat bolt upright, a book face down by her side. She must have been reading when he came in and shoved the wig and spectacles on at his knock. She looked like a queen.
No. A deceiving whore. “You will not take my brother as your lover.” He hadn’t meant to be quite so straightforward, but there it was.
“I will take whom I wish.” Her voice was modulated, carefully controlled. It made him angrier than before.
“Not my brother. Did nothing I told you find a home?” He stepped into the room, moved closer to her. “Or don’t you care?”
If she found his presence intimidating she showed no sign of it. She sat up straighter. “In what way should I care?”
“That he and his wife are—experiencing difficulties.” He was still speaking quietly, although it was becoming more of an effort.
“You think I can’t help?”
“Can you?”
She lowered her eyelids and then lifted them again and looked directly at him. For the first time Orlando felt he was close to the real Violetta, the woman under the disguises. Despite his anger he still felt the yearning to know more, to get closer. “I may be able to reduce the strain on the marriage. That might be one way to help.”
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